Sandy Williams - The Shadow Reader

I plop down on the damp ground beside the river. It might not be a good idea to drink the water, but I can’t pass up the opportunity to dip my feet beneath its surface.

“Which way is the gate?” I ask as I unzip my left boot.

He looks downriver. “That way.” He doesn’t sound certain.

“How far was it on a . . .” Jesus, my foot looks worse than I thought. Oozing red blisters cover my heel and almost all my toes. The fresh air makes them sting and now I’m not so sure I want to plunge them into the water.

“ Nom Sidhe , McKenzie,” Aren says, staring down at my foot. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t know it was this bad.”

He sinks to the ground beside me. When he reaches toward my toes, I pull my foot back.

“You don’t have the energy to heal me.”

“You can’t walk like this.”

“You won’t be able to fissure.”

Silver eyes meet mine. “And that’s bad for you because?” Good point.

“Fine,” I say.

He encases my foot between his palms. Chaos lusters quiver over his hands, flow into my toes, the arch of my foot. I tense and hold my breath, but I can’t help it. I giggle like a schoolgirl.

Aren looks up from his magic, eyebrows raised, and Sosch perks his ears forward.

“Tickles,” I explain. My leg jerks when an edarratae darts from my heel to my pinky toe and another snicker escapes me.

The weariness leaves Aren’s face and the left edge of his mouth curves up.

“What?” I demand.

“I’ve never seen you smile before,” he says.

I plaster on a frown despite the butterflies rioting in my stomach. “Don’t get used to it.” I pull my foot out of his hand. Damn this Stockholm syndrome. There’s got to be some cure for it.

“You haven’t tried to run,” he says quietly.

“You see my feet?” I wisecrack, but I’m gritting my teeth. I don’t need him to point out my lapse in judgment, my inconsistency. Maybe I should leave him now? I’m sure I can outrun him, but he obviously still has the ability to use some magic. He might be able to fissure short distances or stop me some other way. He’s a healer, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have other skills.

Oh, who am I kidding? None of that stopped me before. I’m making excuses to stay by his side. Weak excuses. The real reason I’m still here is because I don’t want him to die. Plus, if I abandon him, it’ll be like I’m sliding a sword through his chest, and executing someone who’s injured and in need of help isn’t something I can do.

“Take off your other boot.”

I swallow back my frustration and comply. Crap, this foot is worse than the other one.

Aren just shakes his head and sends his magic into me. I bite my lip to prevent another giggle from escaping. Thank God, he finishes his work quickly. Laughing makes me feel too vulnerable.

I pull my foot out of his grasp and then submerge both my blisterless feet in the river. Its cool current is invigorating.

Beside me, Aren awkwardly tilts back until he’s lying flat. He closes his eyes. I watch his chest rise and fall. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes betray how much his shoulder hurts. I’m worried about it. He’s not bleeding anymore, but maybe we shouldn’t have stitched it shut. Maybe it needs to drain or have air or something.

“Talk to me,” he says. “It’ll distract me from my shoulder.”

I doubt that, but say, “What do you want to talk about?”

A chaos luster shoots across his abs. Is it dimmer than usual? It’s hard to tell under the dirt and sweat.

“How long have you worked for the Court?”

“Ten years.” I pause, considering how much I should reveal. When one of his breaths turns ragged, I add, “I was planning on retiring.”

Silver peaks between his lashes. “Really?”

I nod. “I was supposed to graduate a week after you kidnapped me. I was going to be a normal human, ignore the fae, and never set foot in the Realm again.”

He smiles. “You could never be a normal human.”

I glare at him, but he’s closed his eyes again.

“Ten years?” he says after a moment. “You were young, weren’t you?”

“Not that young.”

“You still lived with your parents?”

I definitely don’t want this conversation to go there . I lift my feet out of the water and rest them on the bank to dry.

He turns his head to look at me. “Will they be searching for you?”

“No,” I say in a way that should end that conversation.

“Will any humans be searching for you?”

“Yes.” Not a lie. Another couple of weeks and bill collectors will be calling. And it’s possible Paige is missing me. Her sister’s getting married this month and I promised . . .

Ah, hell.

“What?” Aren asks.

“I missed the bachelorette party.”

“The what?”

“A party,” I say. “My friend’s sister is getting married on Saturday.” Paige has never gotten along well with Amy, but she’s the maid of honor. She has to play nice until the wedding, and I gave her my word I’d be at both events to help her keep her sanity.

This is why I don’t have many human friends. Something always comes up with the fae, and I end up breaking my commitments.

Aren stares up at the tree-blocked sky. “Tell me why you started working for the Court.”

I pick up a rock from the bank and blow out a sigh. He still needs a distraction? Fine. “What human girl would turn down the chance to be part of a fairy tale? I was sixteen. I wanted excitement and adventure.” And love, but I won’t tell him that. “The Court offered me all of that. They told me I was special, that I could help them, and that they’d keep me safe.”

“Safe? From who?”

I watch Sosch slide into a rocky, shallow section of the river. “From the false-bloods. Thrain found me.”

“Thrain?” Aren says, as if the name puts a bad taste in his mouth.

I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you false-bloods would stick together.”

“I’m not a false-blood.” He sits up. Too quickly. I can tell he’s light-headed by the way his eyes lose focus. It takes a moment for him to stop swaying. “Sethan’s not a false-blood either.”

“So you say.” I won’t argue with him. If—no, when —I make it back to the Court, I’ll have Kyol look up the Zarrak bloodline for me.

I stare downriver, the direction Aren indicated the gate was in. “I think you’re wrong about the gate. Did you see it marked on a map? How far was it from the inn?”

“About thirty yraka .” He blinks, focuses on me. “That doesn’t help, does it?”

“It does. Kyol’s maps are measured in yrakas .”

He tilts his head to the side. “Kyol?”

Too late, I realize my slip. Aren’s eyes meet mine, and, hard as I try, I can’t keep him from learning the truth. He sees it in me, and a thousand emotions collide on his face. Amazement. Confusion. Horror. I manage to mask my feelings the same instant he does.

“You’re in love with Taltrayn.” It’s not a statement, not quite a question, and I don’t know how to respond. My grip tightens around the rock in my hand. He’ll see the lie if I deny it. If I admit it . . .

What’s Aren going to do? Run off and tell the king? Not likely.

He shifts beside me. “Taltrayn may be my enemy, but he . . . he has principles. He’ll never go against Atroth’s wishes. He’ll never disgrace himself with you.”

“I know that!”

He grimaces. “I’m sorry. That came off wrong. I didn’t mean—”

“The gate’s that way.” I jab a finger upriver, wondering why Aren’s words hurt so much. Is it because he used the word disgrace ? I would disgrace Kyol?