Sandy Williams - The Shadow Reader

“I can’t hold them off,” he yells, sliding another bolt into place. He fires again.

“Here!” Naito shoves open a door.

Evan reaches it first. I run through after him, an instant too slow. A fae grabs me, swinging me around as his two companions rush into the room. I brace a hand against the wall, manage to stay upright long enough to kick the door shut and slam the latch into place.

My captor launches me against the wall. My head hits hard. My vision blurs, blackens. I blink the spots from my eyes in time to focus on Naito.

He lurches forward, plunging his sword through the back of the fae holding me. It almost skewers me as well. The point of his blade stabs toward my stomach, just above my belly button. I flatten my back against the wall and suck in.

Naito pulls his sword free and then grabs my arm as the fae falls. He curses as he stares at my stomach.

“I’m fine,” I assure him as the fae vanishes into the ether. I push Naito farther into the room, away from the door, which is now being pounded on from the other side.

The two fae who made it in circle Evan, their swords drawn, ready to strike as soon as he lowers his crossbow or shoots. Even if Evan kills one of them, there’s no way he’ll get another arrow nocked before the other fae cuts him down. I’m not even sure he has another arrow.

Naito pulls me to Evan’s side. There might be three of us, but we’re human. The Court has the advantage. They’ve spent years honing their skills. If we weren’t in the Silver Palace, we’d already be dead. They’d fissure behind us and strike us down.

And time’s on their side, not ours. They can wait for backup to break down the door.

We’re in a parlor or some other type of sitting room. There’s only the one exit and then three arched windows set into the wall on our left.

The windows. We’re one tall story off the ground. The fall is likely to hurt, but it’ll be better than a sword through the gut.

I don’t pause to second-guess my plan. I grab a chair and launch it through the glass.

Evan shoots the same instant. The bolt plunges into the shoulder of the fae on the left. The other lunges forward. He slashes into Evan’s forearm before the human dodges back.

Naito attacks, swinging his sword at the fae’s head. The fae ducks, parries, and strikes out, seemingly all in one move.

I shove Evan toward the window. He dropped his crossbow when the fae cut into his arm. He tries drawing his sword, but his hand is slick with blood.

“Get out of here. Go!”

He drags in a breath, nods. “Don’t leave him.”

He hands me his sword. When he jumps, I turn back to the fight, swinging my blade at the fae who’s still standing when he takes a stab at Naito. He blocks my attack easily, advances with a thrust of his own. I parry and stagger back. Alone, I’d be dead—alone, Naito would be dead—but together, we manage to keep the fae off.

“The window,” I say. “Go!” I grunt when a particularly hard hit rattles through my sword.

“You first,” Naito throws back.

I take a swing at the fae’s head. Miss.

“He knows who I am,” I say, not knowing if I’m telling a lie or not. “He’ll turn me over to Kyol. You have to get back to Kelia. Go! Now!”

He wants to protest—I see it in his eyes—but invoking Kelia’s name does the trick.

The fae curses when Naito makes a leap for the window. I put myself between them, forcing the fae to focus on me. He parries my attack and strikes back. The sword flies from my hand and clatters against the wall.

I draw my poisoned dagger. Throw it.

The fae raises his off hand in defense and bats the dagger aside. The throw wasn’t hard or fast, but the blade is sharp and blood wells from a small cut on the top of his hand.

I don’t wait for the poison to kick in; I lunge for the window.

He catches me. I swing back with an elbow, manage to catch his chin, but his hold doesn’t loosen. He throws me to the floor, pins me there.

I shove my knee into his groin, but there’s no momentum behind it. He slips to the side. His hands tighten around my wrists.

“Be still,” he snarls in Fae.

A flash of pain bursts behind my eyes when I head-butt him. He grunts, but I’m certain I did more harm to me than to him. I can barely focus. His face wavers above me. I struggle, bucking and twisting and trying to squirm away.

He wavers again. This time, it’s not just my vision. His arms buckle and he collapses on top of me. I lie there, gasping for air, then somehow I manage to shove him away.

Rolling to my stomach, I crawl on all fours toward the window, my arms shaking beneath me. I grab the window’s edge, ignore the glass biting into my palms, and will my muscles to cooperate.

My upper torso drapes over the windowsill. Glass pricks my skin, but Raen’s cloak protects me from too much damage. The street below is empty. It’s going to hurt when I hit, but I need to get out of here. The fae are still beating on the door.

My weight is split between the room and the outside world. I’m about to slide over the edge when something grabs me. It’s a Court fae, the one with the crossbow bolt through his shoulder. He drags me back inside the room as the door bursts open and the king’s swordsmen charge inside.

I scream myself awake. Cold. Wet. Caught. My teeth clatter and someone throws a second bucket of water over my head.

I cry out again. My skin seems to freeze over my bones.

“Ah, there you are,” Radath’s voice croons just inside the reach of a hanging orb’s blue glow. He overturns his bucket at the edge of the light and sits.

I wish I could remain unconscious. Everything hurts: my ribs and stomach, my back, and especially my shoulders and arms. My hands are shackled securely to the wall. There isn’t a length of chain or anything between it and my silver manacles; I can’t adjust my position at all.

“You need to start talking,” Radath says. “You can start by explaining what you were doing last night.”

I’m so damn cold it’s a struggle to pull my thoughts together. I squeeze my eyes shut, open them, and search the shadows of my prison. How did I get here? How much does Radath know?

“Where did you get this?” Radath asks. He’s holding something in his hand. A dagger, the one Raen gave me.

“I want to talk to Taltrayn.” I try to keep my voice steady, but I’m shivering too much.

Radath laughs. “Of course you do.”

Something moves in my peripheral vision. A tiny glimmer of hope rises in me. It’s snuffed out an instant later when Micid, not Kyol, steps into the light.

Radath follows my line of sight. “I’ve brought along my ther’rothi . He asked to meet you.”

The fae’s gaze oozes over me. I’m already shivering, but a deeper tremble runs through my body.

“Micid is a rare breed,” Radath continues. “Possibly unique. Show her what you do.”

The ther’rothi ’s lips stretch into a smile one moment before he disappears. I press back against the wall, afraid of what he’ll do, but he reappears a few seconds later in the exact same spot. That’s when confusion sinks in. Radath said Micid wanted to meet me, but we already met. And I already know what he can do. Why the demonstration?

Radath chuckles. “Does it bother you? Not being able to see him? I learned of his magic a few years ago and agreed to keep it secret—only the king and I know what he can do. In exchange, he works for me when I need him.”

Someone’s not keeping it a secret, but I’m not about to correct the lord general.

Radath leans forward, drops his voice to a whisper. “I also ignore his little trips to tjandel .”