Sandy Williams - The Shadow Reader

Tjandel. I recognize the word. Micid said he visited there.

“Unfamiliar with the place?” Radath inquires. He wants me to ask about it. I won’t.

“It’s a . . . What do your people call it? A whorehouse. Yes. It’s a whorehouse in an unsavory district on the edge of Corrist. It’s outside the silver walls, so its clientele can fissure in and out without being seen. I know of many nobles who have tasted the delights there. All would deny it, but not Micid. Micid is addicted to the whores. Addicted, in fact, to their chaos lusters.”

It feels like Radath just dumped a third bucket of icy water over my head.

“Most of the whores are there willingly,” he says, his voice saccharine. “Some of them aren’t. They don’t all have the Sight, and Micid has a fetish for humans who scream and thrash beneath him. He likes them slightly insane, grasping and clawing at the invisible demon they believe to be inside them. Since you do have the Sight, you’ll understand what’s happening, but I’m sure he wouldn’t be opposed to breaking you in. You’d scream for him, wouldn’t you, McKenzie?”

Micid watches me with a small, sadistic smile.

Then, suddenly, Radath gets to the point. “There were two others with you last night. Who were they?”

He doesn’t know about Naito and Evan. Thank God. They must have escaped. At least I accomplished something last night. I sit straighter, trying to ease the bite of the shackles into my wrists.

Radath lifts the poisoned dagger. Carefully, he slides its blade under a damp lock of my hair, lifting it out of my face. He wants me to be scared of him—I am—but I won’t tell him about the humans. It won’t save me; it will only condemn Kyol.

Radath grips the left side of my neck in one big hand, laying the dagger flat against the other side, right over the puckered scar Aren left on my skin. His hand tightens, constricting my airway. “Who were they?”

I have to tell him something, something that will appease him and buy me time.

“Rebels,” I choke out. “I was supposed to get them inside the palace.”

Radath’s grip loosens. Micid, smirking at the edge of the orb’s glow, lifts an eyebrow. He doesn’t deny my claim, though. He really doesn’t want the lord general to know we met before.

“And what were these rebels supposed to do,” Radath asks, “once they came inside?”

I scrape up the courage to pin him with a glare. “They were supposed to kill you.”

Radath chuckles. “I’m as untouchable as the king, McKenzie.”

A door creaks open. “Lord General.”

I let out a shaky breath. Kyol’s found me.

“I told Atroth I would handle her,” Radath says without turning.

“I will handle her,” Kyol says. I’m not sure if his coldness is directed at Radath or at me.

“You already had an opportunity to make her cooperate,” Radath says, switching to Fae. “You failed. She’s no longer your pet.”

“You may discuss that with Atroth. He wishes to speak with you.”

The lord general glares at me without rising. I don’t think he’s going to leave. He doesn’t take orders from Kyol, and he seems to enjoy having me chained to this wall. My interactions with him over the years have been few, but I never thought he’d treat me like this. Of course, I never thought I’d give him reason to.

Radath’s shoulders slump. Then, with obvious reluctance, he stands, turning to Kyol. “She’s betrayed our king, swordmaster. Atroth expects her to be punished. I expect you to pry out the rest of her secrets. Understood?”

“Understood.” Kyol’s expression gives away nothing.

Radath gestures to Micid. The ther’rothi leaves my cell first. Radath follows.

He smiles, then lets the door thunk shut behind him.

For a long time, Kyol doesn’t move. A thousand different apologies make their way to my tongue. They die before they pass my lips. I’d do it over again to save Naito and Evan.

“How could you be so foolish?” Kyol demands. I flinch at his tone. “They were safe, McKenzie! You were safe!”

He strides beneath the orb, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I couldn’t stay here, Kyol.”

“So you were going back to him !”

“I—” My voice cracks. My chin quivers. I bite my lower lip, refusing to cry.

“McKenzie.” His voice is pained now. He drops to his knees in front of me, his face drawn and shoulders hunched as if he’s just lost a war.

My heart twists in my chest. Still, I swallow back an apology. Instead, I softly ask, “Can you get me out of here?”

He scrubs his hands over his face. “I don’t know.”

I don’t really have a right to ask it of him. I got myself into this mess; he should make me get out of it.

“Sidhe.” He cups my cheek in his hand and leans his forehead against mine. We stay like that for a long time, him warm, strong, and steady; me cold, wet, and shivering. I feel raw, like my emotions have been stripped away, layer by layer, leaving my soul pink with abrasions. Even the edarratae seem dull and distant.

“If you want out of here, McKenzie, you have to give me something. Atroth won’t consider releasing you without information on the rebels.”

I can’t help the Court anymore. The rebellion might have done things I don’t like, but the Court’s manipulated and used me. Radath’s ordered humans executed, and I’m certain he gave my name to the vigilantes hoping they would kill me. The king’s done nothing to stop the lord general. Kyol’s done nothing to stop his king.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

He lets out a long sigh and then, slowly, he slides his hand up my left arm toward the manacles. When he reaches my wrist, a part of me is convinced he’s going to free me anyway, but then his fingers slip to the diamond necklace hidden under my sleeve. He tugs, and the necklace falls free in his hand.

He touches the center stone and then nods to himself. “This will buy your freedom.”

Oh, God.

“No, Kyol, you can’t!”

“Shh, kaesha .” He places his fingers over my mouth. “It’s the only way to save you.”

I yank against my shackles. “No, wait. Listen. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I’ll do whatever you want, but please— please —don’t do this. Don’t trade my life for his.”

His face is expressionless as he rises; only his eyes betray how much I’m hurting him.

“You’ll hate me for this, won’t you?” he asks.

I nod because I don’t trust my voice. Aren trusted me with his life. He was confident I wouldn’t betray him. If the Court fae show up at the anchor-stone’s location, he’ll think I care nothing for him.

Kyol slips the necklace inside his pocket. “I’m sorry, McKenzie. For everything.”

THE BLUE-WHITE ORB hanging from the ceiling is the only thing keeping back whatever I hear scurrying in the darkness. It doesn’t keep back my nightmares, though. Some of them are old, recurring ones; others are brand-new. Every time my eyes close, I pray that when I open them, I’ll discover these last few weeks have been a dream. The king’s war will be uncomplicated, the rebels will be clearly bad, the Court will be clearly good. But the world doesn’t work that way. War is never so simple.

Plus, I’d never have met Aren. His kiss doesn’t seem like a manipulation anymore. All his gentle moments, the way he’s looked at me . . . Maybe he really does care for me.

The scrape of a sliding latch echoes in the darkness. The door cracks open. The door shuts. In the darkness, I hear someone suck in a breath.