Sandy Williams - The Shadow Reader

Please, don’t let it be Micid.

A shadow moves to the edge of the orb’s glow. The toes of two scuffed boots break the circle. The fae advances another step, then another. Light rises slowly up a pair of black pants pulled tight around muscled thighs to a hand gripping the hilt of a sword, to a strong, broad chest, then to an angry face framed by wild, disheveled hair.

“Aren,” I whisper. No, no, no.

His jaw clenches. My chest constricts.

I shake my head. “No, Aren. Please. I didn’t give Kyol the necklace, I swear.”

His scowl fades as he strides beneath the hanging orb and then he kneels beside me. He cradles my face between his palms. “ Sidhe , you’re freezing.”

Heat pours into me. I don’t know if it’s from my edarratae , from his magic, or just from being near him again. It doesn’t matter. It feels good. He feels good.

That’s when it registers he still has his sword. No way would the Court allow him to remain armed.

“Kyol didn’t . . . ?”

He smoothes back my damp hair. “You’re going to be okay, McKenzie. I’m getting you out of here.”

I look beyond his shoulder. Kyol stands just visible at the edge of the orb’s glow.

“He . . .” My throat closes up. “He brought you to me?”

Grim, Aren nods once. Without turning to the sword-master, he demands, “The key.”

When Kyol doesn’t move, Aren stiffens. Slowly, he stands. His hand moves back to the hilt of his sword. “The key, Taltrayn.”

“Radath has the only key.”

A moment passes where nobody moves, nobody even seems to breathe. When Aren’s gaze shifts back to me, my stomach sinks. If I’m reading his expression correctly, he’s horrified.

He turns back to the sword-master. “You’re going to make me do this?”

“You can heal her,” Kyol says without a flicker of emotion.

Aren’s shoulders sag—just for a second—then he kneels once again.

“Aren?” I search his face, trying to figure out what they’re talking about.

He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “This is going to hurt, McKenzie. I have to heat the metal, make it malleable so I can pull it off. I’ll heal the burns as soon as you’re free.”

It takes a moment for that to sink in. Then I remember Tom. I remember how he screamed when Aren touched him. I remember the smell of his burnt flesh and the blisters on his arms when Aren took his hands away.

“No. No fucking way. Are you crazy?”

“I’ll do it as quickly as possible.”

“No.” I pin my gaze on Kyol. “Don’t you have bolt cutters or something?”

Kyol doesn’t so much as twitch.

“Listen,” Aren says. “You can’t scream, McKenzie. Taltrayn has a fae loyal to him guarding the door, but other fae are on patrol. Here.” He unfastens his belt and lifts it toward my mouth. “Bite down on this.”

I shake my head.

“You can do this,” he says. “You have to.”

Damn it, damn it, damn it. I don’t want to, but Aren would never suggest it if there was any other way. And Kyol would never let him hurt me.

I hiss a breath out between my teeth. “I guess it’s better than chopping my hands off.”

Aren smiles as if everything’s going to be okay. I give him a skeptical glare as I take the belt between my teeth.

He reaches up to wrap his hands around my shackles. The metal warms. After shivering in this cell for so long, I almost welcome the heat. Not for long, though. The intensity increases, gradually at first. Then all at once it hurts .

My nerves short-circuit. The metal feels so hot it’s cold. Then I hear something sizzle, smell an acrid burning. I jerk against the silver searing my wrists, but I can’t break free. Biting down on the leather between my teeth, I squeeze my eyes shut. I scream, but it’s too high in my throat to become a sound.

It’s too much. I slam the back of my head against the stone wall as my wrists melt. I slam it again and again and again.

I’m barely aware of Aren prying the manacles off, of him wrapping his hands around my wrists. Nausea churns through my stomach because it feels like he’s touching sinew and bone. I can’t possibly have any flesh left.

“Shh,” Aren soothes, sending his magic into me. “It’s over. You’re okay now.”

The fire slowly subsides. My wrists grow cold, then numb, then warm again as Aren’s touch stirs my edarratae .

He takes the belt from my mouth, hugs me to his chest, and weaves his hand through my hair to cup the back of my head. He flares his magic again, heals whatever injury I caused banging against the wall. I tremble in his arms until he tilts back and wipes tears from my face. His eyes beg forgiveness.

I suck in a ragged breath and try to pull myself together. There’s nothing to forgive. He did what he had to do to free me.

Lightly, he brushes his fingertips over my wrist. “See? No scars.”

I look down to my pink but smooth skin, and my lips curve into a weak smile.

“Ah, there it is,” he says, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “I haven’t seen that in a while.”

I manage a short laugh. My eyes meet his again and . . . Oh.

I catch my breath. A curl of sun-blond hair falls across his brow, crossing a faint white scar I’ve never noticed before. His silver eyes, with that glint I always found infuriating, shimmer with something more than his typical tease. I’m suddenly aware of my lips, of them parting as they remember the taste and feel of his.

He smiles, then raises my hand to his mouth and kisses my healed wrist. “We need to go. Can you stand?”

“I think so,” I say.

He fastens his belt around his waist and then helps me to my feet. As soon as I’m up, the extent of my exhaustion hits. The last time I ate was breakfast at Shane’s. It’s been at least twenty-four hours since then. I’m weak and Aren has to do most of the work, setting me on my feet and keeping his arms around my waist until my knees decide to hold me. It takes a while. My body is tight and sore from shivering and my skin feels like it’s been worked over with sandpaper. My wrists are the most sensitive. They don’t exactly hurt, but I’m aware of where they were burnt.

“You okay?” Aren asks, his breath warm on my neck. I nod, and we turn toward the door, toward Kyol.

Kyol. He didn’t give the necklace to his king.

I can’t move, and not just because Aren’s arm is around my waist, holding me tight to his side. Kyol has been everything to me for so long. He’s the one I’ve always turned to, the one I’ve relied on, and I’m hurting him. The pain is so obvious in his eyes.

His lips tighten. His gaze slips from me to Aren. “You remember the path through the wards?” Aren nods. “The guards at the eastern entrance aren’t mine, but they’re inexperienced. I presume you can handle them.”

“Of course,” Aren replies.

“They need to be left alive to report to Radath.”

Aren nods again. He tries to move forward, but I don’t budge. Kyol can’t mean to . . .

He does.

“You’re not leaving.” My words are more an accusation than a question. Kyol’s face is as unreadable as ever.

I throw off Aren’s arm and cross the room. The hell if I’m going to let him become a martyr because of me. “You can’t stay. Radath will kill you.”

“McKenzie,” Aren whispers a warning. He hurries to the door, presses his ear against it.

“Shh.” Kyol places his fingers over my lips. I slap his hand away.

“Why won’t you leave?”

The most minuscule wince breaks through his mask. “The war isn’t over.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Kyol.”

“McKenzie, I—”

“You said you would leave.”