Sandy Williams - The Shadow Reader

She looks up. I don’t think she believes me. She doesn’t look skeptical, exactly. Her eyes are a muted silver, not bright and sharp, and her expression is as neutral as I’ve ever seen it. It reminds me of Kyol, and I have to wonder if she’s hiding as much as he does behind her mask.

“I didn’t think you would support me,” she says.

I would support Sethan if he were here. Of course, Sethan didn’t advocate killing me. He didn’t break my arm. He didn’t have an obvious vendetta against me. But Lena is the only option we have now. I’m willing to put our past aside and start over if she is.

“Can you get Kyol out of the palace?” I ask.

“Can you convince him to support me?” She doesn’t blink. I want to lie. I want to assure her Kyol will do anything I ask, but he won’t. He’ll do almost anything, and as much as I want to believe his pending execution will erase that “almost,” I don’t think it will. There’s a reason why his support could win Lena the throne: the fae respect him. They trust him. They know honor is etched into his soul. Even though his honor has kept us from being together, I don’t want that part of him to change. Kyol has been the only constant in my life these last ten years. I need him to stay the same.

I need him to stay alive.

“I don’t know,” I say. God, I hope those words don’t get him killed. Lena doesn’t owe me anything. She might not take action without a guarantee, but I can’t give her one. If Kyol doesn’t think she’s good for the Realm, he won’t help the rebellion.

“Sethan didn’t want this,” she says quietly, her gaze settling on the coffee table. I relax some. It has to be a good sign that she’s thinking about what Sethan would do. Sethan would take this risk.

“When the high nobles chose Atroth as king, he could have protested. He could have complained about the remapping of the provinces. There was a quiet outcry, but that was to be expected. What he didn’t expect was Thrain.”

Thrain. Of course this would lead back to him. I might be oblivious to the existence of the fae if he didn’t discover me.

“There have always been false-bloods,” she continues. “But none were as successful as he was. He scared Atroth, and Atroth reacted . . . badly. He started making decisions based on how to keep his throne, not how to protect the Realm. Sethan . . .” Her voice cracks and, hell, I almost— almost —want to put an arm around her shoulders. “Sethan decided to overthrow the king only after Krytta.”

Krytta. The ghost town in the middle of what became the Barren. A magical implosion killed every one of its inhabitants when its gate was destroyed. Their essences, their souls, were ripped from their bodies. More than two thousand fae—they hadn’t gone into the ether—rotted in the sun for weeks before a caravan reached them. But that wasn’t Atroth’s fault.

“Thrain destroyed the gate,” I say. “Not the Court.” It sounds like I’m defending the Court. I’m not—not really—but the king and his fae did do some good things. They saved my life, got rid of Thrain, and have been trying to keep peace and order in the Realm. Plus, if the king was a tyrant or truly, thoroughly evil, Kyol would never have fought for him.

“It was Thrain’s fault,” Lena acknowledges, “but the fae in Krytta were protecting him. He wouldn’t have had that support if Atroth made different decisions. Krytta’s merchants couldn’t afford the gate taxes. They lied when they told inspectors what they were transporting, and the king responded by invading their businesses and confiscating their goods. Fae who fought back were imprisoned or killed, things escalated, and then Thrain destroyed the gate.” She meets my eyes again. “Do you think Taltrayn will see the damage his king has done?”

He’s already seen it. That’s why he stayed behind: he thought he could reason with Atroth. I’m sure he knows now how wrong he was to believe that, but whether his new perception of his king will translate into support for Lena, I have no idea.

That’s not the question she’s asking, though.

“Yes,” I say, putting confidence in my voice.

Maybe too much confidence. Lena’s lips thin. She looks like she’s about to stand when she moves to the edge of the couch. Then she goes still again. After another long moment in which I seriously consider dropping to my knees and begging for her help, she lets out a breath. She doesn’t look happy, but some of the tension ebbs out of her posture.

“I need you to talk to Aren.”

I frown. That’s not what I expected her to say.

“Talk to him about what?” It might be a stupid question, but Lena was here when Aren all but said he’d rather see Kyol dead than have him help the rebellion.

“You need to convince him to save Taltrayn.”

Maybe she’s hard of hearing or was totally spaced out during that conversation. I shake my head. “Aren hates Kyol. You’re going to have to send someone else. With the Sidhe Tol they can—”

“No one else will go,” she cuts me off. “Not without Aren.”

“I already tried—”

“You didn’t try,” she snaps. “You gave in. You gave in because you didn’t want to hurt him.”

The fact that she knows me this well annoys the hell out of me. Add to that annoyance a shovelful of exhaustion and I’m close to saying something I’ll regret. The deep breath I take in doesn’t do much to calm me, but I exhale, reminding myself that I can’t afford to piss her off.

“You saw how he acted,” I say. “He won’t listen.”

Her lips twitch into a brief, bitter smile. “Aren sent you to the Court with an anchor-stone. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never done something so careless, so foolish, before. He acts on instinct, but his instinct isn’t always right, and he’s angry and tired now. He’s not thinking clearly, but if you push him—if you really try to make him see reason—he’ll listen to you.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. It feels like someone’s slamming a hammer against the backs of my eyes. “I need some time to think.”

“You don’t have time,” Lena says. “If you care about either of them, you’ll make Aren do this. He won’t give up on this rebellion until he’s dead or we’ve won. The only way to win is with Taltrayn’s help.”

The shower squeaks off in the bathroom, and snakes coil in the pit of my stomach. Lena knows Aren better than I do. Maybe he will listen.

“Can Aren do it?” I ask.

“If he can put a sword in Taltrayn’s hand, I believe so.” Aren and Kyol fighting side by side? It could work. If they don’t kill each other.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll talk to him.”

AREN’S alone in the study, sitting in a black swivel chair with his back to the door. He stares at the center of a redwood desk and doesn’t turn when I enter. I’m not being stealthy, though. I’m sure he hears me.

This is going to go so well.

Light streams in through the window’s open blinds. On the wall to the left, two tall bookcases are crammed with atlases, loose maps, and spiraled sketchbooks. My shelves back home are the same, though Naito’s look like they’re much better organized. His desk is in order, too—clean, with all his pens in the holder beside a blank legal pad. There’s a jar of anchor-stones sitting there, too. I walk over, pick it up, and study the two world maps—one of Earth, one of the Realm—pinned to the wall. Naito’s marked the gates on both with red pushpins.

I rotate the jar in my hand, making the anchor-stones clank against the glass. “Aren?”

No response.

I bite my lower lip, trying to decide how to reach him. “Taltrayn can help you.”