“Of course.” The boy grins in a way that makes me think he’s not going to listen to Aren’s instructions at all, and the way Aren watches him climb out the opposite side of the canal gives me the impression that his thoughts match mine. I’m betting imithi aren’t so great at following orders.
There’s nothing Aren can do about it, though.
“Are you two ready?” he asks, turning back to me and Trev. I nod, pull up my hood, then climb out of the canal behind the two fae. That’s when I feel a flicker of anxiety from Kyol. He feels my focus, my slightly elevated heart rate, and he knows that I’m moving now.
Relax, I tell both him and myself. This should be simple. I don’t even have to read the shadows; I just have to point out what I see.
We’re halfway across the street. My focus is riveted to the narrow house’s single window. Fae don’t often use bows and arrows—their enemies rarely stay in one place and, many times, they’re invisible—but we’re in a part of the city that’s protected by silver. If I were Nimael and thought there might be a chance someone was hunting me, I’d have at least one bow stashed somewhere inside.
But he has no reason to use it on us, I remind myself. He doesn’t know we’ve found him. He’s here to recruit elari, and we’re just a few innocent, sludge-covered people crossing a street.
Suddenly, the front door opens. Three fae step out, and everything—the air, the rain, my heart—goes still.
“DON’T let them back in!” Aren yells. Before the last word leaves his lips, Trev’s already acted, launching a ball of flames from his hand into the door behind the fae.
“Bring Taltrayn!” Aren grates out. The order is unnecessary. There’s no stopping Kyol from coming. He felt the cold terror slide over me the second that door opened.
Aren grasps his sword in both hands and takes a step forward. “Where are they, McKenzie?”
“Shoulder to shoulder just outside the door.”
“I can hide you,” a voice pipes up just behind us. Dicer. No surprise there.
Aren doesn’t hesitate. “Do it,” he says. To me, he adds, “Tell us when and where to swing.”
I nod, then both he and Trev are rushing forward. Dicer must be a decently strong illusionist. I see the moment the elari lose sight of Aren and Trev. Two of the three fae take a half step backward as they bring their swords in front of them. They don’t have humans to see through Dicer’s illusion, and they can’t fissure out of here. They’re screwed.
But the fae in the center with gray-streaked hair doesn’t look concerned. He doesn’t even unsheathe his sword. With the door burning behind him, he—Nimael—takes a rustic red cylinder from his belt and untwists a cap. A thin, coiled rope falls to the ground, then, with a flick of his wrist, the rope snakes out in front of him.
Aren and Trev are almost on him.
“Jump! Jump!” I scream, but they don’t understand, and with another flick of his wrist, Nimael’s rope whips out. It’s long enough to swing into both fae’s legs. They crash to their knees, are up in an instant, but the damage is already done. Dicer’s illusion breaks, revealing them both to the elari.
My sword is in my hands, and I’m rushing forward already, yelling for Aren to swing right and Trev to swing straight ahead. Both their blind attacks miss, and they roll, attempting to get out of the way.
Aren makes it, but Nimael’s whip is wrapped around Trev’s calf. It wraps around his knees during his roll. He curses, swings defensively once more, and his elari attacker hesitates the second I need to get there.
My blade cuts through the air, clashing against the elari’s with an impact that rattles me to the core. The elari’s invisibility breaks, and Trev’s sword stabs upward, sinking home into the fae’s gut.
I don’t wait for his soul-shadow to appear. I whirl around to find both Nimael and the second elari closing in on Aren from both sides. Nimael has dropped his whip; I assume he’s invisible again.
“Back, Aren!”
He misunderstands my order, twisting around to swing behind him. I won’t get there in time, so I palm the pommel of my sword and thrust it into the air. It soars javelin-style and clips the elari’s side. Only strong enough to break the illusion, not to draw blood.
Dicer gives me a what-the-hell-was-that look, then the kid splits. Maybe he’s decided we can handle this? It’s two-on-two—three if you count me—and after a quick sidestep and an incredibly fast counterstrike, Aren sends the second elari to the ether.
“Where’s Nimael?” he demands, rounding on me.
“There,” I point, “to the left of the darker part of the street.”
Nimael’s nostrils flare. The glare he gives me reminds me of how cold the rain-drenched night is.
Aren grabs my arm. “The whole street’s dark.”
“The ground,” I say. “The smudge on the ground that looks like a . . . a smiley face.”
He pushes me back, then rushes forward, nowhere near where Nimael’s standing.
Or was standing.
My cry of, “He’s running!” is nearly drowned out by Jacia’s, “They’re coming!”
Five fae—all with the red-and-black-stoned name-cords that mark them as elari—burst out from the passageway between Nimael’s building and the one next door.
“Nimael!” the dark-haired fae leading the way shouts, his gaze scanning the street for the fae. But Nimael is invisible behind his illusion, and speaking would give away his location, so with one last hate-filled glance at me, the older fae turns and runs.
“Aren, to the left. He’s leaving!”
But Aren can’t follow my directions. The dark-haired fae is on him. Their swords meet in a loud clash, clash, clash. Then the second fae is there, with Jacia right behind him.
We’re outnumbered, even with Jacia’s help. Taber was supposed to be with her. I don’t know where he is, but it looks like none of these elari are illusionists. Aren doesn’t need my help, and Nimael is getting away, fleeing down a road that will take him to the eroded silver wall.
Half a second passes, then my decision is made. I scoop up my sword as I sprint past it, then run at top speed down a passageway that parallels Nimael’s. If he’s the false-blood’s second-in-command, we need him captured and questioned, and since he’s running roughly in the same direction Kyol’s approaching from, we still have a chance to do both.
The storm and late hour have made Tholm more deserted than a ghost town. Not a soul hinders me, and the rain splattering onto the ground covers the sound of my footsteps. Buildings made of stone and stucco fly past me in a blur. I shrug out of my heavy cloak and keep running. I don’t have to reach the silver wall the same second Nimael does; I just have to be near enough to read his shadows when he makes it to the other side and disappears.
I’m at an all-out sprint, practically flying over the wet pavement. The alley is clean, well maintained, but I’m heading up an incline, and the rain, the damnable downpour that let up for all of two minutes, has returned.
I reach a cross street, veer down it, and am spit out onto Nimael’s road. He’s there, so much closer than I expected but still running for the wall. He’ll reach it soon.
I push on, funneling adrenaline into my legs. My lungs burn from the cold air, and my chest is tight, tight with Kyol’s worry.
Intercept him! I try to translate those words into emotion, try to tell him I’m not running from someone, I’m running after him.