Kyol calls out another strike. I barely knock his sword out of the way in time.
“Until you don’t forget the forms or until we reach Corrist,” he says.
I bite my lower lip. I didn’t forget the form that time. I just made a mess of it.
An hour later, we’re still going, and I’m seething with rage. I don’t try to hold back the feeling. I do my best to throw it in Kyol’s face because I’ve tried to stop twice now, and twice, he’s slammed his sword into my back, all without a trickle of remorse or concern passing through our bond. I’ve been awake for more than twenty-four hours now, but even if I were well rested and hadn’t been walking for half the day, I still deserve a break. Kyol was Atroth’s damn sword-master. He’s Lena’s damn lord general. He’s not attacking me with his full strength—not even half his strength, I’m sure—but he’s not slowing his movements either.
He swings again, his practice sword cutting through the air. I raise my blade and manage to throw his attack off enough to not get hit, but I lose my grip on my sword. When it lands in the thick grass, I glare down at the red hilt. I know why it’s that color now. The blisters on my hands broke a long time ago. They’re bleeding, but you can’t tell by looking at the sword.
Before Kyol orders me to pick it up, I grab it. Then I throw it at his head. Miraculously, he doesn’t get his sword up in time to knock it away. The flat side of the blade thumps into his temple.
Trev laughs at Kyol’s wince. I feel only slightly satisfied.
“I’m done,” I tell him. “I’m tired, I’m hurt, and I’m not touching that sword again.”
“Very well,” Kyol says, picking up the practice weapon. “I’ll meet you in Corrist.”
“What?” I demand, facing him fully. “Well isn’t that convenient for you.”
“Do you want me to stay?” he asks levelly.
“I want you to—” I strangle off my words when his mental wall cracks. He wants me to say yes. God, he wants it so badly my heart breaks. I want to tell him what he wants to hear. I want to say stay. I might be mad at him for . . . for treating me like I’m just one of his swordsmen, but I’ve liked being with him. This day feels like our days together before I met Aren, and suddenly I realize that I’ve missed this. I’ve missed spending time with Kyol.
And he’s missed spending time with me.
My throat feels raw when I swallow. I shouldn’t have come back to the Realm. This isn’t fair to him. And it’s too confusing to me.
“Go,” I say before I give in to the part of me that wants him to stay. With a curt nod, he opens a fissure and disappears.
ELEVEN
A KNOCK STARTLES me awake. I sit up and let out a string of curses. Holy hell, my body hurts. And not just from swinging a sword hour after hour. Apparently, I got out of shape in the few weeks that I was away from the Realm. My feet hurt from a full day’s walk, and the muscles in my legs are so tight, I’m not sure I can straighten them.
Another knock, louder this time, shakes my door. Groaning, I force myself out of bed. I barely remember walking through Corrist yesterday. I didn’t even attempt to have someone take me through the gate. I just stumbled into the palace and came to the room Lena’s kept waiting for me.
And speaking of Lena, she’s standing in the corridor when I open the door.
“You look terrible,” she says, her gaze taking in my dirty clothes and knotted hair.
“Thanks,” I say, “but you could have waited until the morning to tell me that.”
“It is the morning,” she says. She grabs my right wrist then turns my hand over to inspect my blisters. “Taltrayn made them out to be worse.”
I pull back my hand. “It hurts worse than it looks.”
She grabs it again, this time pressing her palm against mine. “I want you to speak to the vigilante.”
“Glazunov?” I ask, the sudden request throwing me off. “About what?”
“About the Sight serum, of course,” she says, releasing my right hand to grab my left. It’s not nearly as blistered as the other. “He won’t speak to fae.”
“You’ve heard the rumors then?” Of course she’s heard them. I’m sure she demanded a full report from both Aren and Kyol.
“I’d be concerned even if the false-blood wasn’t accusing me of using it,” she says. “The serum gives humans the Sight. I’d like to keep our existence a secret if possible, and I’m sure you’d rather humans not die.”
“My life would be easier if humans knew about you,” I mutter.
She scowls at me.
“It’s true,” I say, even though I recognize the ramifications if my world learned about the fae. Most humans wouldn’t be content to let them fissure to and from Earth. They’d want a way to do the same, and they’d try to take control of everything—the fae’s magic, their resources, their whole world, really—in the interest of making humankind safe.
Lena just lets out what sounds like a disappointed sigh as she turns and walks down the corridor. I close my door, then fall into step beside her.
“What?” I ask. Her face is smooth, unreadable except for her silver eyes. I was wrong about the sigh. It wasn’t disappointed. It was annoyed.
“You need to make a decision,” she says, her tone clipped. “Are you with us or are you not?”
“With you?” I ask. “With the rebels, you mean? Of course—”
“We’re no longer rebels, McKenzie. I’m the only Descendant with a strong bloodline who’s claimed the right to rule the Realm, and if I’m claiming the right to rule it, then I have the obligation to protect it. I need to know if you’ll help me protect it from the false-blood.”
“Why do you think I was in Tholm?” I ask.
She stops to face me. “You’re not listening. You’re still trying to lead dual lives. It’s not possible. I need to be able to rely on you when I need you, not when it’s convenient.”
“It’s never convenient to be here,” I snap. “But I’m doing what I can. I’m trying to keep a job and my apartment and a glimmer of a real life because I need to stay sane.”
“Naito is sane. He doesn’t try to be someone he isn’t.”
“I’m not trying to be someone I’m not. I’m just trying to be halfway normal.”
A level gaze and her silence are her only responses to my statement, and I can practically hear her thoughts. I’m not normal, not even halfway.
Frustrated, I turn away, continuing down the corridor before she sees that I get her point. In fact, I made the same argument to Aren yesterday.
“You think you’re more a part of your world than ours,” she continues, walking beside me. “You’re wrong. You’re one of us more than you’ll ever be one of them, especially now. You’re tied to Kyol, to us, for the rest of your life. Ignoring the Realm isn’t an option anymore.”
My jaw is tight. Lena’s always been brutally blunt, but with her bluntness comes truth. She’s right. But why is she right? A normal life is what I’ve wanted for the last ten years. Why am I okay with giving it up now?
It’s not the life-bond. That makes me want to run as far away as I can.
I glance at Lena. Is it her and the fact that she sees me as one of them? Atroth and his Court fae always treated me as something other. Even Kyol treated me that way when we weren’t alone. I wanted a future with him, but I could never picture it because he swore it would never be allowed. It’s allowed now, and . . .
He’s not pushing me away anymore. He wants me to be safe, yes, but he accepts me being here. Lena and all the rebels do. They would let me call the Realm home.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
Lena’s brow wrinkles, not understanding my response. “You’re with us?”
I nod. “I’m with you.”