My throat tightens, but I force my worry for my friend down as I face the woman. When she raises her sword, I say, “There’s tech trained on this parking lot. It’s recording everything. Drag me out of here, and the whole world will see.” My words might be true. I’m sure a few security cameras are trained on the parking lot, but I have no clue where they are or how many.
“They’ll see only you,” she says.
Yeah, me being hauled across the parking lot kicking and screaming. People would most likely write me off as crazy rather then guess that fae exist, but she doesn’t need to know that, so I start to point out how suspicious that would look when half a dozen fissures erupt around us.
Rebels. Nalst has fissured back with more fae wearing shoddy jaedric armor. The woman recognizes whose side they’re on the same instant I do. She opens her own fissure and disappears before Nalst, the nearest rebel, can attack. The remnant fighting Trev isn’t as lucky. He opens a fissure, but isn’t able to leap through it before Trev kills him.
“The shadows,” Trev says, his voice strained. “Read them.”
Since the dead fae disappeared into the ether—into the fae afterlife—and not into a fissure, those misty white soul-shadows tell me nothing, but the shadows from the woman’s fissure are weaving themselves into a pattern. I focus on them, my fingers itching to draw a row of…houses? Storefronts? Without actually sketching the shadows, I can’t be sure what they are or where she went. They don’t really become concrete unless I draw them out. All I know is she’s gone to the Realm. Possibly someplace in the north.
“I need a…” My sketchbook. It’s in the suitcase left behind in my living room, but even if it was safe to go back for it, the shadows wouldn’t remain in my memory long enough to map them.
“There’s no time,” Nalst says, stepping to my side. “The remnants will return with reinforcements.” To Trev, he says in Fae, “Go.”
Trev nods, then fissures out as the rebels Nalst brought with him take up positions around me. I don’t recognize anyone else, but that’s not surprising. A month ago, I was the rebels’ prisoner. They didn’t exactly make a lot of introductions.
“The nearest gate’s ten minutes from here,” I tell Nalst. A gate is the only way I can enter a fissure with a fae and survive. They’re places in the atmosphere, always over water, where fae can enter the In-Between while escorting a human, or anything else they can’t wear or hold themselves. The magic of how to make more is lost, so we’ve always had to work with the ones that already exist.
It would take me twenty minutes to get there if I walked, but I head to the north side of my apartment complex at a run. If a fae doesn’t have an anchor-stone imprinted with a location, or if they haven’t been to a place before, they can only fissure within their line of sight. My apartment is still within view. I need to get the hell out of this parking lot before a new wave of remnants arrives.
I’m just a few strides away from the walkway between the buildings when I sense the fissures. A second later, just as I’m darting into the narrow space, I hear them opening. I have no clue if they’ve seen me, but I’m certain they’ve seen the rebels, so I force my legs to move faster, stretch farther.
I reach the back of the building, sharp shrrips and flashes of light erupting behind me.
“Get to the gate!” Nalst orders. A tall, thick hedge lines the back of the property, so I have to cut to the right. The hedge is to my left as I run. The rebels hold their position at the junction of the back alley and the gap between the buildings—that’s where the remnants have to be to get a glimpse of me. If they make it there, they’ll be able to reappear at my side.
I’m at a full sprint, passing another gap between buildings, when a strip of white light splits the atmosphere directly in front of me. Not only does it cut off my escape route, it’s so close, I nearly run into it. I lose my balance evading it, but I’m not able to avoid the fae stepping into this world.
My fist rises instinctively, aiming for the fae’s face, until I recognize Aren. Even though my heart thuds at the sight of his silver eyes and wild, disheveled hair, I’m tempted to keep swinging. His fissure could have killed me.
He grabs my fist in the air, then uses his body to maneuver me out of the back alley and into the narrow space between the buildings.
“You’re missing something, nalkin-shom,” he says before I can yell at him for opening his fissure so close to me.
Missing something? “My suitcase? That’s hardly import—”
He ushers me farther down the walkway. “I gave you a weapon.”
I scowl at him over my shoulder. The sun is directly overhead, so even though we’re hiding between two tall apartment buildings, his light brown hair is streaked with gold. It doesn’t quite touch his shoulders, which are protected by jaedric armor, but it’s long enough that, if we had more time, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from touching the slightly curled ends.
“You gave me a sword, Aren. Where am I supposed to hide that?” He can run around this world all he wants with his sword waving about, but I can’t. Not even the strongest fae illusionist can make a human invisible.
“Then you should have asked for a dagger,” he says, coming to a stop just before we reach the front edge of the apartment building.
“My apartment was supposed to be safe.”
“Shh.” He puts a finger to my lips as he presses me against the side of the brick building and, of course, that’s when the edarratae, the chaos lusters, decide to react. The blue lightning leaps from his fingertip to my lips. I suck in a breath. It’s an involuntary reaction to the hot, addictive sensation traveling down my neck. It sinks into my core, making my stomach tighten, and even though I try to hide how much the sensation affects me, Aren sees it.
The tiniest smile pulls at one side of his mouth. A month ago, that smile would have infuriated me. Now? Now, I recognize the spark in his silver eyes. He doesn’t just want me because I’m an asset that can help the rebels keep the Silver Palace; he wants me because he’s fallen in love with me.
He’s fallen in love with me in less than two months. It’s insane considering we were enemies for the majority of that time.
He takes hold of my hand, keeping me in place while he cautiously peers around the edge of the building.
“The closest gate is back in the other direction,” I whisper.
“The remnants know that, too,” he says. Then, he loops his arm around my waist and inches me forward. “See anything?”
Only a human with the Sight can see fae who are hidden by illusion, so I scan the parking lot, searching for anyone Aren can’t see. A car is slowly driving around, probably looking for a specific apartment—the numbers on the sides of the buildings are tiny—but that’s to our advantage since the remnants apparently don’t want to cause a scene. As long as Aren remains invisible to normal humans, the driver shouldn’t take notice of anything unusual.
“It’s clear,” I say. I check over my shoulder to make sure no remnants are in sight. I can hear them fighting somewhere in the back alley, but the rebels must be doing their job, keeping the former king’s fae engaged long enough for me to escape.
Aren unhooks a sheathed dagger from his belt. Then, meeting my gaze, he hands it to me and says, “Don’t go anywhere unarmed again.”
No one should be allowed to have eyes like his. You can get lost in them. The silver-gray irises are flecked with light, and they’re darker on the outer edges. A fae’s eyes darken and lighten with emotion, and right now, Aren’s are as determined as steel. He expects me to use the dagger if I’m threatened.