"I'm fine," I force myself to lie. "Can you give me a few minutes to get dressed? Please?"

The "please" is almost too much. His eyes narrow.

He glances at the window behind me. "We're on the second floor," he says. "Can I trust you not to jump out?"

"This towel won't reach all the way to the ground."

My quip dispels his suspicion. He laughs. "I'm glad you're feeling better, my nalkin-shom."

"I'm not yours," I fire back, but he's already left the bathroom.

"Jerk," I mutter, but as I wring the water from my hair, I realize I'm smiling. Not good. Not good at all. You can't have feelings for him. He's manipulating me, twisting my emotions around and around so that whenever they stop spinning, I'll be malleable in his hands. I have to get away from him. Now. Before I start believing everything he says.

I frown. Am I believing some of the things he says? I've stopped thinking of him as the false-blood. I don't even know if I think Sethan is one. If Aren's telling the truth about that, it's possible some of the other things he's said aren't lies.

Like Kyol's life-bond.

My dream comes back to me. It's fuzzy. It would be even fuzzier if Paige didn't really talk me into that blind double date. I almost forgot Kyol encouraged me to see other people, other humans. Maybe he did so because he was seeing Jacia? But surely he'd tell me if he'd agreed to a life-bond. I mean, I'd tell him if I was getting married. The life-bond is similar to that, but much rarer because it's permanent. A bond-weaver ties the magics of two fae together, linking them for life. There aren't any divorces in the fae world; I'm fairly certain death is the only way to break the bond.

My head pounds behind my eyes. I don't know if Aren's lying, or if I'm lying to myself. I hate this doubt. I need to talk to Kyol.

I step out of the tub and, holding my breath, I scoop up my jeans. The cell phone is there in the back pocket right where I left it. I hold down the On button. When the screen lights up, I let out a breath. Hallelujah, it works.

I need to leave a message with Paige. Problem is, I don't know where I am, and I don't know how long it'll take my message to get to the Court. Will Kyol check with her daily? Does he have someone shadowing her?

I grip the phone and stare at the window. A dim light glows behind the blinds. I walk over and peek outside. The light is from a streetlamp. I check the time on the cell, see that it says it's midnight, but I have no idea what time zone I'm in. Paige always keeps a crazy schedule. She could be out partying or she could be home dead asleep.

Okay. We'll start with Plan B. I turn on the sink for some background noise and then dial the cops.

"Nine-one-one, please state your emergency."

"My name's McKenzie Lewis," I tell the woman as I step into my jeans. "I'm being held by . . . some people. Against my will. I need help."

"Can you tell me where you are, ma'am?"

I pull my damp jeans up over my undies. "Uh, no. I'm sorry. Can you tell me? Can you trace this call?"

"We'll have your location in a few minutes. You said people are holding you against your will? How many people?" She's calm and, I think, more than a little skeptical.

I grab my satin slip off the floor. I wish I had a T-shirt. "I'm not sure."

"Do you know any of their names?"

I glance back at the door. "No, I don't. Can you tell me what city I'm in?"

"You've called Cleveland nine-one-one dispatch."

"Ohio?"

"Cleveland, Georgia, ma'am. Are you being threatened? Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm . . . Just send someone here. Please." I hang up, hoping they had time to trace the call.

I dial Paige's number as I pull the slip over my head, hold my breath when I hear a click.

"Yeah?" a groggy voice answers.

"Paige, it's McKenzie. You awake?"

"McKenzie?" She sounds confused. Great.

"I need you to wake up, Paige. I'm in Georgia."

"What?"

"Has Kyol come to see you?" Silence greets my question, and for a moment, I'm afraid she's hung up.

"McKenzie, is that you?"

Finally. "Yes, have you seen-"

"Where the hell have you been? You promised you'd be at Amy's bachelorette party."

I grimace. "I know. I'm really sorry, but this is important. Have you-"

"You're coming to the wedding," she says, her tone daring me to say otherwise. "I swear, McKenzie, if you abandon me-"

"I'll be there!" I whisper-shout into the phone. "I'll be at the wedding if you'll just listen for a second. I need you to tell Kyol that I'm in Cleveland, Georg-"

The phone is ripped from my hand. I whip around to grab it back, but Aren launches it against the wall, hitting the center of the red stain I made earlier as if it's a target.

His hands latch around my arms. "I can't leave you alone for one minute, can I? Who did you call?" His fingers dig into my shoulders. "Who?"

"Aren, you're-"

"Naito!" he shouts.

"You're hurting me," I say. His grip doesn't loosen.

"What's wrong?" Naito demands, running into the room. Kelia and Sethan are right on his heels.

Aren nods toward the cell phone, but his eyes remain locked on me. I want to shrivel up and disappear. This is the expression he wore when he tortured Tom, and-and oh, crap-what if he does the same thing to me? What if he demands I tell him where the Sidhe Tol is? If he truly threatens me, will I give in?

"Aren, please."

"She called nine-one-one," Naito says, scrolling through the calls on the phone. "And another number."

"Every time I think I'm making progress with you . . ." Aren closes his eyes and lowers his head. I feel him shake, trying to control whatever's raging inside him. His hands are bruising my arms. Even the chaos lusters seeping into my skin seem angry.

"Aren," I try one last time.

Cold silver eyes meet mine. I don't dare breathe. He's not Aren right now. He's someone else, a fae capable of being the Butcher of Brykeld.

"This ends now," Sethan says from the doorway. "We're taking her to Lorn."

A muscle twitches in Aren's cheek, then he nods once, accepting Sethan's pronouncement. That's what it sounds like, a formal proclamation deciding my fate.

"We don't need to go to Lorn." Naito drops the cell phone and then slams his heel into it. "We can make her talk."

"She'll lie," Aren says. He pushes me into the wall.

"We'll take her to Lorn," Sethan says again. He walks to the sink and turns off the water. "I won't risk her sending us into a trap."

Naito's jaw clenches. "Lorn won't help without something in return."

Kelia rests her hand on his arm. "It'll be fine."

"I'm going with you."

"Naito-"

He pins her with a glare. "You're not going without me."

Kelia's lips thin, but she doesn't protest again.

THIRTEEN.

ICE FISTS AROUND me, squeezing, cracking, then shattering apart when we emerge from the gated-fissure. I suck sweet, crisp air into my lungs and waver unbalanced while I adjust to the Realm's atmosphere.

Lena releases my arm. That's how I know Aren hates me: he ordered her to bring me to this place. It's dark except for a thread-thin tendril of light peeking around what I assume is this building's door. I step back and my heel hits something . . . a wall. I lay my hands flat against rough wood planks. The structure feels small and crowded. I'm pretty sure we're in the middle of a village or city. Fae speak on the other side of the wall. Their voices aren't stationary. They're moving along a street, probably dodging around the carts I hear bumping over cobblestones.

The room brightens when Lena sends her magic into the glass sphere hanging from the ceiling. The blue-white light shines on wooden crates and barrels. Between me and a stack of cloth sacks, shadows from our fissure dance. They bend. They lengthen and shrink. My hand itches to draw them out. I think we're in a coastal city, but without pen and paper, I can't be sure which way is up or left or right. If I could just make one line, one tiny scratch on a page, I'd be able to orient myself.

"Put that on," Lena orders, gesturing to the cloak in my arms. She thrust it into my hands just before she pulled me into the fissure. I'm no longer wearing my ruined jeans and bloodstained nightie. Kelia gave me fae-made clothes before we left Georgia-clinging beige pants made of soft leather, an embroidered blue top, and black, knee-high boots that match Lena's. It's cold here, so I'm actually grateful for the addition of the cloak, but I refuse to follow Lena's command without at least a little resistance.

When I don't immediately do what she says, she arches a perfect eyebrow. "Aren won't be upset if I hurt you."

"He was upset when you broke my arm," I point out, even though I know things have changed between us.

She shrugs a shoulder. "Only because he wanted you to willingly read the shadows for us."

My stomach knots. I shouldn't let her bother me. She's just confirming what I already know: Aren's been manipulating me, using his edarratae to tease and tempt me to his side of the war.

The silver in her eyes seems to brighten. "Oh, it worked, didn't it? At least a little?"

I use the cloak as a distraction, unfurling it more aggressively than necessary. I don't like her seeing a crack in my loyalty to the Court.

"He was certain he had you after the vigilantes' attack," she continues. "But when you made those phone calls . . . Well, Aren's patient, but he can pretend for only so long."

I find the top of the cloak and swing it on. Forcing myself to keep my composure, I meet Lena's eyes. "Don't we have somewhere to be?"

Sethan would have been a much better escort, but at the last moment, Aren told him it wasn't safe to come. I'm not sure if Lena is here because they need an extra sword or if she's needed for some other reason. It doesn't matter, though. I don't see a way out of this mess.

Lena has no trouble returning my gaze. She crosses her arms, taps a finger idly on her elbow, then says, "Rumor has it you're in love with the sword-master."

If I look away, it will be an admission of guilt. Somehow, I manage to return her stare, though I don't think I'm breathing anymore. I'm cold, as cold as if I'm passing through the In-Between. I'm not used to people knowing how I feel about Kyol. I've spent the last ten years hiding it from the Court.

"So it's true." Lena shakes her head in mock pity. "The Court bought your allegiance with a kiss. Or was it more than that? No, Taltrayn would never lie with you, not unless his king ordered it, and there was no need to when you were purchased so cheaply."

I blink. I think she just called me a whore. Anger sparks deep in my chest, but before I can do or say something I'll undoubtedly regret, my skin tingles. I press flat against the wall as a fissure splits the air. A second later, Kelia and Naito emerge from the light. I try to focus on the shadows even though I know I won't be able to read them without sketching a map, but Naito distracts me. I rarely encounter other humans in the Realm, so it's odd seeing the white chaos lusters on anyone's skin except my own.

The storage room's door opens. Aren slips inside and shuts it quickly. He looks at Kelia. "Is he still here?"

"Yes. Near the herev," she says. I don't recognize the last word.

"How far from the gate?"

Kelia's brow wrinkles as if she's concentrating. I assume they're talking about Lorn. I also have to assume she can sense where he is. That's odd. And disturbing.

I watch an edarratae skitter across Naito's clenched jaw. His movements are jerky, angry, as he pulls the flaps of his cloak around him. Well, huh. My suspicion must be correct. Unless Kelia possesses some type of magical ability I've never heard of, the only way she could sense another fae's location is if she has a life-bond with him.

"Near enough," Kelia says.

"Good," Aren says in English. "That will make things simpler. You and Naito will lead the way. McKenzie and I will follow. Lena, you'll stay five to ten paces back. Don't look like you're with us. If anything goes wrong, fissure out. Understood?"

His gaze travels over them as they each agree. He doesn't look at me. He hasn't so much as glanced in my direction since he entered.

He gestures toward the door. "Go."

Naito dons his hood and follows Kelia out. Lena leaves next. Aren's going to have to say something now. He's at least going to have to acknowledge my existence because I'm not walking out of here without more information.

"Who's Lorn?" I ask.

He stares at the crates stacked against the wall. "Pull on your hood."

"Where are we?"

"Somewhere you shouldn't be seen. Your hood, McKenzie."

"Are you worried the king's soldiers will recognize me?"

He finally turns. If my back wasn't already pressed against the wall, I'd retreat from those eyes. They're angry, miserable, and judging all at once. I don't breathe as his gaze follows what I assume is a chaos luster across my face. Another one flashes across my hand.