Aren steps toward me. His expression doesn't soften, but his lips part slightly as if he's about to say something. He takes a second step, then another. He's within an arm's length. I can feel the heat of his body, smell cedar and cinnamon.

He jerks my hood over my head. "Keep your skin covered."

Aren's seriousness scares the shit out of me. I force myself to breathe again and try to slow my heart rate. "Where exactly are we?"

He grips my arm through the cloak. "We're in Lyechaban."

"Lyechaban!" So much for slowing my heart rate; it triples its pace. "Are you crazy?"

He harrumphs. "Indeed."

"These people will kill me, Aren."

"I strongly advise against an escape attempt." He pulls my hood lower, puts an arm around my shoulders, then forces me out the door.

I'll draw attention if I struggle, so I stay pressed against his side. I wish my edarratae could be hidden by illusion, but that magic doesn't work on humans so when a stout wind lifts the edges of my cloak and threatens to pull off my hood, I cling to the woollike material, desperate to hold it in place. I'm careful to keep my hands unseen, and to walk casually, to look like I belong in the Realm and this city when I very much do not. There are certain places where humans aren't welcome in this world. Then there are places like Lyechaban.

I try not to let the memory surface. I try to focus on the shacks lining either side of the road, on Kelia and Naito, who lead the way east, toward the briny scent of the ocean. We're in a poorer district of the city. You can always tell by the amount of silver on the buildings. These are made of wood and brittle stone and none are painted with a coat of silver.

A fae crosses my path. His booted feet pass within my hooded vision. I lean into Aren. The one and only time I was in this city, a full guard of Kyol's swordsmen escorted me. Lyechaban is the capital of Derrdyn, one of the provinces that did not vote King Atroth to the throne. It's always been-not a lawless place, but a place with its own laws. After Kyol rescued me from Thrain, Lord General Radath learned Lyechaban's magistrate and his council were sheltering the false-blood. Since I was young and new to shadow-reading, I wasn't the first reader they sent in. I came after two others were . . .

No. I won't think of that.

Aren's arm tightens on my shoulders as he guides me around a corner. Beneath my cloak, I can see little of the city. I feel it, though. It always takes time to adjust to being in the Realm. Being in the Realm in Lyechaban takes even longer. Every movement I make feels so human and so wrong here. It's hard to convince myself I don't stick out in this cloak, but it's not like I'm walking down a street in my world. Capes and cloaks are common here, especially with such a cold wind blowing. I blend in. Probably.

We take another right turn. Aren keeps me between him and the buildings lining the road. I try to calm my heart rate and force my feet to continue at Aren's pace. It's artificially slow for a fae, but it's all I can do to keep up, especially when I have to be careful of my steps. The streets of Lyechaban are full of potholes and gaps.

Fortunately, this street is better than the last. Plus there's silver on the front doors of some homes and shops.

Ahead I hear rather than see the street becoming more crowded. I want to run, but we're deep within a city that is smashed between the Realm's tallest mountain range and the Kerrel Ocean. The gate is my only way out of here. How is Aren planning to take me through it? It'll be regulated by inspectors and surrounded by Lyechabanians.

Oh, God. Maybe he's not planning to take me through it. Maybe he's planning to leave me here after we talk to Lorn. Maybe he's planning to turn me over to the locals.

Panic settles like a heavy weight on my chest.

No. Don't overreact, McKenzie. Naito's here. Aren has to have a plan to get him out of the city.

But I can't shake off the fear slithering over my skin, especially not when I recognize the structure at this twist in the road. A high silver fence adorned with intricate metalwork, effigies depicting the Tar Sidhe, surrounds the building. Black spikes make it look more like a medieval church than a political house. This is where the city's soldiers will take me if I'm found. If the Lyechaban citizens find me first, they'll skip the formality of an appearance before the magistrate and take me directly to the city center. Like criminals sentenced to the stocks in my world a century ago, I'll be put on display in the middle of the marketplace.

What if a human is on display there now?

My steps falter, stop. Someone bumps into me from behind. I tense, but they mutter an apology in Fae and keep moving.

The warmth of Aren's arm encircles me again. He speaks through my hood into my ear. "Keep moving."

He forces me forward a step. Two steps. I want to beg him to go another way. I can imagine rounding this corner and entering the city center. The last time I was here, two people were bound back-to-back to a pole on the central dais. I was halfway across the marketplace before I recognized them as human. I thought for sure they were dead. Then one of them twitched.

Aren leans down to peer into my hood. "McKenzie. What's wrong?"

"I can't-" I stop because I realize I'm speaking in English and I can't think of the words in Fae.

Get a grip, McKenzie. It's just a memory. No one will be on the dais. Every human who's ever entered the Realm knows better than to come to Lyechaban, and I'm not a coward. I can walk through a freaking marketplace without losing my composure.

"Nothing." I start forward again. Aren remains close by my side. With his arm around my shoulders, I know he feels my body tense as we round the corner. I know he feels when I let out my breath a moment later. Not that I've relaxed. No skinned humans are on display on the dais, but the marketplace is crammed with Lyechabanians, or whatever the hell they call themselves.

Honestly, I'm not sure how I do it. I must brush up against a dozen different fae as we squeeze through the thickest part of the crowd. Even though I keep my skin covered, I'm terrified my edarratae will somehow leap through my cloak and into them. They won't be able to ignore the heated kiss of the lightning if that happens. I won't be able to run.

By the time we leave the marketplace, I'm shaking and sweating. I can't get any closer to Aren without him carrying me.

"We're almost there," he speaks through my hood again.

Is he trying to comfort me? I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him.

I throw him a glare he doesn't see. He hangs on to my arm as if he's afraid I'm about to run. Idiot. I'm not suicidal. In this city, I'm as good as chained to his side.

Aren leads me to where Kelia and Naito wait in front of a modest, two-story structure made of tewar, a pale red stone abundant on the east coast of the Realm. At first, I don't note anything special about the place. Its nondescript, flat facade blends in with the others on the street. The only difference between it and the buildings on either side is the glittery coat of silver painted over its walls.

Lena joins us at the door. No one says a word as she steps forward and taps the wooden planks with her fingertips. I don't notice the magical ward until its soft hum fades away at her touch, alerting whoever's inside that they have a visitor. I oscillate between feeling claustrophobic and overexposed in my cloak. It seems to take forever for someone to come to the door. When a fae finally cracks it open, he levels a crossbow at Aren's chest and wears a scowl effective enough to make me retreat a pace. Aren grabs my arm, keeping me from fleeing farther. At least he isn't thrusting me in front of him. On the other hand, death by crossbow appeals to me more than death by the hands of the Lyechaban citizens.

"We're here to speak with Lorn," Lena says.

"He knows I'm here, Versh," Kelia adds.

A hint of amusement touches the fae's silver eyes. "Kelia," he drawls. "You've been absent for months. It's good to see you again."

"Let us in."

A smile curves his lips. He nods toward me and Naito. "I need to see their faces first."

"You know Naito," Kelia says. "You can see McKenzie inside."

Versh's eyebrows rise just perceptibly, causing a current of unease to run through me.

"A moment," he says and closes the door.

Aren's grip tightens on my arm. "He recognizes McKenzie's name. He shouldn't."

Kelia says something about Lorn. I don't understand all her words, but I think she's saying he has friends or servants or sources throughout the Realm. Aren's expression makes it clear he doesn't accept that explanation. Apparently, it took a lot of digging for the rebels to learn my name. Aside from Atroth, Radath, Kyol, and a few other trusted members of the king's Inner Court, no one knows who I am. No one's supposed to, at least.

Versh returns after a few minutes. He opens the door wide enough for us to enter. As we step inside, he says, "Only Kelia and the son of Jorreb need to disarm."

If fae had the guts to use tech as outdated as a record player, it would have screeched to a halt just then. Never mind that Versh spoke in English; he's deliberately insulting every one of us but Aren and Kelia. Not asking a guest to disarm when they enter your home is akin to giving them the finger. They're saying you have so little skill with your weapons you could never be a threat to them. Since I'm human and honestly can't fight worth a damn, the snub doesn't bother me. It bothers Lena, though, and from his stance, I think Naito might even be insulted.

"Nom Sidhe," Kelia curses. Without disarming, she brushes by Versh. "Lorn! Lorn!"

Versh lets her go and waits while Aren unbuckles his weapons belt and hangs it on something that looks like an extravagant coatrack. The rack is the only piece of furniture in sight besides a couch with a broken back in the large room to the right of the entryway. It's pushed up against a wall that is covered in . . . graffiti, I guess. Fae symbols are scrawled from the baseboard up almost to the- I duck my head. There are at least two fae armed with crossbows peering down at us from the balcony. Even if they aren't Lyechabanians, I'm not eager to let them see my edarratae.

"This way," Versh says. He leads us toward the corridor Kelia vanished into. We take one right-hand turn and then Versh leads us down a narrow staircase. I have trouble seeing in the dim light, but I move toward the blue-white sphere hanging ahead. Four armed fae sit in the room at the bottom of the stairs. They don't say a word as we follow Versh through another doorway, but I feel their eyes watching us. Watching me.

I hear Kelia before I see her. She's ripping into a fae seated casually on the edge of a red wood desk. He's not bothered by her lecture. Neither are the two guards holding their crossbows at ease in the room's back corners.

Unlike the graffitied walls and dilapidated condition of the front of this building, the basement is painted a deep burgundy and has plush white carpet underfoot. A number of silverframed paintings hang on the walls. I recognize the Sidhe Cabred in one, the Silver Palace's sculpture garden in another.

Naito brushes back his hood and steps to Kelia's side. The fae on the desk-I assume he's Lorn-steeples his fingers.

"Naito." He greets the human with an insincere smile before shifting his gaze to Aren. "I'm surprised you've allowed him to come. From what I hear, you don't have enough spare shadow-readers to risk losing another one." He glances at me. "Or two."

"You know why Naito's here," Kelia says.

I don't know why he's here. Maybe it's a male thing, a competition or something. If so, it's stupid. Naito doesn't trust Lorn-that much is obvious-but he should trust Kelia. She didn't leave him when the vigilantes attacked. She loves him. There's no need for him to risk coming to Lyechaban.

"That was over a year ago." He turns back to Naito. "And my kaesha insisted I apologize. Surely even humans don't hold grievances this long?"

"It's a lack of trust, Lorn," Naito says. It's clear the fae is trying to get under his skin, but he does an admirable job of keeping himself together, especially with Lorn calling Kelia his kaesha.

"Ah, yes. I suppose that's not unfounded." With a flick of his fingers, he straightens his cuffed white sleeves and stands. "At least I can make this a short trip. I have no intention to increase provisions to the rebellion. Atroth is already quite peeved I've supplied you with silver, as minuscule as the amount was. You'll have to find somebody else to bribe."

"We're not here for silver," Lena says. Even though Lorn has been speaking English, I feel like I'm missing part of the conversation.

"No?" His gaze shifts to me. "I had an interesting visit yesterday. Few things take me by surprise, but when the king's sword-master himself comes knocking on your door . . . Well, even someone like me couldn't have predicted that."

Kyol's still looking for me. Why does that make me feel more nervous than relieved?

"What did Taltrayn say?" Aren asks.

"Why don't we have a seat?" Lorn motions to a shiny table to our left. It looks like it might be made out of jaedric. If so, it seems like an extravagant waste of money. This whole room is.

Lorn takes a seat at the table. Lena sits across from him. Kelia and Naito remain standing. I want to follow their example and lean against the wall, but Aren places his hand on my shoulder. "Sit, McKenzie."

I shrug his hand off but sink down onto the chair.

"Is she shy?" Lorn asks, staring at me.

"Most likely she's plotting an escape attempt," Aren replies. Then he brushes my hood back. With my face exposed, I feel naked, but I manage to keep my expression blank. I hope I do, at least, because Aren's right. I'm beginning to formulate a plan.

"Ah, there you are." Lorn smiles. "And the edarratae. Quite beautiful. Taltrayn is very concerned about you. Odd, that. I've never seen the sword-master unsettled, but he very nearly slit my throat when he didn't like what I had to say."

"What did you tell him?" Lena demands.

Lorn's eyes don't leave me. "I told him, quite honestly at the time, I've never seen nor heard of a McKenzie Lewis. May I?" He holds his hand out, palm up.

I glance at Aren, searching for some kind of direction, but his face remains impassive.

Okay. Fine. I reach out and lay my hand in Lorn's. I'm prepared for the hot lick of lightning, but Lorn sucks in a breath the second my edarratae seep into him "Hmm," he murmurs. "I'd wondered . . ." His grip tightens. The edarratae surge with the prolonged contact. Three bolts spiral around my wrist, then through his palm and up his arm. His coal gray pupils dilate, and I'm not sure if he's going to let me go. Touching him feels strange and piercing, but I won't tug free. I don't want him to know how much this sensation affects me.

Aren straightens. Lorn's gaze flickers to him briefly and then he releases my hand. "Well, that answers a few questions."

I rub my palm over my pants leg, erasing the pleasant tingle. It's easier to work with the Court, where no one but Kyol ever touches me.

"We need you to read her," Lena says.

Lorn props his arm on the edge of the table. "She's the Court's toy. Certain people will be unhappy if she's hurt."

I glance between Lena and Lorn. Does she mean . . . Is Lorn a mind reader? Telepathy is supposed to be an extinct magic.

"I have money," Lorn says after a moment. "I have silver. I have excellent informants and a good deal of influence throughout the Realm. What could you possibly offer in exchange for this service?"

"She knows the location of a Sidhe Tol." Aren's quiet words fall like a noose around my neck.

Lorn's eyebrows go up. "Now, that's interesting. Tell me, however did you learn that? I wouldn't think Atroth would trust a human, not even his nalkin-shom, with that information."

"I'll work for you." It's a shot in the dark, I know. "Protect me, and I'll read the shadows for you."

"An intriguing offer," Lorn says. "But I have no need of a shadow-reader, even one of your renown. You humans are tools for the Descendants, not for businessmen who stay out of wars for the throne."

"If you force me to give them the Sidhe Tol, you'll be taking sides. The king won't let that slide."

"I presume you'd disappear afterward." He lifts an eyebrow in Lena's direction. After she nods, he smiles. "The king will never know I was involved."

I swear if I found some way to kill Lena, most of my problems would go away. Okay. I only have one more offer to make. "Protect me from the rebels and I'll give the Sidhe Tol to you. You'll be the only fae who knows its location."

"Me and the king's Inner Court, of course," he says without missing a beat.

I feel a muscle twitch in my cheek. "Of course."

Lorn glances at Aren, who's standing over my shoulder. "I must say I'm tempted, Aren. I think you've captured more than you can handle."

Aren ignores him, takes a parchment from his pocket, and unfolds it on the table. I stare at the blank sheet, knowing what he wants. I remember where the Sidhe Tol is. I can imagine the lines I need to draw, the curve of the shallow creek as it merges into the river.

"You've no reason to remain loyal to the Court, McKenzie. They've used you all these years." Aren wraps my fingers around a pencil. "Help us." My edarratae leap into him as he places the lead tip on the center of the page. "Please. I don't want Lorn to have to pry it from your mind."

My chest tightens. He looks and sounds so sincere, but damn it, I shouldn't believe the word of my captor. Kyol didn't make me fall in love with him just so I would help him fight his king's enemies. He didn't agree to a life-bond. He's the man I think he is. Aren's the one who's been putting on an act. Lena came right out and said so.

I look at Kelia, how she's relaxed into Naito's arms by the opposite wall. They're not putting on an act, though. Neither one is bloodthirsty or disillusioned.

"Negotiate." I intended to make the word sound like an order, but it comes out more as a plea. If the rebels and Court fae would just agree to stop fighting, everyone would win.

"We've tried, McKenzie," Aren says, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. The tender gesture is a stark contrast to how he's treated me since I called Paige. "We asked Atroth to restore the four provinces he absorbed into their neighbors. We asked him to stop invading our homes and to stop setting his nalkin-shom on us." He kneels beside me and rests his hand on the back of my chair. "The only thing he agreed to was lowering the gate taxes. He did that within days of the meeting . . . for his friends and supporters. We didn't want this war. Draw the map."

My hand trembles as I drag the pencil down the page. The line is nothing but a delay tactic. Even if he's telling the truth, I can't give him the Sidhe Tol. It will only add to the violence.

"I wonder," Lorn says above the soft scrawl of lead on paper. "Why did you side with the Court?"

I raise my eyes.

"Atroth is quite antihuman," he continues. "He makes exceptions for those of you with the Sight, but still, you must feel the hostility. The king's men aren't like Lyechabans-they won't cut the edarratae from your skin-but they don't like you, do they?"

Atroth is antihuman? The Court hates my kind? They're cautious around me, but I've never felt hatred. They've taken care of me.