He peers down, waiting, but I don't know what I wanted to say. Something about Aren? The rebellion? The words that come to mind now all sound like I'm defending what they've done. That's not right, so I settle on, "Thank you."

The barest of smiles touches his lips as he opens a fissure. "I'll see you soon."

He steps into the bright light and disappears. Even in the darkened room, I can see his shadows. I can't get a precise read on them, though, not without sketching a map, but there's no paper in sight, just the queen-sized bed, a dresser, and a matching chest of drawers, all red oak in color. Jeans and a gray, long-sleeved shirt are folded on top of the dresser, and a pair of boots-human, not fae-made-rest beside it. Knowing it's unlikely I'll be able to go back to sleep, I climb out of bed.

The clothes and boots are the right size. I grab them, walk to the door, and peek out. It's clear, and the bathroom is right across the hall.

I start the water running, then shed my dress, unfasten my diamond necklace, and lay them both on the counter beside the tub. A few minutes later, I sink into the water and let the heat pull the stiffness from my muscles. Beneath the surface, the twin scars across my stomach wiggle. It's a good thing Kyol and I didn't go further last night. If he saw these scars, he'd have felt even worse about my abduction. And he would have learned where Aren's hands were.

My stomach clenches, remembering Aren's touch. Frustrated, I suck in a breath and sink beneath the water's surface. I need to drown out his memory, forget that one kiss. It was just another one of his manipulations. Aren and I are enemies. I know that. He knows that. He should never have given me that damn necklace.

I burst out of the water and suck in air. The diamonds glitter from the edge of the sink, mocking me. I have to hand over the anchor-stone, don't I? Even though it'll feel like I'm twisting a knife in Aren's back?

I run my fingers through my wet hair. I just want this to be over. I want to live a normal, human life. With Kyol.

You could never be a normal human. Aren's words from the riverbank in Germany. He said them with a smile on his face, as if I was too extraordinary to be normal.

"Damn it." Before my thoughts settle on his kiss again, I stand, sloshing water over the side of the tub. I towel off, wring the water from my hair, then snatch the diamond necklace off the counter. I don't want it hanging around my neck, so I wrap it around my wrist a couple times and then fasten the clasp. It actually works as a bracelet, and with the long-sleeved shirt Kyol left for me, no one will see it unless I want them to.

A few minutes later, I'm dressed and exploring the castle. That's what it feels like, at least. The place is huge, two stories with a theater upstairs and half a dozen closed doors I'm too afraid to open. There had to be some type of party or gettogether here last night. In one of the living areas, red plastic cups and beer bottles are scattered about the room, on the floor and tables, even the pool table, which I'm pretty sure isn't good for it. And someone's snoring on the couch. Not wanting to wake him, I tiptoe through the room, find the staircase, and then head down to the first floor, hoping I can find the kitchen.

The size of the house shouldn't surprise me. A limo picked me up last night. Shane obviously has money. But I can't help but wonder how he earned it. What does he do for a living? How does he keep a high-paying job? How does he keep the Court from interfering with . . .

I stop, scan the tall walls of the foyer and its arched ceiling. Surely the fae haven't paid for all of this. I mean, I know the king would give me more money if I asked, but I'm fairly certain they get the bundles of cash by fissuring in and out of bank vaults. I feel guilty for letting them pay for my little apartment-it is stealing, after all-but maybe Shane doesn't. Maybe he feels this place is his due.

"Lost?"

I turn. Shane-I'm assuming it's him because he's standing there like he owns the place-is a few years older than I am. He's wearing an unbuttoned white shirt and jeans, which are slung low on his hips. His brown hair is mussed up, but he doesn't look like he's just woken up. He looks like . . . well, like he's just attended a party.

"I'm McKenzie," I say, just in case he thinks I'm some leftover guest from last night.

"I met you a few hours ago." At my frown, the corner of his mouth tips into a smile. "You were unconscious. Taltrayn carried you upstairs. You a heavy sleeper?"

"Not usually." It doesn't surprise me I slept so hard, though. My insomnia issues disappear when I'm with Kyol, and the last three days-hell, the last couple of weeks-haven't exactly been pleasant.

"He said you had a bad day." Shane crosses the foyer and then, as he walks past me, he says, "You hungry?"

"Starving."

I follow him to the kitchen where he starts a pot of coffee and nukes breakfast: frozen waffles from a box big enough to supply a small army. After the microwave dings, he takes the two plates to a table in a separate room. Tall, arched windows curve around the breakfast area, separating it from the terraced backyard.

"Know how long you'll be staying?" he asks while he floods his waffles with syrup.

It's a good question, one I'm not sure how to answer. I don't want to hunt for a new apartment, but I understand why I can't go home. The rebels traded me for Lena, but that doesn't mean they don't want me back. Aren wants me back.

"I'll leave as soon as I can."

"No rush," he says. "I have plenty of room."

"Yeah. This place"-my eyes take in the view outside, the stone archways inside, and the marble fireplace in the next room-"it's . . . big."

"Extravagant, you mean." His crooked grin says he's not ashamed of the fact. He cuts into his waffles. "The Court doesn't care where I live so long as it's near a gate, so I picked a place that suited me." At the look on my face, he adds, "What? I risk my life for them. I've earned this, especially lately."

No one needs a place like this, but I don't open that debate right now. Instead, I focus on the last part of what he said. "What do you mean by 'lately'?"

Around a mouthful of waffle, he says, "They've been keeping me busy these last few weeks."

"Busier than usual?"

"Yeah. They used to only need me when the rebels attacked, but they've started going on the offensive. Have you heard of the Butcher of Brykeld?"

Slowly, I nod.

"He abducted the Court's best shadow-reader. She's probably dead, but they stepped up the search for Jorreb a few weeks ago, started hitting every place the rebels are rumored to be, hoping to . . . What?"

I realize I'm scowling, but I assumed Kyol told him who and what I am. Is there a reason he didn't? He's always kept my name a secret, but the rebels know it now. I don't see why it matters anymore.

"I'm not dead," I tell Shane.

"You're not . . ." His eyes widen. "Shit. I thought you just had the Sight. I didn't know you could read shadows. Shit," he says again. "You're lucky to be alive."

Uncomfortable, I grab my fork. "Do you have people over here often?"

He doesn't resist the subject change. With a shrug, he slouches back in his chair. "I have people over all the time. As you said, it's a big house. It can get lonely."

"You're lonely, baby?" a groggy voice asks.

The brunette who enters the breakfast room is tall, modelpretty, and dressed in a black robe with, unfortunately, nothing underneath.

"Not with you here, sweetheart," he says, pressing a kiss to her bare stomach. I stare out the window while he reties her sash.

"Who's this?" she asks.

"McKenzie." He loops an arm around her waist. "She'll be hanging around for a while."

The girl takes in my long, damp hair, makeup-less face, and plain, long-sleeved T-shirt. "Cousin?" she asks Shane, as if it isn't possible for him to be interested in someone like me.

He laughs. "No relation. She's a . . . business acquaintance. Now, why don't you go get some breakfast?"

After she glides to the kitchen, I ask, "Is she over here often?"

"Carla? Nah. First time." He shovels a forkful of waffle into his mouth. When he lowers his hand, his cuff almost dips into the syrup on his plate. He shoves up his sleeves.

He has a scar on his right forearm. It's ugly, close to two inches wide and long, running from his wrist almost all the way to his elbow.

"What happened?" I ask.

His fork freezes halfway to his mouth. He glances at the scar, then at me, and shadows seem to dance in his eyes. His lips tighten. A few more seconds pass, then he says, "Our job is dangerous." He nods toward my neck. "Is yours from Jorreb?"

My fingers go to the upraised skin. It seems like there should be some residual pain, but the only feeling lingering from my time with Aren is his departing kiss. It's still screwing with my head.

Just like he intended, I'm sure.

I clear my throat. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

Carla returns with an apple and two mugs of coffee. She hands one to Shane, keeps the other for herself.

"Kelly and Joe hooked up last night," she says, sitting in the chair next to him. He grunts in response. I wish he hadn't. She takes that as a sign of interest and launches into a gossip session on the sex lives of people at last night's party. She never once looks my way, but in the middle of an accounting of how many guys Kelly's been with, Shane gives me a roguish smile, and shrugs.

I'm about to excuse myself from the table when there's a flash outside the window. Before I can identify the face peering inside, the fae fissures into the breakfast room.

Shane stiffens but doesn't turn. He isn't pulled in by the shadows like I am. He doesn't see their peaks and curves and his hands don't itch for a pencil.

I squeeze my eyes shut, then focus on the fae. An abira tree is etched into the center of his jaedric cuirass, so he's with the Court, but he's not Taber, the fae Kyol said he'd send for me.

"Both of you are needed. Quickly." His English is thickly accented.

Carla stops talking. The timing makes it seem like she heard the fae's words, but a glance tells me she's frowning at Shane, not at the lightning-covered man standing beside the table.

"Are you listening?" she demands.

"Of course," he says smoothly, but his brow is furrowed in thought, probably trying to figure out why we're both being summoned.

Carla crosses her arms. "Then answer my question."

"I said I was listening."

"The question before that."

"Now, Shane," the fae says. Something in his tone tells me this isn't the first time he's had to urge Shane to hurry. They've worked together before.

"I need to go out for a little while." Shane scoots his chair back from the table. I'm not comfortable with fissuring out with a fae I don't know, but I want more information, and since I can't ask what's going on with Carla sitting here, I stand, too.

"Out where?" She transfers her glare from Shane to me, then back.

"For a walk," he says.

She stands. "A walk. Now? With her?"

Their argument is brief. She insists on coming with us. He tells her no flat-out and leaves her in the breakfast room, fuming. No more than three minutes pass before we're outside, but the fae isn't happy with the delay. He sets off at what, for him, is a brisk walk, which means Shane and I are jogging to keep up.

"Where are you fissuring us?" I ask.

He barely glances my way. "Haeth."

Haeth is a city in the southeastern corner of the Realm. It's near the Adaris Mountains. I've only been there once, several years ago, to use its gate. With the Kerrel Ocean to its north and the mountains to the east, it's a beautiful place, one I wouldn't mind returning to if bloodshed pretty much wasn't guaranteed. The Court must have received information saying the rebels are there. Whether they are or not, I don't know.

Shane's house backs up to a golf course. It's mid-morning and the sky is crystal clear, so we aren't the only ones out. Groups of golfers are waiting for the people in front of them to play so they can take their turns. They're not happy when they have to hold their swings while we cross the course.

"Did the sword-master send you to get me?" I ask, glad Shane is with me so it doesn't look like I'm talking to myself.

"Radath," the fae answers.

"The lord general? He usually summons me through Taltrayn."

When we reach the woods on the far side of the course, I take the imprinted necklace off my wrist and slip it into my pocket. The fae will give us anchor-stones when we reach the gate, and if I fissured with two against my skin, I'd become lost in the In-Between.

"I'm following my orders," the fae says.

"Is Taltrayn in Haeth?"

When he doesn't answer, I stop walking. "I'm not going unless he's there." I've shadow-read with fae other than Kyol before, but not often, and it was always with someone I knew. Besides, I just escaped the rebels, and I told Kyol I want to retire. I don't want to be thrust back into the war.

Shane stops beside me. "I've gotta say I support her, Daz. Something tells me Taltrayn will be pissed if she ends up in Haeth."

Shane's backing surprises me. He doesn't seem like the type of guy who gets involved in things that don't really impact him.

Daz turns, impatience etched into his face. "We have no time to discuss this."

"You can fissure me to the palace," I say, "but I'm not going to Haeth."

Leaves crunch to our right. Another fae approaches through the woods. He's vaguely familiar, but I don't think he's one of Kyol's swordsmen. Most likely, he serves under Radath. Since one fae can't fissure two humans, his presence makes sense.

"What is wrong?" the new fae asks.

Daz tells him I'm refusing to go to Haeth. I stare at the ground, pretending not to listen as they discuss what to do with me. It's convenient, though, being able to understand most of what they're saying, but their conversation makes me uneasy, too. According to them, Radath thinks they can find the false-blood if they attack Haeth. Whether that false-blood is Sethan or Aren, I can't tell.

The new fae holds up a hand, stopping Daz midsentence. "I will fissure Shane to Haeth. Do what you will with the shadow-reader."

He motions to Shane, who gives me an almost sheepish shrug. "See you around."

When they leave, Daz studies me, not looking at all happy. Finally, he lets out a breath and says, "I will take you to the palace."

NINETEEN.

THE FAE KEEPS his word. We fissure to the Silver Palace's heavily guarded western entrance. Behind me is the outlying city of Corrist and in front is a wall of silver that reaches high into the sky. The portcullis at its base is half-raised. A contingent of Court fae wait on the other side, crossbows nocked and aimed. They lower their weapons only after Daz says something about the deceit of kimkis. At least, I think that's what he says. It must be a pass-phrase because the guards let us enter.

The capital's wealthiest merchants have shops inside the walls. The streets are crowded, but we travel quickly-or rather, as quickly as I can since my human pace slows Daz down-and enter beneath the Silver Palace's southernmost spire. I've never toured any of Europe's castles, which is a shame since it would be easy to have Kyol fissure me over there, but I imagine the interiors are similar in some ways: the stone walls, the intricate tapestries, the woven carpets running down the length of the corridor. Not the orbs set into sconces, though. They cast a blue-white light over the stone walls, subduing the atmosphere, making it feel cool and quiet.

"Wait here," Daz says. He heads toward the king's hall before I have a chance to say okay.

There are worse places to wait, though. I'm in the palace's sculpture garden. With its marble floor, glass ceiling, and chiseled stone statues, the place is beautiful. Serene, too. The open-air courtyard is drenched with the morning's sunlight. It spills over the fae sitting on stone benches or standing in clutches, deep in conversation.