Oh, shit. There are plenty of fae around. The guard Lorn disarmed glances between me and the gate. In his eyes, I practically see his plan take shape.

He charges me.

I slash. I don't expect to cut through anything except air, but he's faster than a human; he reaches me too soon. My blade slices into his belly, gets stuck on something inside him, then rips the rest of the way through.

I put up a hand to keep him from barreling into me. My palm presses against hot blood and-and, oh God, I think it's his intestines-before he collapses.

I'm still staring at him when Lorn grabs me. Still staring as Lorn drags me to the gate. Staring, still staring, as Lorn dips his hand into the river and opens a gated-fissure. The swordsman disappears into the ether the moment we disappear into the In-Between.

TWENTY-FIVE.

I RETCH INTO the toilet, clutching the porcelain lid. I don't know whether to keep my eyes open or shut. If I open them, I'll see the bright red blood my hands smeared across the white seat. If I close them, I'll see the pale, pain-stricken face of the fae I killed.

The fae I killed.

My stomach lurches again. I already threw up the minuscule meal I ate at the tavern. Dry heaves wrack through my body now, and I'm shaking. I can't stop. I've seen fae die before, but I've never felt a blade carve through flesh like that, never pressed my hand against someone's insides. I've never been directly responsible for a death.

I should be tried for murder. Yes, it was self-defense but even so, a judge would sentence me to . . . to something.

"Is she hurt?" Aren's voice behind me.

"She's fine," Lorn says from his post by the door. "It's just a bit of queasiness. She managed to kill one of the guards."

Aren lays his hand on my shoulder, turns me away from the toilet. "McKenzie?"

My vision unfocuses. Seeing. Remembering. My stomach churns, and I want desperately to go back into the In-Between where it's too bright to see and too cold to think.

"I'm quite impressed, actually," Lorn says. "I didn't know human girls were capable of killing."

"Shut up, Lorn." Aren takes my chin in his hand. "Look at me, McKenzie. Look at me."

I force myself to meet his silver eyes. I try to ignore the smear of red across his jaw, ignore the fact that the hands touching me have killed so many more fae than I have.

"McKenzie?" Aren smoothes my hair away from my face.

I'm not crying. Why am I not crying? I just killed a man.

"It's okay, McKenzie."

It's not okay. "Where are we?"

The skin at the corners of Aren's eyes tighten. "We're in Colorado. Naito lives here."

"Is he here?" I ask. I manage to stand without his help.

"We haven't found him yet."

I can't take the way he's looking at me, like I'm fragile and one second away from falling completely apart, so I nod and walk out of the bathroom.

He follows me to the living room. The rebels have made themselves at home, the few who are here, anyway. Lena's sitting on a camel-colored couch in between Trev and another fae-I think his name is Nalst. Three fae sit to her right in chairs stolen from the dining table. They all look out of place here, and not just because chaos lusters flash across their skin. They're too haggard and dirt-smeared to belong in a house like this. It's not a mansion like Shane's place, but it's put together just as well. Either Naito has a talent for picking out drapes and accent furniture or he hired a professional decorator.

Bottles rattle in the kitchen. Since the house has an open, spacious floor plan, I can see it from the hall's exit. It's separated from the living room by a granite countertop. Kelia's on the other side, peering into the open refrigerator. I think the fridge might be the only working appliance in this house. The lamps are all unplugged, there's no television in the living room, no phone or other appliance anywhere in sight.

"You should eat something," Aren says.

"A drink would do her more good." Lorn strides by. He stops where the dark cream carpet meets the tiled kitchen floor.

"Kelia, my dear. Could you please step away from the cold machine?"

"Refrigerator." She holds out her hand without turning to look at him. "And my edarratae barely register it."

"But it does register," he says. "Really, sometimes I think you're damaging your magic to spite me."

"Here." She hands him a bottle of white wine, then looks at Aren. "There's nothing to eat. We'll have to go out to get food."

"I'll go," I say. Too quickly. Aren gives me a look that I haven't seen since the last time I plotted an escape attempt, though this time, there's no amusement in his eyes. He thinks I'm going to run. I'm not. At least, I don't think I am, but I need time to think. I need time to be alone.

"Perhaps you'd like to take a shower first?" he suggests.

I glance down. Hell. I can't go out in public like this. My clothes are stained with blood; I'd be arrested for sure.

I should be arrest- No. I won't think about that.

"Yeah," I say. "I'll shower."

Kelia sets a couple of wineglasses on the counter. "I have extra clothes in Naito's closet. Someone else will have to go to the store."

"Kelia," Lorn's voice holds a warning.

She gives him one quick scowl, opens a fissure- "Kelia!"

-and disappears.

"Nom Sidhe," Lorn curses. "She could have at least . . ." He stops. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him turn toward me. "You, shadow-witch. Read her trail."

I'm already staring at it. The dancing shadows might as well be magnetized, they capture my attention so fully. She's fissured to the Realm. To the north. Corrist, I'm guessing, because I'm sure she's searching for Naito.

Lorn thrusts an open magazine into my left hand and a pen into my right. I map the contortions shading my vision, turn the page when I zoom in on the southern quarter of the city and scratch down those shadows, pinpointing her location as well as I can.

"Corrist," I say to make the magic work.

Lorn peers over my shoulder. The map is drawn over a diagram of some atom/nucleus thing. Hopefully there's not too much text obscuring my lines.

"Thank you." His fissure slices through the air a moment later. I focus on the magazine in my hand so I don't get sucked into staring at his shadows. It's Popular Science. There's a photo of a corpse in the story highlights. It peeks out between my bloodstained fingers.

My hands itch. I toss the magazine on the counter. Fisting my hands at my sides, I hurry to Naito's bedroom to grab clean clothes.

I linger in the bathroom long after I finish showering. My skin is clean, but not my conscience. If anything, the guilt is worse than before. When the warm, humid air grows heavy, constricting, I rise to crack open the door. I don't intend to leave, but somehow, I end up at the end of the hall. The living room is packed with fae. Aren's speaking to a black-haired man who's shaking his head. In black pants and a richly embroidered jacket, he has to be a noble. Plus, he's brought an entourage of guards-four of them-all armed and standing ready to defend their employer.

My gaze is pulled toward the door. Kyol told me years ago that this isn't my war. I should have listened; I can listen now. I can leave this all behind and start living a normal, human life, a life where I won't be put into a situation where I might have to kill to survive.

I close my eyes, draw in a breath. No. Retiring isn't an option anymore. Maybe the Court fae were the good guys when I first entered the Realm, but they aren't now. I have to undo all the harm I've done these last few years.

I'm about to force my feet to move, to walk into the living room and join the rebels, when twin flashes of light strike outside the back windows. Shadows twist through the backyard. Naito and Evan move away from them along with two fae I've never seen before. Evan stumbles.

"Aren!" I call.

He grabs his sword.

"Naito and Evan," I say, gesturing toward the door as the humans stagger inside.

"He's hurt," Naito says, a needless statement since there's an arrow protruding from Evan's chest.

Aren drops his sword and helps Evan into a chair. He's pasty white beneath his beard, and his lips are dry and cracked.

Lena rises from the couch. "Hold him," she says. "I'll heal him."

Aren grabs one of Evan's shoulders. Naito grabs the other. Then Lena wraps her hand around the shaft of the arrow and yanks.

My stomach lurches, but I can't tear my eyes away from him, away from the blood that gushes from his chest, from between Lena's fingers as she presses her palms over the wound.

Evan's sweating. He stops fighting Naito and Aren and goes still. When his eyes close, I half expect to see his soul-shadow rise up. He's not fae, though. He's human and . . .

I exhale when he nods and mutters a thank-you. He's not dead. Not yet, at least.

Naito straightens. He steps back to scan the living room, glancing at the black-haired noble and his guards, then looking into the kitchen. He walks past me to peer down the hallway before turning back. "Where's Kelia?"

"She's looking for you," Lena says, accepting a towel from Trev and cleaning her hands. "She's fine. Or she was when she left."

"Lorn went after her," I add.

"Lorn?" Naito mumbles something under his breath, then, "She won't listen to him."

"I'll send someone to bring them back," Aren says. He exchanges words with Trev, who opens a fissure and disappears. "What happened to you two?"

"Archers," Naito says, walking to the kitchen. He picks up the bottle of wine Lorn didn't have time to open. "We had to make a run for the gate. He was hit just before we fissured here."

"Could you have been tracked?" Aren asks.

Naito glances into the backyard, then back to Aren. "No. We looked for humans before we made our move."

Aren relaxes. The fae noble says something to him, but the shrrips of opening fissures drown out his words. He and his guards disappear a moment later.

Naito steps to my side and hands me a glass of wine. "You look like you need a drink."

Not as much as he does. Trev's been gone less than two minutes, but Naito keeps glancing into the backyard as if they should have returned hours ago. Seriously, if he and Kelia aren't reunited soon, their story might become a little too Romeo and Juliet.

I sip my wine while he downs half his glass. A heavy silence settles into the living room. Aren sinks onto the couch beside Lena as if he's giving in to the weight of the atmosphere. Nalst and the other fae take seats as well.

"The fae who left," Naito says, his voice just above a whisper. "He was Shyer, son of Asray. His father's the high noble of Criskran. They support the rebellion. Or they did. He just ended his association with us. What happened at Lynn Valley?"

"The fight spilled over to the tor'um's neighbors. Some humans died." After a pause, I add, "Sethan died."

Naito closes his eyes. When he opens them, he drains the rest of his glass and pours a new one. I hold mine out for a refill as well. I need something to dull the realization that I've just joined the losing side of the fae's war.

TWENTY-SIX.

"NAITO!" Kelia's cry jars me awake. My head thumps back, hitting the wall.

"Kelia!" Naito leaps to his feet beside me.

Kelia launches herself into his arms. He stumbles back, nearly falls over the couch. He doesn't seem to mind, though. He balances on its back and wraps his arms around her. They kiss and jagged blue lightning strikes across her cheek. It leaps into Naito's lips and then skates down his neck to disappear beneath his shirt collar.

Watching the edarratae play across their skin makes me aware of the chill in the room. My gaze shifts to the couch, but Aren's not there. Only Lena. She doesn't so much as twitch despite the makeout session going on behind her. She stares at the tiled top of the coffee table. For once, I don't hate her. She's just lost her brother, and I feel like shit for having worked for the people who killed him.

The blinds on the back door rattle. Lorn swings it shut, then heaves a dramatic sigh. "Could you two please restrain yourselves in my presence? I can only tolerate so much."

Naito and Kelia separate. About an inch.

I swallow the sip of wine at the bottom of my glass, then stand to set it on the counter. Aren comes out of the hallway with Sosch perched across his shoulders. I haven't seen the kimki since Aren took me through the gate in Germany, so I'm glad he's here and safe, but he seems just as weary and defeated as the fae.

Aren's gaze slides from Naito and Kelia to me. God, he looks tired. He hasn't showered or rested. He hasn't had time. He's been trapped in conversations all afternoon. Shyer isn't the only fae who's come by to confirm Sethan's death. The Court's announcing their victory across the Realm, and each time the news is passed on, the rebellion's supporters fall away. The whole thing's teetering on a pedestal that won't hold it anymore.

Aren sets Sosch on the floor, then gives me a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. I can't stand seeing him like this.

"Kyol said he'd talk to the king," I tell him. "Atroth might be willing to negotiate a truce."

Apparently, it's the wrong thing to say. Aren's face hardens. He walks past me to go sit beside Lena on the couch.

What? I can't even mention Kyol's name? Whatever. Aren needs to consider all his options. Even with Sethan dead, Radath won't stop hunting the rebels.

Lorn's staring at me. So are Naito and Kelia, but less obviously.

"Have a seat, Lorn," Aren orders, picking up a sheathed dagger from the coffee table. He grips its hilt, point down, between his palms.

I frown as Lorn walks into the sitting area and drops down on a sofa-chair. When Naito and Kelia take the matching chair, I sink to the floor in front of the fireplace and loosely wrap my arms around my knees.