A chaos luster zigzags down my neck, and my stomach clenches tight. It’s disorienting, having my emotions pushed and pulled like this. I’d be happy with Kyol—I know I would. He’s what I’ve always wanted.
I look at Aren. Edarratae careen through my stomach at the way he drapes himself in his chair. He may look all haphazard and careless, but there’s a certain alertness, a certain readiness, to his posture. Behind that façade, he’s watching me. There’s a hint of tension in the skin around his eyes, almost as if he’s bracing for a blow. I don’t want to hurt him any more than I want to hurt Kyol.
“I’ve decided to help the rebellion.” I slump down in my chair and stare at the table. I don’t have to look at Kyol to know a dark cloud has moved in above him. I feel it settle about his shoulders, weighing him down in a torrent of sorrow. If he joins the rebellion, his betrayal of Atroth will be complete.
Lena unfolds a map of the Realm on the table. “The other Sidhe Tol. You know where they are.”
I bite my lip through the heavy silence. Kyol’s not just betraying his king; he’s betraying his friend.
“Putting you on the throne will only start a new war,” Kyol says.
My mood plummets. Of course, he’s right. Atroth’s supporters aren’t going to go away just because Kyol throws his support behind Lena. Some will convert because they respect and trust him, but a significant number of the others will fight.
“I will make you my lord general,” Lena says. “You’ll decide how the war is fought. Any strategy you don’t like, we won’t implement. Any swordsman who serves in my court and doesn’t live up to your standards, you’ll have the authority to discharge. You will be able to go through the rolls of the current king’s troops and decide which fae will be loyal to us and which fae will need to be sent away. I will listen to your counsel, Taltrayn.”
With reluctance, I have to admit Lena’s not just a pretty bitch; she’s smart, too, and perceptive enough to see that Kyol’s real issue is with Radath, not with his king. But Kyol’s not concerned about titles. If he agrees to this, it will be because he decides it’s in the Realm’s best interest.
Kyol turns to me. “This is what you want?”
One last chance to walk away from all of this. God, I want to. My life would be so much simpler, so much better, if I walked away and let the fae deal with their own problems. And Kyol would walk away with me, for me, but I think a little part of him would die if he left the Realm with Radath commanding the king’s swordsmen. Joining the rebellion is the best chance he has of getting rid of the lord general.
“It’s the right thing to do,” I say. For better or for worse, I’ve just sealed all of our fates.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“THE SIDHE TOL are all in this world,” Kyol says. Aren, whose chair is rocked onto its two back legs, levels out with a thud.
“No wonder we’ve never found them,” Naito mutters. “We’ll need to study the terrain. I’ll get an atlas.”
“How many are there?” Lena asks.
“The Tar Sidhe created twelve,” Kyol responds, referring to the fae who ruled the provinces after the Duin Bregga, the war that wiped the locations of the Missing Gates from the minds of the fae. “But we’ve only found three. Radath will move his troops to secure them and to protect Atroth.”
Aren’s eyes narrow. “If he does that, their locations won’t be secret anymore.”
“He has no choice. He can’t allow you to fissure into the king’s bedchamber.”
I don’t move a muscle. I barely breathe because they’re having a conversation and they don’t look ready to kill each other.
Aren seems to weigh something over in his mind. “We have to assume Radath’s already moved his people, then. That’s a problem. We’ve never had enough fae to take on the Court when they’re ready for us. We have even less now, and without surprise on our side . . .”
Naito returns, handing an atlas and pen to Kyol. “Mark the locations. Then I’ll print out more detailed maps.”
Kyol opens the book to the world map, then looks at me. “You drew him the map to the Sidhe Tol in Moldova?”
“It was the only way to get you out of Corrist.”
I’m not sure how he feels about that. He’s not mad. He’s more . . . pensive?
“I don’t regret it,” he says quietly.
The memory of the Sidhe Cabred floods my mind. I can almost smell the sweet scent of the garden’s flowers and hear the waterfall’s soft rain. When I meet Kyol’s eyes, I’m certain he’s picturing it, too, the moonlight on our skin and the chaos lusters coiling around our bodies. There’s something else in his expression, though. Regret? Maybe he’s wishing he made love to me that night. I wished it for years.
I tear my gaze away from his.
“Radath has to protect all three Sidhe Tol,” Lena says. “We only have to attack one.”
“No,” Aren says. “We need to keep their forces split as long as possible. We’ll attack all three, then fissure to the Sidhe Tol we choose at a designated time.”
“How many fae can you gather?” Kyol asks.
Aren shakes his head. “Not many.”
“Just mark the Sidhe Tol,” Lena says. “We’ll decide where and how we’ll attack later.”
I scoot my chair closer to Kyol to help him read the countries and page numbers in the index. He tells me the countries the other two Sidhe Tol are in. Since I’ve never been to them and haven’t seen the shadows of anyone who has, I can’t draw a map to their locations. Kyol will have to imprint anchor-stones. That might take a while.
Well, it might take a while if he had thousands to imprint. I don’t know how many fae Aren can scrounge up. He’s staring off into space. Plotting, I presume. He’s been in charge of the rebellion’s offensives for almost three years. He’ll come up with some way to pull this off.
I return my attention to the atlas. It takes less than five minutes to mark the approximate locations of the Sidhe Tol. When Kyol’s finished, he pushes the atlas toward Aren.
“I think Montana is the best option,” he says.
Aren doesn’t so much as glance at the map. He’s staring at Kelia, whose chair is so close to Naito’s, she’s practically sitting in his lap.
“I think you should contact your father,” Aren says.
Kelia scowls. I told her Lord Raen’s role in helping Naito escape. She listened, but didn’t seem to care.
“My father—”
“Not your father,” Aren cuts her off. “Yours.”
Naito’s eyebrows go up. “Mine?”
“The Court used the vigilantes to hurt us. We’ll use them to hurt the Court.”
“The vigilantes,” Kyol says, his head tilted slightly.
Aren meets his gaze. “Yes. Giving them McKenzie’s name almost got her killed.”
When Kyol looks at me, there’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes.
“They attacked us in Germany,” I say. “They knew my name and used it to track my cell phone.”
He shakes his head. “We’ve never contacted the vigilantes.”