“What, exactly, do you have against me, Caelar?” Lena asks.
“You think nothing of the Realm’s traditions and magic.”
“I care more for the Realm than Atroth did. The Realm would be nothing without the fae. Atroth might have claimed his policies were protecting our society and our magic, but they were only protecting himself and the nobles. He cared nothing about the rest of the Realm—the majority of the Realm. He made the strong stronger and the weak weaker. He turned his back on the tor’um, hid them away like they were plague-ridden. You had to beg him to release Brene to your care—”
Caelar rockets to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the floor.
“You have no right to speak her name,” Caelar says.
I grimace, not just because more than one human is staring at me, but because that wasn’t the wisest thing for Lena to say.
“I will offer her and others like her aid and protection,” Lena says.
“Sorry,” I tell the cashier, pushing my chair back. I circle the table, meet Caelar’s furious silver gaze.
“Please, sit,” I whisper as I right his chair. I don’t stand there waiting for him to comply—the cashier is still watching me—I walk back to my seat.
“Where is Paige?” I ask quietly, because he’s still standing.
Caelar’s eyes narrow, but he sinks down into his chair, thankfully without moving it.
“She’s with Tylan,” he says.
“She’s okay?”
He nods.
I rest my hand against my face, hiding my mouth from a human couple at a nearby table. “She should be okay long-term. We don’t think the serum Lee injected her with is fatal.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“She left a message for McKenzie a few days ago,” Lena says. “She wanted to talk about you and the false-blood.”
Caelar shakes his head slowly. “Tylan and I had an argument. The Taelith wanted to meet with me again.”
“Again?” Lena asks.
His jaw clenches. Lena’s getting him to talk. I think he’s just now remembering he’s supposed to be pissed at her. He looks away from the table, as if he’s still considering leaving.
“He gave me the location of the Sidhe Tol my people used to fissure inside the palace,” he says, turning back to Lena.
“That’s how you found it?” Lena asks. “What did you give him in return?”
“Nothing.”
“What did you give him in return, Caelar?” she demands again.
His expression darkens. “If I choose to—”
“We need to be sure we know what we’re facing when we retake the palace,” Kyol cuts in. “Any information you can give us is appreciated. No one wants to leave a false-blood on the throne.”
“That’s why we need to cooperate with her, Caelar,” Hison says, leaning forward without touching the table. “She is our best chance to kill the Taelith.”
“I promised him nothing,” Caelar says, turning a glare on the high noble. They might be working together, but I don’t think they’re the best of friends. “I indicated I would be open to a future meeting, that is all.”
Lena’s eyes narrow. “You want me to believe he gave you a Sidhe Tol—a Sidhe Tol!—without making any request of you?”
“It actually makes sense,” I put in. A quick glance over my shoulder tells me the humans aren’t paying attention to me anymore, so I explain. “We’re assuming Cardak has had his eyes on the throne ever since Thrain died, right? He learned from his brother’s mistake and the mistakes of the false-bloods we’ve fought since then. He knew he couldn’t go up against Atroth, so he let you”—I look at Lena—“the rebels, do it instead. But you were too strong.”
“Because of Taltrayn.” She turns her attention to her lord general. “Very few of the king’s swordsmen would have joined me if not for you.”
“The false-blood used me to weaken you,” Caelar says quietly. His gaze turns somber, introspective.
“You disagreed with some of Atroth’s decisions as much as I did,” Kyol says. “There were other choices he almost made that you and the rest of the Realm never knew about. They . . .” He pauses. “He listened to my counsel on many of them, but in his last days, he chose to disregard all opinions except Radath’s.”
Caelar’s eyes narrow at the mention of the former lord general’s name.
“I would have preferred to arrest Atroth,” Kyol continues, “but I didn’t have the authority, and he would not have allowed it.”
Caelar rests his hands on the table. His head is bowed slightly.
“Perhaps we can come to an agreement on a new Descendant,” he says after a moment, wearing the weariness of someone who’s found himself on the losing side of a war. “Is there anyone you would su—”
A flash of blue light in the parking lot makes him cut off his words. Everyone stands simultaneously. The fae reach for their swords, and I’m poised to reach for the dagger strapped to my leg beneath my jeans.
But only a single fae stands on the other side of the window. It takes me half a second to recognize the face staring back at me.
TWENTY-NINE
“AREN,” I WHISPER.
He fissures inside the building, relief shining in his silver eyes. I start to run for him, but Kyol’s hand locks around my wrist just before Caelar’s chair slams to the floor again.
“You said he was dead!” he snarls at Hison. His sword is out of its scabbard. He takes a step toward Lena, but she’s staring at Aren as if she’s seeing a ghost. We both are.
Aren finally wrests his gaze away from me. He looks at Lena, then at the other two fae. Something passes through his eyes, and I think he’s just now realizing who Caelar is.
“I thought you were dead,” Lena whispers.
Caelar rams his sword back into its scabbard. “This meeting is over.”
“Wait,” Lena says, pulling herself back together. “Please, wait.”
Hison grabs Caelar’s arm. “Listen to what she has to say,” he hisses. “We need her help. We don’t have a choice.”
Caelar jerks his arm away. “There’s always a choice.”
“I did not deceive you,” Lena says. “We all believed the false-blood killed him.” She pauses, draws in a breath. “Since that is not true, you may kill him now.”
“What?” I blurt out. The human couple sitting near the window frowns. They’ve been watching me since Caelar’s chair hit the floor a second time.
“We will not interfere,” Lena continues.
The hell we won’t. I try to rip my wrist away from Kyol, but he only tightens his grip and pulls me into his chest.
“Not a word, McKenzie,” he says. “She has to do this.”
“Riquin?” Caelar asks.
Lena nods. Riquin? What does that mean? Is she suggesting a duel to the death? It’s freaking ridiculous.
“His death must be at your hand and without Lord Hison’s aid,” Lena adds.
“I don’t need help,” Caelar says, drawing his sword.
“And I will handicap him with silver.”