The Shadow Reader

Page 6

“Aren!” A female voice shatters the silence. She closes the inn’s front door, then hurries down the porch steps, and the entire camp is suddenly in motion welcoming Aren back. It’s clear everyone here respects him, and I have to admit he has a certain amount of charisma. I watch him grin and shake hands, and though I don’t understand what’s being said, I get the impression he’s shrugging off what he’s just done. That’s irritating. Abducting me might not have been difficult, but there will be repercussions. I’ll make sure of it.
The woman who called Aren’s name rushes forward and throws her arms around his neck. He returns her embrace, but turns his hips away in a safe-hug. It’s a platonic hug between friends, though I’m positive she wants it to be more. With shells braided through her gold-blond hair and stone bracelets clinking together on her wrists, she’s beautiful. And important, too, if her clothing is any indication. She’s dressed in a bright blue tunic and clean, snug-fitting pants. The material looks expensive, like only-affordable-to-nobles expensive, and her collar and the tunic’s flowing hem are adorned with chips of gemstones. Everyone notices her. Aren does, too, I’m sure, but maybe he has a prettier girl tucked away somewhere?
While he’s distracted with his homecoming, I experiment with a small, almost insignificant step backward. No one seems to notice, so I retreat another inch. I can’t outrun the fae. I guess I’m hoping I can put some distance between me and the camp before anyone figures out I’m gone, but I don’t make it one full stride before Aren turns. I freeze and don my best innocent expression.
“This is the nalkin-shom,” he says to his audience.
I frown. I’ve never learned the fae’s language—humans aren’t allowed to—but I’m pretty sure what he called me is an insult.
“You didn’t kill her,” the pretty female says. She scrutinizes me with obvious contempt. I don’t like her either, and it’s not just because she’s beautiful. The only reason she spoke in English was to unsettle me, to let me know that killing me had been a very real option. The reminder does bother me, but I manage to keep my chin up and glare.
“This is Lena, daughter of Zarrak,” Aren says to me. “She’ll show you to your room.”
Her scowl deepens. “She gets a room?”
“Yes. Make sure it’s one on the third floor. She needs to get some rest before we decide what we’re going to do with her.”
“You mean, before you decide if you’re going to kill me.” A moment passes before I realize I spoke those words out loud.
Aren smiles. “And, Lena, make sure the room’s not near one of the oak trees. I think our nalkin-shom has an affinity for jumping out of windows.” He winks at me. “Enjoy your stay, McKenzie.”
“Come on,” Lena snaps as Aren unbuckles his weapon belt and walks toward a trio of waiting fae. I consider ignoring her until she folds her slender but toned arms across her chest and raises an eyebrow, looking all too ready for a fight. We might be close to the same height and weight, but I’m pretty sure the daughter of Zarrak can kick my ass—I’m pretty sure all the fae here can.
THREE
NEAR AS I can tell, the camp is divided into two groups: those who want to kill me and those who want to use me. I’d like to say a majority is taking my side, but it’s not even split down the middle. Two-thirds of the fae voted with Lena, who seems to be the biggest advocate for my death.
I’m standing on the inn’s front porch with the rebels staring up at me like I’m on some kind of auction block. The sun’s almost gone, and I have to squint to make out the faces in the growing darkness. I know better than to ask them to turn on a light, though. Not only can fae see better than humans in the dark, but I highly suspect they’ve had someone cut off the electricity to the inn. The room Lena shoved me into for twelve hours was stripped bare of everything except a rickety old bed. Not even a lightbulb was left in the single socket in the ceiling. They gutted the house of human technology.
Honestly, I’m surprised they risked transporting me in a vehicle last night. Even if the van was the most basic model, it was a complicated piece of tech, and tech screws with a fae’s powers.
They call what they do amajur. I call it magic. Almost all fae are able to manipulate the atmosphere—that’s how they create fissures between our worlds. Others can create illusions, animate small, nonliving objects, suppress sound, control the elements . . . Everyday things we do on Earth with our technologies, they do in the Realm with their magic. The thing is, because of human influence, some of those magics have become extinct. Fae are no longer able to build gates or glimpse the future. Other magics like healing and empathy are endangered. That’s part of the reason why the Court is at war with the rebels. Aren and his people ignore the laws against bringing human artifacts and culture into the Realm. King Atroth has to take action to protect the fae’s magic.
I refocus on the lynching party. Oddly, I’m more annoyed than afraid. Maybe it’s shock. Maybe it’s foolishness. Or maybe it’s Aren. He’s sitting on a wooden bench a few paces to my right with his boots propped on top of the porch rail. He’s on the “use me” side of the debate, and though he hasn’t said a word in my defense—he hasn’t said anything since this trial began—I figure his vote has to weigh more than the others’. I hope it does, at least.
Lena says something in their language and the fae go quiet. Seconds tick by. As the silence stretches, my discomfort grows.
“It’s decided, then,” Lena says in English, laying a silver-eyed glare on me.
My heart slams against my chest. Tension gathers in my shoulders and my leg muscles tighten, ready to run, but nobody moves. I think that’s a good sign. A majority may have voted to kill me, but maybe no one wants to do the deed.
The scowl on Lena’s pretty face deepens. She unsheathes a dagger from the leather scabbard at her hip, climbs the porch steps, and holds the weapon out toward Aren. “It needs to be done.”
She doesn’t have the guts to do it herself. I think she’s a coward for that, but I’m also relieved. Maybe these people do have some type of moral compass. I imagine it’s a hell of a lot harder killing someone in cold blood than killing them in the middle of a fight; not to mention it’s wrong. The Court wouldn’t do this.
Aren doesn’t look like he’s going to accept the dagger. He’s still lounged back on the bench, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes locked on me. I return his stare while I wait with the rest of the fae for his decision.
He takes his boots off the rail, leans forward. My heart drops when his gaze shifts to the weapon in Lena’s hand.
No. Surely this is a ploy. He isn’t going to kill me. He needs me. He’s just trying to scare me into cooperating. Right? Right?
When he takes the dagger, I dig my fingernails into my palms to keep my hands from shaking.
“Sure you don’t want to read the shadows for us?” Aren asks. None of his usual mirth is in his voice. He’s completely serious. He’s going to kill me if I don’t do what he wants.
“Trade me,” I blurt out.
He cocks his head to the side and his eyes leave mine to travel slowly down to my feet and then slowly back up. The tiniest smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.