The Sharpest Blade

Page 26

“He’s been speaking with Lord Hison a lot lately,” Lena says.
I feel myself scowl at the name. Hison is the high noble of Jutur, but from what I’ve heard, he’s just barely in charge of the province now. A month ago, the fae in his home city were rioting. He blames that on Lena and me, since I happened to be there when things got really bad. Personally, I think they’re rioting because he’s a crappy leader. Of course, my opinion might be biased because he’s not exactly pro-human.
“Any idea what they’re talking about?” I ask. The suspicion that someone might be blackmailing Aren circulates through my mind again. If Hison has anything on Aren, he’s the type of man who wouldn’t hesitate to use it to get what he wants.
Lena shrugs. “Aren’s been talking to all the high nobles who haven’t promised to confirm me as queen.”
My eyes widen. I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open. “You haven’t been confirmed yet? Are you kidding?”
She stiffens. “Transitions take time.”
“You’ve held the palace for two months!”
“I didn’t intend to hold it at all,” she fires back. “The few high nobles who supported my brother have had to be reconvinced that the Zarrak bloodline is strong enough to sit on the throne. Those who do still believe it worry that the Realm will grow angry if we break with tradition and allow a woman to rule, and now I have a false-blood to deal with. I would have been confirmed if Lord Ralsech hadn’t declared his support for the Taelith.”
Lord Ralsech. He’s the high noble of Derrdyn Province, someone I’ve always steered clear of because of his hatred of all things human.
“Are you ever going to be confirmed?” I ask. Her eyes narrow. I’m getting under her skin. I don’t care. I assumed she’d been named queen despite the false-blood’s appearance. She hasn’t, and it seems like the political situation here is worse than it was when I left. Lena’s been running in place this whole time, and it pisses me off. I didn’t join the rebels to fight for the status quo. I joined them because the Realm needed to change.
“Atroth was king for fifteen years,” she says. “That’s considered a short reign. Even in your world, these things take time.”
“Will they ever confirm you?” I demand.
The set of her jaw tells me she very much does not want to answer the question, but finally, she says, “Not until the false-blood reveals his ancestry.”
“Why hasn’t he?”
“Because he’s a false-blood,” she says, practically spitting the words out. “He can’t prove he’s a Descendant of the Tar Sidhe.”
“Then why would Lord Ralsech support him?”
“The Taelith caters to his hatred of humans,” she says. “He’s telling people what they want to hear.” Her hand reaches toward her face—I think to rub her eyes—but she stops herself and lowers the hand back to her side. “I need a majority of the provinces to vote in my favor. I’m four votes short.”
“What about the dissolved provinces?” I ask. “You said you would reinstate them. Surely, their high nobles support you.”
“They do,” she says, “but I’m still short. The nobles in charge of the provinces that lost territory with the reinstatements were not fond of that decision.”
I roll my eyes. “I hate politics.”
She lets out a bitter laugh. “So do I.”
“This can’t go on,” I tell her. “You can’t stay in limbo.”
“I know, McKenzie. I’m working on it. The high nobles—”
“I’m sick of hearing about the nobles,” I interrupt. “Maybe you should stop trying to convince them that you should be queen and start trying to convince the rest of the Realm.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Lena,” a voice calls out from behind us. The fae approaching us is wearing a fitted blue jacket with a gold design sewn into the wide cuffs of his sleeve. I’m pretty sure the loops and crossed threads mark him as an aide.
“Lords Hison and Kaeth request an audience with you,” the fae says. “They’re waiting in your anteroom.”
Lena’s face remains smooth. Her eyes, though, betray her irritation. Hison is one of the sharpest thorns in her side.
“I’ll be there soon,” she finally says.
The aide’s mouth thins. “They’ve been waiting for quite some time.”
“Then they can wait for more.”
He stiffens. Then, after a brief hesitation, he nods and turns to leave. Lena scowls at his retreating back.
“Plotting an unfortunate accident?” I ask her.
Her gaze slips my way, and I shrug. She just shakes her head.
“Come on,” she says, continuing down the cold corridor. “Glazunov’s guard won’t let you see him without my permission.”
When we reach the palace’s prison, I look into the barred windows of the doors we pass. I’m looking for the elari Trev captured in Tholm. His claim that Lena is selling the Sight serum still bothers me. I don’t see him, though. He’s either out of sight in one of the cells we pass or he’s being held elsewhere.
“He hasn’t eaten or drank anything since he’s been here,” Lena says, directing my attention to a cell at the end of the hall.
My stomach sinks. “You’re not feeding him?”
She turns to look at me. “He hasn’t accepted anything we’ve offered him. I need you to find out what you can about the Sight serum. I want to make sure it’s destroyed and that it’s not being given to anyone anymore. If more people can see us, more people will see us.”
“What are the chances of that actually happening, though? I didn’t see a fae until I was sixteen. It’s not like they’re walking around in shopping malls.”
“A number of tor’um have chosen to migrate to Earth, especially in the last decade,” she says. “Atroth shunned them, but I don’t, and I won’t. They’re still fae. I’ll do what I can to protect them.”
We reach the door at the end of the corridor. The guard opens it at Lena’s request, revealing a small room with a cot against the right wall and a pot in a corner. Glazunov sits against the left wall, a tray of food and water untouched at his feet. He looks awful, pale and gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes and dry, cracked lips. His clothes—the same ones he was wearing when he was tied to my bed—hang off his slumped shoulders, looking like they’re a size too big now. It’s a huge change, especially considering he’s only been here about three days, Earth time.
“I’ll leave you with him,” Lena says. “The guard is trustworthy, and he doesn’t understand English. You can talk about the serum freely. When you’re finished here, I’d like to speak with you again.”
I nod without looking at her. Glazunov has gathered up what strength he has left and is giving me a murderous glare. It’s not intimidating at all, though. He might be able to stand, but I doubt he’s able to do so quickly.
Entering the cell, I sit cross-legged a few feet away from him. The tray of food and water is between us.