The Sharpest Blade

Page 59

“You’re going to help me.” I intend the words to be an order, but my voice cracks, and it sounds more like a plea.
Lorn sighs. “No, McKenzie. I’m going to stop you. Aren is going to die. You’re going to live, and you’re going to move on. You, too, will have a long and prosperous life. That’s another promise I’ve made.”
All I can do is stare at Lorn. He didn’t listen to a word I said. He’s deliberately and consciously taking this decision away from me.
I explode.
“What is this, Lorn? Your fucking revenge?”
“He asked me for a favor.”
“He made it worth your while!” I shove my hands into his chest. He stumbles back a step.
“McKenzie—”
“What did he offer you?” I demand.
“I’m sorry?”
“What did Kyol offer you? I’ll make you a better offer.”
“Kyol didn’t offer me a thing.”
“You’re lying.”
“Calm down, McKenzie. Yelling will only draw attention, and I suspect you don’t want to be caught with the contents of that bag.” He nods toward the backpack I dropped. “The high nobles will hold it against Lena if you’re found with tech.”
“They won’t find me.” If I do this right, they won’t see me. I’m dressed entirely in black and wearing gloves and a tight, hooded jacket. The tranq gun is an issue, but I intend to shoot Aren’s guards long before they have a chance to see it.
Lorn lets out a long sigh. “You’re risking yourself for nothing, McKenzie. I spoke with Aren just over an hour ago. I offered him employment, and he refused me. He asked me to keep you away from him. You think he’s going to change his mind for you?”
“Third time’s a charm,” I say with a confidence I don’t feel. That’s the biggest flaw in my plan. What will I do if Aren refuses to be rescued?
Lorn’s lips thin into a tight smile. “I promised him I’d keep you safe. I can’t let you do this. I am truly sorry, McKenzie.”
“So am I,” I say, then I tranq his ass.
• • •
NOT his ass, precisely. I aimed for Lorn’s left arm. The dart juts out from his bicep. He yanks it free then his gaze moves back and forth between the dart and the tiny drop of red that’s staining his impeccably clean white shirt.
He looks at me.
“What iss thiss?” His words slur. He stumbles.
I leap forward, grabbing his arm so he doesn’t fall back into the main hall.
“It’s a tranquilizer,” I say, half-carrying him into the darkness of the servants’ corridor. He teeters too far forward for me to keep him balanced. I shoulder him into the wall, and he slides down it.
I lower him to his back. There’s just enough light for me to see his silver eyes blink up at me. He tries to say something, but it’s just a jumble of syllables. His eyes close, then his body goes slack.
Reaching blindly behind me, I grab a syringe from my pocket. I have half a mind not to give Lorn the antidote. He had no right to interfere, and he’s at least partly to blame for our problems with the remnants and the false-blood. But I don’t want to kill anyone, and he did save my life, so I take off the syringe’s protective plastic cover, then jab the needle into his arm.
Seconds later, I’ve recovered the needle, shoved the emptied syringe into my backpack, and reloaded the dart gun. Lorn said the meeting with the high nobles has ended. Hison could be on his way back, or he could linger, talking to the others. If I’m really lucky, he’ll head home to his estate, but I can’t count on that. I might have only minutes to find and free Aren.
My gut knows it’s not enough time, but I won’t give up. I can’t. If I don’t get Aren out of here now, he’s dead.
I pull up my hood, then peek out into the main hall. It’s clear except for one guard standing in front of the closed door to Hison’s reception room. None of the other high nobles had guards on their doors. Aren has to still be here.
From the cover of the servants’ corridor, I take aim. I’m much farther away from the guard than I was from Lorn, and I have zero experience shooting at a target that’s more than ten feet from me, but I line up the sight of the gun and the end of the barrel with a spot on the fae’s neck—the easiest area to hit that’s not protected by jaedric—and squeeze the trigger.
The dart hits low, and the fae reacts so quickly, reaching up to slap at his neck, that I don’t know if the needle actually sunk in.
Shit.
I take out another dart from the inside pocket of my cloak and reload as the fae stares down at the one in his hand.
I raise my gun, but he moves, taking a step away from the door. Damn it, my aim isn’t good enough to hit a moving target.
I’m already running, sprinting up the hallway toward the fae. He sees me immediately, tosses the dart aside to grab his sword. He doesn’t get it halfway out before his knees buckle.
Thank God.
He face plants before I reach him. I don’t stop to watch him pass out; I throw open the door behind him and burst inside with my gun held up and ready in front of me.
There’s movement in my peripheral vision. I swing the barrel that direction. The fae has her sword out. She moves forward. I wait half a second until I’m sure I won’t miss, then I fire.
The dart sinks in just above her collarbone. It doesn’t slow her down. Reloading my gun, I backpedal. Just as the dart slides into place, she grabs my left wrist.
“Who are you?” she demands in Fae.
I keep my head tilted down so she can’t see under my hood, then I raise my right hand, the hand holding my dart gun and fire it not at her, but at a second fae who’s rising from behind a desk to my right.
“Drop that!” the woman who’s bruising my wrist orders. Why the hell isn’t she unconscious? I try jerking my arm free, but her grip doesn’t loosen.
She brings her sword around and stops with the edge of the blade just touching the black sleeve covering my wrist. Her sword is sharp—she could easily sever my hand—but, finally, her eyes glaze, and she lurches forward. I pull my arm free, but not before the weight of her sword causes it to cut through my sleeve and into my skin.
I bite out a curse. The cut isn’t deep—it’s more like an extreme paper cut—but it stings like hell.
I shake it off, confirm that the fae behind the desk is going down, too, then go back to the hallway and drag in the first guard. Not an easy task. He’s freaking heavy, but I get him inside, then close and lock the door. For good measure, I drag the desk in front of the door, then lean against it.
My breaths come out quick and shallow, as if I’ve just gone through half a day of training with Kyol even though I didn’t even lift a sword. I force myself to slow down my breathing, then I take the antidote case out of my backpack and inject the three unconscious fae. Eight syringes left, one still in my pants pocket.
The woman saw my tranq gun. The fae behind the desk might have as well, but Lee told me there’s a chance they won’t remember what happened a few seconds before they lost consciousness. I hope like hell he’s right.
The door the woman stood in front of isn’t locked. It opens into a short hallway with four closed doors, two on each side. With my reloaded dart gun held ready, I try the first one on the right.