The Sharpest Blade

Page 66

The Taelith lets out a single snort of laughter. “Any fae can see that the Realm’s magic has weakened over the centuries. It’s due to the humans’ influence. They taint our world, and they will be eradicated.”
“Thrain,” I say loudly. “You’re related to Thrain.”
The false-blood’s grin falters, and I know I’m right. Making the accusation out loud, though, might have been a mistake. When he plasters his smile back on his face, it takes on a more twisted edge. If this fae is anything like Thrain, he has a fiery temper. Thrain could go from calm and reasonable to violent and irate in under a second, and his fists were like steel. I had more than one broken bone when Kyol discovered me.
“Thrain?”
In my peripheral vision, I see Lorn tilt his head to the side. Studying the false-blood, perhaps? I can’t be sure without taking my eyes off the Taelith, and I’m not about to do that. His eyes narrow, and he takes a step toward me.
I’ve lost my sword and my dagger, but I don’t retreat. I can’t. The elari are behind me.
The false-blood stops a few feet away.
“You,” he says in a whispered sneer. “You have changed.”
It feels like a fist is squeezing my heart. He knows me? I’ve never seen him before; I only recognize Thrain’s features in his face. But Thrain kept me in a windowless room. It was dark except for my chaos lusters. Fae checked on me from time to time, but Thrain was the only one who ever entered with an orb of light. Maybe the false-blood was one of those other fae. He could have been in Thrain’s camp the whole time I was there. I don’t know.
But Aren might.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard to keep my whole body from trembling.
“Where’s Aren?” I ask. I wish my voice were strong and loud, but I’m terrified of the false-blood’s answer. Just over twenty-four hours ago, Aren said it was likely the false-blood had killed anyone with knowledge of his past. That list would include Aren.
But Aren can fight, I tell myself. Kyol’s the best swordsman in the Realm, and even he would have trouble killing Aren.
But the false-blood dropped Lena with a touch. He could have done the same to Aren.
“I do believe I see the family resemblance,” Lorn pipes up beside me.
I refocus on the Taelith, see his expression darken.
“Thrain was your brother,” Lorn says, switching to Fae. “That would make you . . . Cardak, I believe?”
“I’ve only recently returned from the ether,” the false-blood—Cardak—lies.
“You must have been busy these last ten years,” Lorn continues without pause. “King Atroth conveniently slaughtered most of your brother’s followers, but you slipped through his fingers. Just like McKenzie slipped through Thrain’s.”
None of the elari react to our accusation. I shouldn’t be surprised. What was I expecting? They’d accept the word of a human and a fae on the false-blood’s shit list and turn on their leader?
Cardak points a single finger toward Lena. Immediately, an elari puts a sword to her throat.
Lorn opens his mouth to speak. I hold my breath, worried he’s going to say something to make Cardak order Lena’s throat slit, but wisdom must enter Lorn’s mind at the last second. He snaps his mouth shut.
The false-blood smiles. “Good. Perhaps you and I can come to an arrangement where you are allowed to live.” He turns his attention back to me. “You, however, must be destroyed.”
Something sharp presses into my back. I can feel the elari breathing on my neck. I don’t have to see him to know he’s anxious to make me bleed. They all are.
My gaze goes to Shane, who’s lying on the floor. He’s alive—I can see his chest moving—but I almost wish he weren’t.
I almost wish I weren’t. No one should have to endure that kind of torture. But if I fight, if I force the elari to kill me, Kyol will die. If I live, he has a chance to get out of Corrist.
The elari grabs my left arm and places his blade just under my elbow. I hold my breath, order my shaking body to stay still, but the second the dagger sinks into my flesh, I break. I twist away from the fae as I grab for the dagger.
My hand wraps over his, preventing him from slicing my arm off, but I’m not strong enough to—
Something white streaks across the floor.
Sosch!
He leaps into the air just like he usually does to perch on my shoulders, only his aim is off. His sharp teeth latch onto the elari’s arm.
I wrench the dagger from the fae, then immediately plunge it into his gut. Sosch hisses, then leaps behind me.
I spin toward my new opponent the same instant Lorn decides to react. He uses the distraction to dodge around the nearest fae, disarming and slaying him. I evade an attack from the elari in front of me and order Sosch to get out of the way. The kimki doesn’t listen, not even when the elari grabs him by the scruff of the neck. I can’t get a clean kill.
Lorn kills a second elari. I have to turn my back on Sosch to defend myself against another attack. I fall back under it, barely managing to withstand the power behind the blows. I try to remember Kyol’s training, try to draw upon the instinct the life-bond has given me, but this fae is fully trained, and he’s furious.
With a viscous chirp-hiss Sosch finally releases the fae he latched onto. He comes to my rescue again, this time doing a double leap from the ground to the elari’s arm, then to his face. I ram my sword through the fae’s side. When his body disappears into the ether, Sosch hits the ground with a squeak, his long body rolling until he scurries to his feet again.
The false-blood curses. He finally looks like he’s going to join the fight.
The kimki readies himself to leap at another elari.
“Sosch! Goldfish!” I yell, faking a throw to the left. I can’t let him get hurt.
His bright blue eyes follow my fake crackers, and I charge forward, catching the elari’s sword before it can sever the kimki in two.
I try to push his sword away. He’s so much stronger than I am. My blade hits the ground, and he kicks it out of my reach. I back up, look for Lorn. He’s fighting the Taelith. I don’t know how he’s still on his feet. Half his face is bloodied and there’s a deep gash on his upper left shoulder. He’s killed more than a few elari, already. Only five are left standing. If he hurts or kills the false-blood . . .
Cardak sidesteps and extends his arm. His fingertips barely graze across Lorn’s jaw, but Lorn collapses like a corpse.
“Tchatalun,” the fae in front of me hisses. There’s an echoing hiss at his feet. Before Sosch can leap up and attack, the elari launches a vicious kick at his head.
“Bastard!” I yell, as Sosch skids across the tile. He’s on his four little feet a second later, but that’s when Cardak grabs him behind the neck. He lifts the snarling and hissing kimki, places his other hand on his haunches, then twists.
There’s an audible crack when Sosch’s spine breaks, then the most horrific, despondent high-pitched squeak fills the air. It echoes through the chamber again and again.
I’m screaming, and Sosch is still squeaking when Cardak chucks him over his shoulder. He’s still squeaking when he hits the floor beside Lena. His body twitches once, twice, three times.
Soft chirps, almost like hiccups, interrupt his squeaking as he tries to make his body work, to pull himself across the tile toward me.