“Cleanse?” I ask. That word has been tossed around a lot all of a sudden.

“Cleanse it of everything that might weaken the Realm’s magic. That includes tor’um, human tech and culture, and, especially, humans. He’s particularly interested in capturing the nalkin-shom.” He looks at me. “You have a reputation. He wants you as an example. He’s promised his elari that he’ll skin and hang the shadow-witch.”

My gaze slides to Aren. For the first time, he looks at me.

“Maybe I’ve exaggerated your reputation a little too much,” he says.

“You think?”

Aren gives me a sheepish grin that makes me roll my eyes. It also makes my stomach do a flip.

He turns back to Lorn. “How many followers does the false-blood have?”

“More than he should,” Lorn says, “And they’re quite passionate in their support for him.”

“Why?” Lena demands.

“I imagine it has something to do with his magic. He’s a cacer. He has the ability to put people to sleep with a touch.”

My eyebrows go up. That’s an extinct magic. It hasn’t been around since the Duin Bregga.

“And he isn’t claiming to be a Descendant,” Lorn continues. “He’s claiming to be Tar Sidhe.”

Tar Sidhe? That’s ridiculous. The fae’s Ancestors lived centuries ago. The Realm’s been ruled by half-blooded Descendants ever since then.

I sit back, waiting for someone to laugh. When no one does, I look around the room. No one is moving. No one is making a sound.

Dread slides over me. It feels like someone’s punched me in the chest. Or rather, they’ve punched Kyol in the chest. It’s hard to breathe, and I wish Naito hadn’t turned off the breakers. I need the air conditioner—or at the very least a fan—to circulate the air.

“That can’t be true,” Lena finally says, either fear or exhaustion making her voice break. “The Tar Sidhe entered the ether thousands of years ago.”

“Or they created the ether thousands of years ago,” Lorn says with a shrug. “It all depends on which legends you believe.”

“But either way, they’re all dead,” I find myself saying. The Duin Bregga, the war that erased most of the fae’s history, was fought about five thousand years ago. That’s when the Tar Sidhe disappeared, and that’s when many of the fae’s magics became extinct or endangered. Other than that, my knowledge of the Realm’s ancient history is sketchy at best.

“Yes, they’re dead,” Lena snaps. “Fae don’t live five hundred years, let alone five thousand.”

“Of course they don’t, my dear,” Lorn says. “But if the Tar Sidhe created the ether, they have control of the ether. One might also think they have control over who enters and exits it.”

I’m suddenly aware of Naito sitting next to me. A month ago, the palace archivist convinced him he knew someone who could bring Kelia back from the ether. Naito wanted her back so badly, he believed the fae and agreed to help him escape the palace with Caelar’s brother, Tylan. It’s cruel for Lorn to bring up the possibility of fae returning from the ether again. He knows how much Naito loved Kelia.

“If that was possible,” Lena says, her voice flat, “all the Tar Sidhe would be here.”

“Would they? Or would they turn their backs on a world that’s become polluted with violence and human technology?”

“He’s not Tar Sidhe, Lorn,” Lena says.

He holds up his hands in a gesture of mock self-defense. “I agree. I’m only playing demon’s advocate.”

“Devil’s,” I murmur.

“I’m only telling you what the Taelith is telling his followers,” Lorn continues. “The elari believe he is Tar Sidhe. He’s not telling anyone his ancestry because, supposedly, he doesn’t have one.”

“He has to be related to someone,” Lena says. “He didn’t raise himself.”

“What if he grew up imithi?” I ask.

Lena looks at Aren.

“I would know about him,” he tells her. “We may not have family, but we band together for survival.”

“Maybe he was a loner,” I say.

Aren shakes his head. “If he didn’t have someone he trusted watching his back, he would have been killed. He has ties to someone. The problem is finding out who those ties are to when he may have murdered anyone who had knowledge of his past.”

“So, basically, you’re saying it’s going to be impossible to prove he’s not Tar Sidhe.”

“It’s going to be difficult,” Aren says. “Not impossible.”

It might as well be. It’s not like the Taelith—or any fae for that matter—is going to submit to a DNA test.

“We need to find him so we can question him,” Lena says. “So far, Nimael is the only fae we know who might be in direct contact with the Taelith.”

“Are you so sure about that?” Lorn asks.

She gives him a cold glare. “And you, but for some reason I doubt you’d be willing to reconnect with him.”

“He’s always found me. I’ve never found him,” Lorn says. He sounds a little bitter about that fact. I’m sure it doesn’t make him happy that his network of spies can’t gather the information he needs. “I was referring to someone else who’s spoken directly to the false-blood.”

Lena’s brow wrinkles slightly. She doesn’t know who he’s talking about, but I do.

I let out a sigh, then say, “Paige left me a message. She wanted to talk about Caelar and the false-blood.”

Lena closes her eyes in a long blink. When she reopens them, she stares at Kyol. “We have to assume the rumors are true. They’re allies.”

The life-bond passes along his disbelief—no, his refusal to believe—that Caelar would join forces with the false-blood.

“I didn’t say they are working together,” Lorn chimes in. “I merely suggested that they’ve been in contact. You should talk to him.”

“I’ve made numerous offers to speak with Caelar,” Lena says. “He hasn’t responded. We’ve tried tracking him down with no luck.”

Lorn empties his glass of cabus, then sets it aside. “Perhaps he doesn’t want to meet with you because you’re still sending swordsmen out to kill him and the few supporters he has left.”

“If I don’t send fae after him, he’ll come after me again.”

“Will he?” Lorn asks. “Perhaps he’s just trying to survive now? Or, perhaps all he wants is Aren’s head?”

Lena’s gaze moves to Aren. Mine doesn’t. A decade ago, just after King Atroth took power, Aren exposed the fae Caelar was in love with to tech. Brene was in a position to become Atroth’s sword-master, but she succumbed to the tech, losing her mind when her magic broke. Caelar won’t forgive Aren for that. He’s a conservative fae, but if not for Aren’s involvement in the rebellion, I think he would at least be more open to a discussion with Lena. He’s angry King Atroth was killed, but he wants a lawful Descendant to be placed on the throne.

“Making Aren your sword-master might not have been your wisest decision,” Lorn says. “Your fragile position as would-be queen would be going better if he were out of the equation.” He looks at Aren. “No offense intended, of course.”