“Good, Lena.” Kyol’s whispered approval is barely loud enough for me to hear. If he wasn’t holding me so tightly, I’d elbow him in the gut.

“No silver,” Caelar says, his hate-filled eyes locked onto Aren.

“I don’t agree with this,” Aren says, keeping his hand away from his sword. “I won’t fight you.”

“You have no choice,” Lena tells him.

“Is something wrong?” The question comes from the man sitting at the window. His wife or girlfriend is openly gaping at me.

“Seizures,” I say. It’s an excuse I’ve used many times before.

“Not in here,” Lena says to Caelar. “Outside.”

Caelar and Hison both open a fissure. Their exit fissures appear a half second later on the other side of the windows.

Aren’s jaw clenches. He shakes his head. “He has a right to want me dead.”

“You’ll do this,” Lena says.

“Lena—”

“It’s an order, Aren,” she cuts him off.

He glances outside. His face is stony, unhappy. He runs a hand through his already disheveled hair, then he looks at me. When his gaze shifts to Kyol, I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re standing. My back is pressed against his chest, and his arm is wrapped around me. He’s not holding me as tightly as he was a moment ago, but our skin is touching, and Kyol’s chaos lusters are zigzagging up my arm. My heart’s beating so rapidly, I barely noticed them.

Aren swallows. I take a step toward him, but he turns away and fissures outside. My gaze goes to the parking lot in time for him to step out of the light.

Caelar’s expression darkens. He raises his sword and swings it at Aren’s torso.

No!

I sprint to the front of the coffee shop, shove open the door.

Aren’s on the pavement. He must have turned his back to the blow because he’s not bleeding; the jaedric he’s wearing stopped Caelar’s sword from delivering a mortal wound.

“Get up!” Caelar barks.

Aren complies. “Brene had information I needed. You would have done the same.”

“I wouldn’t have used tech!” His fist slams into Aren’s jaw. Aren staggers back a step, nearly stepping off the curb and in front of a car that’s circling the lot.

“You would have used fists and blades,” Aren says. “I couldn’t risk killing her.”

“Draw your sword,” Caelar says.

“No.”

“Draw it!” Caelar swings his sword at Aren’s midsection. Aren raises his arms above the blade’s arc and leaps back a step, but the edge cuts a shallow groove in his armor.

Keeping his eyes on Caelar, he unbuckles his weapons belt. “People I cared about died because I didn’t press Brene for answers quickly enough.” He tosses the belt to Lena. “They were her parents, and yet, she’s willing to ally with you.”

“Quiet!” Caelar lunges forward, stabbing his sword into Aren’s chest.

Or, into the air where Aren’s chest was before he fissured out of the way.

God, that was way too close.

“Aren,” I call out. “Please!”

A mom with her two kids frowns in my direction. I ignore her, take a step forward, but once again, Kyol grabs me.

“Wait,” he orders.

I clench my teeth, then look back at the one-sided fight. Caelar swings at Aren again and again. Aren’s favoring his left leg, the one Lena didn’t have enough strength to heal, but he’s able to dodge most of the attacks. I don’t think Caelar is trying to kill him right now. It’s dishonorable to fight an unarmed opponent.

“Fight!” Caelar yells. Aren isn’t able to evade his next attack. Caelar’s blade slices into his upper arm.

Aren curses as he twists away from Caelar. Blood flows from the wound, but he regains his balance, meets Caelar’s gaze, and says, “No.”

Enraged, Caelar sheathes his sword. Then he balls a hand into a fist and launches it at Aren’s face. Aren stumbles backward and, this time, a car does hit him. There’s a loud thump, then Aren’s spinning. He slams into the passenger door, almost gets pulled under the car, but the tires screech to a stop.

My heart feels like it’s splitting in two. What the hell is wrong with Aren? He’s so set on wasting his life. I don’t understand why.

“He knows what he’s doing, kaesha,” Kyol says. “Be patient.”

The driver gets out of his car, looking for whatever he hit, but Aren’s still invisible to normal humans. Aren gets back to his feet and faces Caelar again.

And Caelar hits him again.

And again.

And again.

I try not to watch—I try not to think or feel or do anything—but even when I close my eyes, I hear the thuds of Caelar’s fists.

“Just a little longer,” Kyol says, still holding me. “It will be okay.”

I shake my head. His arm tightens around my waist.

“Let go,” I say, trying to knock Kyol’s hand away. He moves it from my hip to the curve of my jaw, makes me lift my chin to meet his eyes.

“Wait.” Our bond opens fully, flooding me with his strength and confidence. He’s certain Caelar will stop short of killing Aren.

I close my eyes and turn my head to the side, resting my cheek on Kyol’s chest. Hison is standing in my line of sight. He’s watching Caelar beat the shit out of Aren with the most neutral expression I’ve ever seen the high noble wear.

Aren’s grunts of pain grow farther apart. So do Caelar’s blows. It probably hasn’t been more than four or five minutes, but it seems like forever to me. I’m sure it seems like forever to Aren.

Finally, Caelar says, “There’s no honor in this.”

I’m afraid to turn away from Kyol, but I force myself to look. Aren’s on the ground, bloodied and unmoving. He’s collapsed out of the flow of both vehicles and people.

“You will not heal him,” Caelar says to Lena. He’s sweating and breathing so much harder than Aren is. It doesn’t look like Aren’s breathing at all.

“No,” Lena answers coolly. “It would be foolish to attack the false-blood without the aid of one of my best fighters. I will heal him, but I’ll give you three days.”

Caelar’s eyes narrow, but he says, “He’ll have no place on your Court.”

“Done,” Lena agrees. “I’ll need a new sword-master, however.”

He tightens his hand into a fist then stretches his fingers out, easing tension from knuckles that are bloodied and swollen. Ten minutes ago, he clung to the chance that he might be able to find someone else who could rule the Realm. Now, he’s changing his mind about Lena. Her offering of Aren as a sacrifice worked.

“I’ll think about it,” Caelar says.

“Thank you,” Lena answers.

“Not all my people will join you, but I’ll speak with them. I’ll meet you here at nightfall.”

Lena nods.

As soon as Caelar and Hison fissure out, Aren rolls to his back. God, he looks awful. His face is red and swollen, and he’s holding his right side. Likely, he has broken ribs, probably other fractured bones as well, and that cut on his arm is bleeding badly.