A chaos luster shoots across his abs. Is it dimmer than usual? It’s hard to tell under the dirt and sweat.

“How long have you worked for the Court?”

“Ten years.” I pause, considering how much I should reveal. When one of his breaths turns ragged, I add, “I was planning on retiring.”

Silver peaks between his lashes. “Really?”

I nod. “I was supposed to graduate a week after you kidnapped me. I was going to be a normal human, ignore the fae, and never set foot in the Realm again.”

He smiles. “You could never be a normal human.”

I glare at him, but he’s closed his eyes again.

“Ten years?” he says after a moment. “You were young, weren’t you?”

“Not that young.”

“You still lived with your parents?”

I definitely don’t want this conversation to go there. I lift my feet out of the water and rest them on the bank to dry.

He turns his head to look at me. “Will they be searching for you?”

“No,” I say in a way that should end that conversation.

“Will any humans be searching for you?”

“Yes.” Not a lie. Another couple of weeks and bill collectors will be calling. And it’s possible Paige is missing me. Her sister’s getting married this month and I promised . . .

Ah, hell.

“What?” Aren asks.

“I missed the bachelorette party.”

“The what?”

“A party,” I say. “My friend’s sister is getting married on Saturday.” Paige has never gotten along well with Amy, but she’s the maid of honor. She has to play nice until the wedding, and I gave her my word I’d be at both events to help her keep her sanity.

This is why I don’t have many human friends. Something always comes up with the fae, and I end up breaking my commitments.

Aren stares up at the tree-blocked sky. “Tell me why you started working for the Court.”

I pick up a rock from the bank and blow out a sigh. He still needs a distraction? Fine. “What human girl would turn down the chance to be part of a fairy tale? I was sixteen. I wanted excitement and adventure.” And love, but I won’t tell him that. “The Court offered me all of that. They told me I was special, that I could help them, and that they’d keep me safe.”

“Safe? From who?”

I watch Sosch slide into a rocky, shallow section of the river. “From the false-bloods. Thrain found me.”

“Thrain?” Aren says, as if the name puts a bad taste in his mouth.

I raise an eyebrow. “I thought you false-bloods would stick together.”

“I’m not a false-blood.” He sits up. Too quickly. I can tell he’s light-headed by the way his eyes lose focus. It takes a moment for him to stop swaying. “Sethan’s not a false-blood either.”

“So you say.” I won’t argue with him. If—no, when—I make it back to the Court, I’ll have Kyol look up the Zarrak bloodline for me.

I stare downriver, the direction Aren indicated the gate was in. “I think you’re wrong about the gate. Did you see it marked on a map? How far was it from the inn?”

“About thirty yraka.” He blinks, focuses on me. “That doesn’t help, does it?”

“It does. Kyol’s maps are measured in yrakas.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Kyol?”

Too late, I realize my slip. Aren’s eyes meet mine, and, hard as I try, I can’t keep him from learning the truth. He sees it in me, and a thousand emotions collide on his face. Amazement. Confusion. Horror. I manage to mask my feelings the same instant he does.

“You’re in love with Taltrayn.” It’s not a statement, not quite a question, and I don’t know how to respond. My grip tightens around the rock in my hand. He’ll see the lie if I deny it. If I admit it . . .

What’s Aren going to do? Run off and tell the king? Not likely.

He shifts beside me. “Taltrayn may be my enemy, but he . . . he has principles. He’ll never go against Atroth’s wishes. He’ll never disgrace himself with you.”

“I know that!”

He grimaces. “I’m sorry. That came off wrong. I didn’t mean—”

“The gate’s that way.” I jab a finger upriver, wondering why Aren’s words hurt so much. Is it because he used the word disgrace ? I would disgrace Kyol?

No. I can’t let Aren get inside my head.

“McKenzie.”

I stand and chuck my rock into the river. “If you don’t want me to leave you here, get up. Now.”

Slowly, carefully, he struggles to his feet. I keep my hands fisted by my sides. I won’t help him. I don’t care how much his face pales or how heavily he leans on his sword. I’ll get him to the gate where it’ll be easier for him to fissure and then I’m out of here.

His knees manage to hold his weight. “You’re smart, McKenzie. You must see—”

“Don’t.”

“He’s manipulated you.”

“Just shut up.” I turn away.

Aren turns me back. “He’s agreed to be bonded to the daughter of Srillan.”

I stop breathing. My heart shatters. It shouldn’t. Aren wants to drive a wedge between me and the Court. Between me and Kyol. He’s making up lies to lure me to his side of the war. I have no reason to believe him except . . . I know the daughter of Srillan. She’s a beautiful fae named Jacia, and she’s been around Kyol often the past few months.

Cold, damp air clings to my skin. I’m not shaking, but I feel like I’m breaking apart on the inside. Could it be true? And if it is, why wouldn’t Kyol tell me? Did he deliberately hide it from me? I drop my gaze to the ground, unwilling to let Aren see the questions in my eyes.

Aren lifts my chin with a finger. His edarratae flare out over my jaw. I feel a bolt of lightning strike across my lips. Aren’s gaze focuses on it, then on my mouth, then back to my eyes.

“He doesn’t love you,” he says.

I slap him. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because all my doubts, all my frustrations, surge over me like a tidal wave. I don’t want to face them. Not now.

“I see,” Aren says quietly.

I shouldn’t have slapped him. It’s such a weak, girly thing to do. I should have balled my hand into a fist and launched it at his nose.

“Come on,” he says. “We’ll search for the gate upriver.”

I had every intention to shove him through the fissure without me, but as we near the gate, I realize that’s not going to be as easy as I thought. Aren must have been conserving his strength for this last leg of our journey. As soon as Sosch’s fur begins to turn silver, Aren’s grip on my arm tightens. His face is pinched and he’s bathed in sweat, but he doesn’t feel weak at all right now.

He digs into the pouch tied to his belt and takes out an anchor-stone. It glows briefly when he imprints it with a destination.

“You should let me go,” I say, the first words spoken between us since we started upriver.

“ And leave you alone so far from civilization? And with no boots? No, nalkin-shom. You’ll come with me.”