“I told Atroth I would handle her,” Radath says without turning.

“I will handle her,” Kyol says. I’m not sure if his coldness is directed at Radath or at me.

“You already had an opportunity to make her cooperate,” Radath says, switching to Fae. “You failed. She’s no longer your pet.”

“You may discuss that with Atroth. He wishes to speak with you.”

The lord general glares at me without rising. I don’t think he’s going to leave. He doesn’t take orders from Kyol, and he seems to enjoy having me chained to this wall. My interactions with him over the years have been few, but I never thought he’d treat me like this. Of course, I never thought I’d give him reason to.

Radath’s shoulders slump. Then, with obvious reluctance, he stands, turning to Kyol. “She’s betrayed our king, swordmaster. Atroth expects her to be punished. I expect you to pry out the rest of her secrets. Understood?”

“Understood.” Kyol’s expression gives away nothing.

Radath gestures to Micid. The ther’rothi leaves my cell first. Radath follows.

He smiles, then lets the door thunk shut behind him.

For a long time, Kyol doesn’t move. A thousand different apologies make their way to my tongue. They die before they pass my lips. I’d do it over again to save Naito and Evan.

“How could you be so foolish?” Kyol demands. I flinch at his tone. “They were safe, McKenzie! You were safe!”

He strides beneath the orb, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I couldn’t stay here, Kyol.”

“So you were going back to him!”

“I—” My voice cracks. My chin quivers. I bite my lower lip, refusing to cry.

“McKenzie.” His voice is pained now. He drops to his knees in front of me, his face drawn and shoulders hunched as if he’s just lost a war.

My heart twists in my chest. Still, I swallow back an apology. Instead, I softly ask, “Can you get me out of here?”

He scrubs his hands over his face. “I don’t know.”

I don’t really have a right to ask it of him. I got myself into this mess; he should make me get out of it.

“Sidhe.” He cups my cheek in his hand and leans his forehead against mine. We stay like that for a long time, him warm, strong, and steady; me cold, wet, and shivering. I feel raw, like my emotions have been stripped away, layer by layer, leaving my soul pink with abrasions. Even the edarratae seem dull and distant.

“If you want out of here, McKenzie, you have to give me something. Atroth won’t consider releasing you without information on the rebels.”

I can’t help the Court anymore. The rebellion might have done things I don’t like, but the Court’s manipulated and used me. Radath’s ordered humans executed, and I’m certain he gave my name to the vigilantes hoping they would kill me. The king’s done nothing to stop the lord general. Kyol’s done nothing to stop his king.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

He lets out a long sigh and then, slowly, he slides his hand up my left arm toward the manacles. When he reaches my wrist, a part of me is convinced he’s going to free me anyway, but then his fingers slip to the diamond necklace hidden under my sleeve. He tugs, and the necklace falls free in his hand.

He touches the center stone and then nods to himself. “This will buy your freedom.”

Oh, God.

“No, Kyol, you can’t!”

“Shh, kaesha.” He places his fingers over my mouth. “It’s the only way to save you.”

I yank against my shackles. “No, wait. Listen. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I’ll do whatever you want, but please—please—don’t do this. Don’t trade my life for his.”

His face is expressionless as he rises; only his eyes betray how much I’m hurting him.

“You’ll hate me for this, won’t you?” he asks.

I nod because I don’t trust my voice. Aren trusted me with his life. He was confident I wouldn’t betray him. If the Court fae show up at the anchor-stone’s location, he’ll think I care nothing for him.

Kyol slips the necklace inside his pocket. “I’m sorry, McKenzie. For everything.”

TWENTY-THREE

THE BLUE-WHITE ORB hanging from the ceiling is the only thing keeping back whatever I hear scurrying in the darkness. It doesn’t keep back my nightmares, though. Some of them are old, recurring ones; others are brand-new. Every time my eyes close, I pray that when I open them, I’ll discover these last few weeks have been a dream. The king’s war will be uncomplicated, the rebels will be clearly bad, the Court will be clearly good. But the world doesn’t work that way. War is never so simple.

Plus, I’d never have met Aren. His kiss doesn’t seem like a manipulation anymore. All his gentle moments, the way he’s looked at me . . . Maybe he really does care for me.

The scrape of a sliding latch echoes in the darkness. The door cracks open. The door shuts. In the darkness, I hear someone suck in a breath.

Please, don’t let it be Micid.

A shadow moves to the edge of the orb’s glow. The toes of two scuffed boots break the circle. The fae advances another step, then another. Light rises slowly up a pair of black pants pulled tight around muscled thighs to a hand gripping the hilt of a sword, to a strong, broad chest, then to an angry face framed by wild, disheveled hair.

“Aren,” I whisper. No, no, no.

His jaw clenches. My chest constricts.

I shake my head. “No, Aren. Please. I didn’t give Kyol the necklace, I swear.”

His scowl fades as he strides beneath the hanging orb and then he kneels beside me. He cradles my face between his palms. “Sidhe, you’re freezing.”

Heat pours into me. I don’t know if it’s from my edarratae, from his magic, or just from being near him again. It doesn’t matter. It feels good. He feels good.

That’s when it registers he still has his sword. No way would the Court allow him to remain armed.

“Kyol didn’t . . . ?”

He smoothes back my damp hair. “You’re going to be okay, McKenzie. I’m getting you out of here.”

I look beyond his shoulder. Kyol stands just visible at the edge of the orb’s glow.

“He . . .” My throat closes up. “He brought you to me?”

Grim, Aren nods once. Without turning to the sword-master, he demands, “The key.”

When Kyol doesn’t move, Aren stiffens. Slowly, he stands. His hand moves back to the hilt of his sword. “The key, Taltrayn.”

“Radath has the only key.”

A moment passes where nobody moves, nobody even seems to breathe. When Aren’s gaze shifts back to me, my stomach sinks. If I’m reading his expression correctly, he’s horrified.

He turns back to the sword-master. “You’re going to make me do this?”

“You can heal her,” Kyol says without a flicker of emotion.

Aren’s shoulders sag—just for a second—then he kneels once again.

“Aren?” I search his face, trying to figure out what they’re talking about.

He tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “This is going to hurt, McKenzie. I have to heat the metal, make it malleable so I can pull it off. I’ll heal the burns as soon as you’re free.”