“Your bloodline is the next purest after Sethan’s,” Aren says. “The nobles would support you.”

“My bloodline is the next purest after Sethan’s and Atroth’s,” Lorn counters. “Besides, my reputation would taint the entire rebellion.”

Lena shifts beside Aren. “Half the Realm already knows you’ve helped us,” she says. There’s not much life in her voice, but at least she’s here and participating, and if she throws her support behind Lorn, maybe Sethan’s backers will consider him. If he lets himself get talked into this.

He shakes his head. “No, they know I’m connected to Kelia and all they know about her is she’s an eccentric.”

“Hey!”

“You are, my dear.” He smiles at her. “Your infatuation with everything human is unnatural.”

She rolls her eyes, a very human gesture that pretty much proves Lorn’s point. Naito leans forward and whispers something into her ear. She laughs and snuggles closer to him.

When her edarratae strike up Naito’s arms, my skin tingles, and I can’t stop myself from looking at Aren. He’s watching me. There’s still a dark edge in his expression. I don’t like seeing him so grave and distant.

I’ll probably regret my next question for the rest of my life, but I just admitted to myself moments ago the rebels needed to consider all their options. I might as well put the idea out there. “Why can’t Lena be queen?”

The Realm’s never struck me as a place where women’s rights are violated. As far as I’ve seen, women are treated with the same respect as men. So why not?

“It’s never been done before.” It’s Lena who answers, and to my surprise, she doesn’t look like she wants to slash my throat. I wouldn’t call her expression friendly, but it’s a definite improvement over the last time she acknowledged my existence. She’s willing to step up. If she can get the support.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Lorn says after a moment.

Nalst speaks up from his spot beside the fireplace. “The high nobles might consider her over Atroth if they believed the Zarrak line contained more of the Tar Sidhe’s blood. They don’t.”

Lorn glances at me, hesitates. After a quick look at Aren, he says, “With Taltrayn’s support behind Lena, they’d consider it.”

I sniff. If only. “I already tried to get him to leave the Court. He won’t abandon his king.”

No one says a word. That’s odd. What’s even odder is, when I scan the faces around me, no one meets my gaze, not even Aren, who’s staring, jaw clenched, at the hilt of his dagger.

Something twists through my stomach. “What?”

Kelia shifts in Naito’s arms. She knows something I don’t. They all do.

“The king’s ordered Taltrayn to be executed,” Lena says.

A chill sinks into my bones. No. Atroth wouldn’t execute Kyol. They’re friends, have been for decades. I wouldn’t have left Kyol if I thought he’d be hurt. Lena has to be misinformed.

But no, Aren’s expression confirms it. There’s a defensive glint in his eyes, but they’re sharp, almost threatening, too.

“You weren’t going to tell me.”

His face is like a stone. There’s no remorse there, no apology.

“Did you think I wouldn’t want to know?”

“You didn’t need to know.” He chunks his dagger down on the coffee table; it slides off the other side.

I suck in a shallow breath. The air isn’t cold enough to quell the hurt burning in the pit of my stomach, and I’m too pissed to do anything but stare. He stares right back at me.

“So sorry to interrupt what I’m sure will be an interesting little quarrel,” Lorn says from the sofa-chair. “But if Taltrayn abandons the Court, the nobles will take note. They trust him. They know he’d never change his allegiance without reason. They’ll consider your cause. They may consider Lena.”

A muscle twitches in Aren’s cheek. “We don’t need him.”

“We do,” Lena says.

“We don’t!” Aren’s eyes flash. “Besides, he’s in the dungeons beneath the Silver Palace. We can’t get to him.”

“We could if we knew the location of a Sidhe Tol.” Lena looks at me.

I grab a sketchbook off the coffee table. I found it last night and started drawing all the shadows I could remember. Flipping through the pages, I find the map I’m looking for. It isn’t my most accurate map—I sketched it in the dirt while I waited for Kyol to speak to the Sidhe Tol’s guards—but the rebels have Sosch. The shadow-reading will take them close enough for the kimki to find it.

“Moldova,” I say, jamming my finger down on the center of my sketch. I’m with the rebellion now. There’s no reason to withhold the gate’s location.

“Moldova?” Naito says. “That’s in this world.”

It is. Aren doesn’t seem to care.

“You give me the Sidhe Tol now,” he all but snarls. “For him.”

“I would have given it to you anyway.”

He laughs.

I dig my fingers into my knees, attempt to hold on to my temper, but I’m too tired for this. “Don’t be an ass, Aren. You need him. If he’s going to be executed, he knows he can’t reason with the king.”

“So that’s how it is,” he says. “You want me to risk my life for his.”

“I—” I stop. Jesus, that’s what I’m asking, isn’t it? With the Sidhe Tol, Aren has surprise on his side, but he still has to get out of the Silver Palace. It won’t be a simple rescue. He might not make it. How can I even ask him to try?

“Aren—”

“I’ll talk to our other supporters. I’ll make them listen.” He stands and abruptly opens a fissure.

“Before you go,” Lena says, “you should shower and change clothes.”

Her suggestion comes out more like an order. Aren stiffens. I’m certain he’s going to ignore Lena and step through the slash of light, but then his shoulders relax. He lets his fissure disappear. “I won’t change my mind on this.”

Lena returns his stare, but says nothing. The living room is silent for a long, tense moment before Aren finally heads to the hallway.

“Somebody is short-tempered today,” Lorn says when he’s gone.

He has reason to be. He’s exhausted and frustrated. He’s lost friends, the rebellion is falling apart, and I just asked him to save the life of one of his enemies.

I scrape my fingers through my hair. I don’t want to hurt Aren, but Kyol would do anything to save me. I can’t abandon him. There has to be a way to help him without Aren being involved.

I look up, and my eyes find Lorn. Maybe?

“No,” he says, preempting my question. “I’m afraid you’ve lost your advantage, McKenzie. The Sidhe Tol isn’t useful to me if others know its location. Besides, you still owe me for saving your life in Belecha.”

“Then I’ll owe you again. Kyol will owe you.” I hear the desperation in my voice, but I’m too worn-out and shaken to try to hide it.

“Now you’re offering favors that aren’t yours to give away,” he says. “No, I’ve done far too much already. My people can’t be involved in a raid on the palace. If Aren has no interest in freeing Taltrayn, then this rebellion is over.”