“How much do you think you’re worth, nalkin-shom?”

“She’s stalling,” Lena interjects before I can answer. “We can’t let the Court have her back.”

Damn right, I’m stalling. She would be, too, if she were surrounded by people who wanted to slit her throat.

“Maybe we can get Roop and Kexin back,” Trev speaks up to my left.

“Or maybe Mrinn,” another says. Others chime in with more suggestions. There’s no doubt I’m valuable—few humans have the Sight; fewer still have the ability to read the shadows—so maybe this will work. I let out a pent-up breath and imagine my chance of survival cranking up to 30 . . . 40 . . . hell, maybe even 50 percent.

Lena looks at the fae gathered on the lawn. “We don’t know if any of them are alive.”

“The Court doesn’t know she’s alive,” someone says. It’s a good point, and I think about recommending they take a picture of me to send to the king, maybe with me holding the Frankfurter Times or whatever the hell the local paper is called.

I snort. Like they have a camera here. Even if they did, no one would dare touch it.

Aren leans forward, rests his forearms on his knees, and clasps the hilt of the dagger between his hands. The world’s waiting on his decision. Again. Must be nice to have that much influence.

His face is expressionless when he stands. I feel cold and detached, like I’m someone else watching the end of my life play out. I’m half a second away from a desperate, destined-to-fail escape attempt when Aren says, “Care to make a wager?”

I blink, then frown. “Wager?”

He hands the dagger back to Lena. “Yes. A wager.”

Okay. I’ll play this game. For now. “Depends on what you’re bidding.”

His smile is full of mischief. “There’s only one thing you’re interested in, nalkin-shom. I’m willing to offer it.”

I pause, consider a snarky response, decide against it. “You’re offering me my freedom?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans a shoulder against the porch column. “If you can map one of my fae to within a hundred feet, yes.”

A hundred feet. Shit. That’s accurate. I’ve done it before—twice, in fact—but I’m pretty sure luck played a role in both of those readings. My luck has sucked these last twenty-four hours. I doubt I’ve had a sudden change in fortune.

“What do you want if I can’t do it?” I ask, though I know what his answer will be.

“You’ll shadow-read for me,” he says. He’s in all-out mirthmode now, and it’s getting under my skin. Even though he knows my reputation, he’s certain I can’t do it. For good reason, too. The best shadow-readers usually map their targets to within three, four hundred feet. I routinely do it in half of that. That’s why I’m an asset to the Court. When a fae fissures to the location I mark, he’s almost always within arrow-range of his target.

Lena steps forward. When Aren doesn’t look at her, she touches his elbow. “Even if she’s half as good as the rumors suggest, we can’t trust her.”

That’s true. I don’t know why he’s willing to make this bet. Does he think I’m less likely to send him into an ambush this way? Like if I lose a wager, fair and square, I’ll willingly work for them, and not pull any tricks?

It doesn’t matter. If there’s a chance to earn my freedom, I have to take it.

“If I lose, I’ll read one fissure.”

Aren’s eyes don’t leave mine. “You’ll read as many as I need.”

“Two,” I offer.

“All of them until I’m satisfied, McKenzie.”

I fold my arms. “If you’re going to be like that, then I’m back to offering one.”

His perma-smirk doesn’t waver. “I’m offering you your freedom.”

“You’re asking me to hurt the Court.”

“They’re not your people.”

No, but some of them I consider friends. I don’t have many of those. If I’m counting only humans, there’s just Paige. She overlooks my odd behavior and frequent, unannounced absences. She’s like a sister to me, and since I cut ties with my mom and dad, she’s the only family I have.

Kyol’s not family. He’s something else entirely.

I ignore the ache in my chest and straighten my shoulders. There’s only one solution here: I won’t let myself lose the wager. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

“Good.” Aren turns his silver gaze on the gathering of fae who’ve been watching our exchange, and then he trots down the steps. He pulls Trev a few paces away and whispers something—a location, I presume—into his ear. They’re standing by an old, wooden picnic table that sits on a bed of white rocks. My attention locks on to something resting on the end of one of its benches. My backpack.

I’m not sure if I’m allowed off the porch, but the closer I am to Trev when he fissures out, the more details I’ll be able to see in the shadows, so I take a chance and walk down the three steps. Plus, my backpack is right there, just a few more feet away. My cell phone is in its inside pocket. My wallet. My collection of anchor-stones.

None of the fae stops me as I walk forward, but hands move toward sword hilts. Worry is etched on some of their faces. Aren and Lena might not think I can pinpoint Trev’s location, but many of the others aren’t sure. A quiet murmur passes through them. I overhear nalkin-shom muttered more than once. They say the word like I’m some kind of monster.

“Ready?” Aren asks. Two more steps and I’ll be standing over my backpack. I want to fish out my phone, turn on its GPS, and call for help, but I stop short. There’s no way the fae are going to stand there and let me dig through my bag. There’s no way I can grab it and run. Attempting it might get me killed.

I plant my feet in front of Aren and nod. “I’m ready.”

Trev rips open a fissure. The slash of white light makes me squint, but it’s only there a few seconds. As soon as Trev enters it, he becomes lost in the brightness. It winks out of existence a moment later, leaving only its afterimage behind. I blink until that image blurs and shimmers, darkens and twists. Shadows creep in from the edges of my vision. They start out as large, elusive outlines. Continents. A continent. I blink again and the shadows shift, shrink, then narrow to a bony spine. A mountain range. East Coast, I think. Yes. Definitely East Coast. Trev’s traveled to a region of the Realm known as Mashikar.

“Give me pen and paper,” I say.

“We don’t have any,” is Aren’s languid response.

I scowl, but don’t look away from the shadows. When I read for the Court, Kyol always has a fae carry what I need. I know there’s paper around here somewhere, but Aren’s being difficult, stalling, because the shadows will stay in my memory for only so long.

“I have a notebook in my backpack.”

“Oh,” Aren responds. “We cleaned out your bag. Got rid of your tech and things.”

This time, I do glance at Aren. He smiles, and Lena laughs behind him. I clench my teeth, close the distance to my backpack, and lift its flap. Two big, bright blue eyes stare back at me. A kimki. It’s sort of a cross between a ferret and a cat with a long, supile body and mouselike ears. When the moon’s light touches its curled front paws, it crinkles its nose and a ruffle runs through its silver-tipped fur.