“You don’t have time,” Lena says. “If you care about either of them, you’ll make Aren do this. He won’t give up on this rebellion until he’s dead or we’ve won. The only way to win is with Taltrayn’s help.”

The shower squeaks off in the bathroom, and snakes coil in the pit of my stomach. Lena knows Aren better than I do. Maybe he will listen.

“Can Aren do it?” I ask.

“If he can put a sword in Taltrayn’s hand, I believe so.” Aren and Kyol fighting side by side? It could work. If they don’t kill each other.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll talk to him.”

AREN’S alone in the study, sitting in a black swivel chair with his back to the door. He stares at the center of a redwood desk and doesn’t turn when I enter. I’m not being stealthy, though. I’m sure he hears me.

This is going to go so well.

Light streams in through the window’s open blinds. On the wall to the left, two tall bookcases are crammed with atlases, loose maps, and spiraled sketchbooks. My shelves back home are the same, though Naito’s look like they’re much better organized. His desk is in order, too—clean, with all his pens in the holder beside a blank legal pad. There’s a jar of anchor-stones sitting there, too. I walk over, pick it up, and study the two world maps—one of Earth, one of the Realm—pinned to the wall. Naito’s marked the gates on both with red pushpins.

I rotate the jar in my hand, making the anchor-stones clank against the glass. “Aren?”

No response.

I bite my lower lip, trying to decide how to reach him. “Taltrayn can help you.”

A short, caustic laugh, and his silver eyes slide to mine. “You think calling him by his family name will change my mind?”

Okay. Bad strategy. “This isn’t about him. It’s about the rebellion.”

“It’s about you.” He stands, sending his chair careening toward me.

I catch it, grip its back, trying to think of a way to do this without hurting him. “That’s the problem, Aren. It shouldn’t be about me. You have a chance to end the war.”

“I can do it without him.”

“How?”

He stares out the window.

“I’d really like to know. Sethan’s dead. His supporters are abandoning you.”

His jaw clenches.

“Think about it, Aren. Kyol knows the king. He knows General Radath.”

Not even a twitch at those words.

“He knows the locations of the other Sidhe Tol.”

“Damn it, McKenzie!” Aren spins. “He lost you! He can’t have you back!”

My heart gives an angry thud. “I left him—”

“Because you had to.”

I dig my fingers into the chair’s leather. “I was leaving him before Radath tossed me into Chaer.”

“Because you had to,” he says again, acid dripping from his voice. “He wouldn’t compromise his honor for you.”

“He was going to tell the king about us!” I shove the chair at him.

He swipes it out of the way and storms forward. “He’s had ten years to make you fall in love with him. I haven’t had ten weeks! Tell me how that’s fair!”

I back away, my heart pounding.

“Do you know what he’s been doing these last few weeks? Do you?”

“He—”

“He’s invaded the homes of every fae rumored to be connected to the rebellion. He threatened their families, knocked around anyone who didn’t answer his questions. If he didn’t like what they had to say, he arrested them. If they fought him, he killed them. Do you have any idea how many of my friends he’s murdered?”

“He wants this war to end just as much as you do.” I hate that Kyol has to kill. I hate that Aren has to, that I had to.

He rams his fist into the open door. It slams shut. “You’d say anything to make me save him.”

“Aren—”

“Go ahead,” he snarls. “Lie to me. Tell me you don’t still have feelings for him.”

Edarratae flash over his face. The blue lightning seems to buzz with his fury. The only time I’ve ever seen him close to this angry was when I called the cops with the vigilante’s cell phone, but after the initial blowup, he turned cold and indifferent. He’s not indifferent now.

I shift my gaze to his chest, watch it rise and fall with his furious breaths. He’s right: I’d be lying if I said I don’t still have feelings for Kyol—I do—but I’m not doing this just to save him. I’m doing it to save Aren, too.

“What happens afterward?” he demands. “What happens when Taltrayn puts his hands on you?” He grabs my hips. “When he begs you to forgive him?” He pulls me against his chest.

My hands go to the hard muscles of his forearms. Lightning leaps up and down his arms, heating my palms.

“Aren,” I whisper.

His mouth is close enough for my lips to pull a chaos luster across the air. I shiver when it sparks over my tongue. Aren doesn’t close those last few millimeters, though. He hovers there, his eyes daring me to initiate the kiss.

All thoughts of Kyol disappear. Aren’s hands clench on my hips when I slant my mouth over his. He’s stunned only for a moment and then he kisses me back, pressing the length of his body into mine. The edarratae pour out of him, into me. My muscles turn molten. They quiver. I slide my hands up his chest to grip his shoulders. I dig my fingers into his muscles as he dips his tongue into my mouth.

A moan. My moan. Warmth coils in my stomach, sinks lower. Aren hooks his hands behind my knees, lifts. I wrap my legs around his waist and weave my fingers through his disheveled hair. Everything’s moving too quickly, not quickly enough.

He sets me on Naito’s desk, then slides his hands under my shirt. Lightning bolts around my rib cage and I arch into him. He kisses my jaw, my throat, the scar along the side of my neck. He murmurs something in Fae, but my body is too full of edarratae, my mind too full of him, to translate.

I kiss him again, sucking chaos lusters from his lower lip. They taste so good, so tantalizing. He’s tantalizing. I press my hips forward, needing to feel him against me. I wrap my hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer, but this time he doesn’t budge. He removes my hands one at a time.

“Fine,” he says, his words coming out breathless. “I’ll save your precious sword-master, McKenzie. But I will never, ever give you back to him.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

“WOULD YOU PLEASE stop pacing?” Kelia says. Again. I ignore her. Again.

Pacing is the only way I can stay awake. The one time I closed my eyes I dreamed UPS delivered Aren’s and Kyol’s heads to the front door. When I tore the tape off the box containing Aren’s head, rage-filled eyes of red, not silver, glared up at me. I jerked awake, a scream lodged in my throat, when he accused me of killing him.

No. There will be no sleep for me, not until I know they’re both safe.

I walk from the back door toward the front, glancing at the time on the oven along the way. It clicks to 3:04.

They should be back by now. Aren took every fae but Lena and Kelia with him when he fissured out five hours ago. I shadow-read for the Court long enough to know the king’s men usually come out the victors of any battle that lasts more than half an hour. The rebels have always executed quick, surprise attacks, hitting their target and fleeing before the Court sends reinforcements. This isn’t good, Aren and his men being gone so long.