Kaeth moves before my mind finishes translating Hison’s words. He’s on me in an instant, grabbing my shoulders and slamming me against the wall beside the door.

“Lord Kaeth!” Lena yells. “Release her!”

Kaeth ignores her, he ignores the bolt of white lightning that leaps from my skin to his, then he leans in close, and demands, “Did you murder King Atroth?”

“What are you, Hison’s lackey?” I demand, but my voice quivers. A potent, debilitating fear rushes over me. I feel an echoing terror move through Kyol.

“Tell me who murdered the king.” Kaeth’s voice slithers under my skin.

Kyol’s name is on the tip of my tongue. If I want to live, I have to say it. I have to tell Lord Kaeth what he wants to know.

“It’s magic, McKenzie,” Lena snaps. “Don’t say a word.”

Magic? My whole body trembles, filled with fear. Kyol’s sprinting this way now, and I can barely think with his terror mixing with mine. He doesn’t know why I’m afraid.

Hold on a second.

I don’t know why I’m afraid.

My gaze locks on Lord Kaeth’s sharp silver eyes.

“Answer me, human,” he hisses.

Oh, son of a—

I get my right arm free, then slam the heel of my hand into Kaeth’s nose. Bones crunch, and he staggers back, eyes wide. I don’t know if he’s more hurt or surprised that I, a mere human, struck him.

Kyol was right about fae underestimating me.

I twist the wrist he’s still holding as I jerk it back. As soon as he loses his grip, the artificial fear whooshes out of me. Lena steps between us before he recovers. Her hand is locked around the hilt of the sword sheathed at her hip, and the tension is almost tangible in the air. I’m not focused on it, though. I’m focused on the tension in Kyol and the fact that he’s heading this way.

I shut down my emotions as completely as possible, letting only a sense of calm assurance leak through our bond. I don’t want him anywhere near Hison and Kaeth. If the high nobles pressure him, if they threaten me or Lena and demand to know the identity of the garistyn, I’m afraid he’ll answer them. He’ll tell them the truth because he regrets killing Atroth, his king and his friend.

“Get out,” Lena orders. “Now.”

Unperturbed, Hison eyes her. “Afraid the nalkin-shom will answer Kaeth’s questions? That would be difficult since she isn’t supposed to speak our language.”

Lena’s mouth tightens, and I suppress a curse and another wave of emotions. It’s forbidden for humans to learn Fae. The law has been around for decades, and Atroth enforced it just as religiously as the previous kings, but the rebels didn’t. They taught me their language. We’ve kept my knowledge of it under wraps because it’s just one more transgression the high nobles will hold against Lena.

Lena keeps her eyes locked on Hison’s. “You have ten seconds to leave my apartments. If you don’t, you’ll learn my sword isn’t just an ornament.”

Hison laughs. “You won’t harm us. The high nobles would never give you power if you did.”

I’m not as confident about that as he is, the Lena-not-harming- him part. The Lena I know, or the one I knew back before she became interim queen, wasn’t just some figurehead leader. She knew how to fight, how to kill and maim. The role she’s found herself in doesn’t fit comfortably. All she might need is an excuse to be who she was before.

“I want the name of the kingkiller or the names of the witnesses by sunset,” Hison says. “If I have to hunt the witnesses down myself, I’ll have your lord general and your sword-master arrested and you confined to your apartments. And in the end, I’ll still learn the kingkiller’s identity.”

With that, Hison departs, Kaeth following a step behind.

“Can he do that?” I ask when the doors close behind them. My voice is overly monotone because I’m still trying to quash my emotions. Kyol knows I’m not in danger now, but he wants to know what was wrong. He’s still heading this way, and I’m afraid he’ll cross paths with Hison and Kaeth.

“What?” Lena snaps.

“Can Hison arrest Aren and Kyol and keep you locked in here?”

She draws in a deep breath, calming herself, then moves to the window and peers out.

“Probably,” she says. “Maybe. I don’t really know. I don’t have enough support to oppose him.”

“Support from the high nobles?”

“From them,” she says, nodding out the window. “From the people. From everyone.”

“What happens if you never get their support?”

“What happens if I fail?” Her eyes look glassy when she meets my gaze. “Then my brother’s death meant nothing, and the fae who have fought and died for him and who now fight and die for me . . . it all means nothing.” She turns back to the window. “Atroth catered to the high nobles. They’re used to his favors. They hate me because I won’t make one group of people suffer just so they can prosper. They know I’ll lower and equalize the gate taxes as soon as I have the authority to do so. And they know that, once I have access to the treasury, I won’t use the tinril as bribes. I’ll use it to help the tor’um, the imithi. All the fae whom they’ve shoved aside and ignored.”

She looks at me over her shoulder. “Did you know there are fae living in the Barren?”

“I know fae shun the Barren,” I say. I crossed that strip of land not too long ago. Thrain collapsed the gate in Krytta ten years ago, killing thousands of fae and making it impossible to fissure in a third of Sarna Province.

“We think they’re tor’um,” Lena says. “We don’t know for sure, but they’ve been raiding stack houses that are near the Barren, stealing whatever is stored there before the merchants have a chance to load it onto their carts and take it to the nearest gate. Atroth had plans to send his swordsmen to Krytta to annihilate anyone they found there.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. I gave ten years of my life to that king. He never struck me as someone who was capable of mass murder, not even in the end, and every time I hear about something he did or planned to do, I feel like a fool for not seeing what he’d become.

“It was Lord General Radath’s plan,” Lena says, as if she sees the regret written on my face. “Taltrayn spoke out against it. Perhaps Atroth would have listened to him.”

And perhaps not. But she doesn’t have to convince me that she’s better for the Realm than Atroth was. She just has to convince everyone else.

“So you’re no closer to being confirmed as queen,” I say. “What are the high nobles’ alternatives? The false-blood?”

She shakes her head. “The false-blood would have to take over by force. The high nobles may not like me, but they won’t confirm a fae who won’t tell them his ancestry. No, they’ll rule by council until they find a weak-blooded Descendant who’ll agree to sit on the throne. It will be someone they can manipulate. Someone Hison can manipulate,” she amends bitterly. “He might have a candidate already. He’ll tell the others I can’t unify the Realm, but his puppet can.”

She looks so heavy-hearted. I want to rest my hand on her shoulder, assure her that everything will work out in the end, but I can’t promise her that. There’s too much uncertainty in the Realm right now. Besides, Lena isn’t the type of person to accept that kind of comfort.