“Open the doors,” Lena orders as the guards double tap the pommels of their sheathed swords in a salute. There’s a smaller, more practical door to the right she could leave through, but if my hunch is right, Lena intends to make a scene.

“A crowd is gathered on the plaza—”

“Good,” she interrupts the guard. He glances uncertainly at the other fae standing sentry.

“Lena,” Trev tries again, this time jogging to get in front of her. “You can’t leave the palace like this. It’s dangerous.”

“No one’s expecting me,” she says, sidestepping him.

Trev places a hand on her shoulder. “You need more guards.”

She freezes, and an icy silver gaze locks on the hand that’s touching her. Trev goes still as well, looking at his hand as if he’s not sure how it got there.

He snatches the hand away, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Fear? No, that doesn’t make sense. Lena isn’t the type of person who’s going to say “off with his head” for a mere touch. Maybe it was a flash of disbelief? Not just for going against her wishes and touching her in public, though. If that was it, he would have apologized immediately. He doesn’t apologize at all.

Lena steps around him. When she passes, he runs his hand over his face. It’s definitely the gesture of someone who can’t believe what he’s just done, but there’s more to it than that. If I had to guess, I’d say he can’t believe what he almost just revealed.

Trev cares about Lena.

Aren cares about her, too, I tell myself. That doesn’t mean he’s into her. They’re friends. Trev’s probably her friend, too.

Probably.

Trev looks at me. My expression must betray my suspicion because his face darkens. “Say a word, and I’ll kill you.”

Holy hell, I’m right. He is into her. No wonder he puts up with her giving him crappy assignments like chauffeuring me to and from the Realm and babysitting Kynlee. He does anything she asks.

“I mean it, McKenzie,” he says.

I try really hard not to grin. That becomes a whole lot easier when I see the huge, double doors start to swing open. Lena’s serious about going out there.

Still holding my two huge ledgers, I bump into Trev, urging him to turn. He curses when he sees her step to the threshold.

“Find Jorreb and Taltrayn,” he barks at the nearest guard. “Bring them here. Now!”

“Taltrayn’s already on his way,” I say before I think better of it.

Trev scowls at me. “What?”

“I sent for him before I saw you,” I improvise. Kyol’s on his way, but he’s not hurrying, probably because my emotions are confusing the hell out of him. Between questioning the vigilante, the make-out session with Aren, and the rush of fear Lord Kaeth injected into me, he has no idea what’s going on with me. I totally have to apologize to him later.

Lena waits until the doors are completely open and she’s lit by a stream of golden sunlight before she steps outside. The plaza is crowded, and not just by fae going about their normal business. I can’t even see the kiosks that are typically set up around the perimeter. People clothed in blues and grays are gathered in groups throughout the open area, and there’s a buzz in the air, an energy that’s just barely on this side of chaos. One wrong move, and I have the feeling this crowd won’t be civil for long.

Being here is a really bad idea.

Trev issues more orders, calling for swordsmen to follow us.

“Stay with Lena,” he says to me. “Watch for illusions and . . .” His gaze dips to my waist. He mutters something under his breath, motions to a swordsman, then plops the ledger I gave him back onto my stack.

“Trev,” I grate out, because it’s not like these books are light. Then I feel him fastening a belt around my waist. A sword slaps against my left leg.

He looks me in the eye as he makes the buckle a notch too tight. “If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you.”

“You’re just throwing around the death threats today, aren’t you?” My scowl is mostly fake, partly because I’m ridiculously happy that I have something on Trev and partly because I have no intention of letting anything happen to Lena.

Still carrying all three tomes, I run to take up a position to Lena’s left. Before she’s taken a dozen steps out of the palace, the swordsmen Trev called on for help create a semicircle around us.

Several hundred fae are gathered here. I finally catch a glimpse of a few of the kiosks on the perimeter, see their colorful canopies, which are designed to attract attention and keep off the sun. Their owners sell everything from fruits, grains, and meats to silver dust and anchor-stones, and they’re usually the reason fae come to this plaza. Not today, though. They’re here now to make their complaints known.

Lena’s guards effectively keep the crowd away, but they look uneasy. Understandably so. With this many people out, it’ll be difficult to protect her from an attack. The silver wall surrounding the Inner City prevents fae from fissuring, but it doesn’t prevent them from using magic, throwing a dagger, or aiming an arrow her way.

A cool, gentle breeze moves through the plaza, but when Lena reaches the center of the cobblestoned area, the wind picks up. It’s unnaturally strong, circling through the crowd and making cloaks and capes whip around their legs. Two giant blue flags, both sewn with Lena’s symbol, come to life as well. Their poles are set to either side of the doors we just exited, and each time they snap in the wind, it sounds like a firecracker’s exploding behind my ear.

This is a powerful display of Lena’s magic, and it captures the attention of the fae gathered in the plaza. They frown up at the clear blue sky. These kind of gales only come when there’s a strong storm rolling in . . . or when an incredibly strong air-weaver is present.

One by one, everyone’s gazes lock on Lena. Trev and I and the rest of her guards are standing a few paces away from her, so it’s easy for the nearest fae to spot her. The buzz of conversation abates, then dissolves completely.

A few seconds later, the wind disappears as well. There’s not even a breeze in the plaza anymore. Everything and everyone is seemingly frozen.

Except Lena. She tosses the book she’s carrying to the ground in front of her.

“King Atroth’s ledgers,” she calls out, making the air carry her voice across the entire plaza.

“I promised you changes,” she continues. “The high nobles are promising you the status quo. The last signature was written over two months ago. Who here would like to record your magics? Your children’s magics?”

Silence greets her words. I scan the faces of the fae. Some of them are shifting awkwardly, some of them are staring at me. If this is her idea of a motivational speech, she’s not off to an awesome start.

“I promised you changes,” Lena calls out again. She turns to me, grabs the top book off my stack. She opens it, then she places her palm on the center of one of the pages. She’s not adept enough at fire to throw it, but she has no trouble making tiny flames lick over her fingers.

“Here’s your first change.”

I watch the page ignite, and despite knowing how much the fae hate the ledgers, horror creeps over me. I mean, the book is a book. It’s huge and heavy, but it’s carefully bound, and the cover is etched with an ornate design in silver. Each ledger looks like . . . Well, they look like the types of books you’d keep protected in a glass case. Plus, I am—or rather, I was—an English major. Everything in me objects to the burning of books.