By the time we leave the marketplace, I’m shaking and sweating. I can’t get any closer to Aren without him carrying me.

“We’re almost there,” he speaks through my hood again.

Is he trying to comfort me? I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.

I throw him a glare he doesn’t see. He hangs on to my arm as if he’s afraid I’m about to run. Idiot. I’m not suicidal. In this city, I’m as good as chained to his side.

Aren leads me to where Kelia and Naito wait in front of a modest, two-story structure made of tewar, a pale red stone abundant on the east coast of the Realm. At first, I don’t note anything special about the place. Its nondescript, flat façade blends in with the others on the street. The only difference between it and the buildings on either side is the glittery coat of silver painted over its walls.

Lena joins us at the door. No one says a word as she steps forward and taps the wooden planks with her fingertips. I don’t notice the magical ward until its soft hum fades away at her touch, alerting whoever’s inside that they have a visitor. I oscillate between feeling claustrophobic and overexposed in my cloak. It seems to take forever for someone to come to the door. When a fae finally cracks it open, he levels a crossbow at Aren’s chest and wears a scowl effective enough to make me retreat a pace. Aren grabs my arm, keeping me from fleeing farther. At least he isn’t thrusting me in front of him. On the other hand, death by crossbow appeals to me more than death by the hands of the Lyechaban citizens.

“We’re here to speak with Lorn,” Lena says.

“He knows I’m here, Versh,” Kelia adds.

A hint of amusement touches the fae’s silver eyes. “Kelia,” he drawls. “You’ve been absent for months. It’s good to see you again.”

“Let us in.”

A smile curves his lips. He nods toward me and Naito. “I need to see their faces first.”

“You know Naito,” Kelia says. “You can see McKenzie inside.”

Versh’s eyebrows rise just perceptibly, causing a current of unease to run through me.

“A moment,” he says and closes the door.

Aren’s grip tightens on my arm. “He recognizes McKenzie’s name. He shouldn’t.”

Kelia says something about Lorn. I don’t understand all her words, but I think she’s saying he has friends or servants or sources throughout the Realm. Aren’s expression makes it clear he doesn’t accept that explanation. Apparently, it took a lot of digging for the rebels to learn my name. Aside from Atroth, Radath, Kyol, and a few other trusted members of the king’s Inner Court, no one knows who I am. No one’s supposed to, at least.

Versh returns after a few minutes. He opens the door wide enough for us to enter. As we step inside, he says, “Only Kelia and the son of Jorreb need to disarm.”

If fae had the guts to use tech as outdated as a record player, it would have screeched to a halt just then. Never mind that Versh spoke in English; he’s deliberately insulting every one of us but Aren and Kelia. Not asking a guest to disarm when they enter your home is akin to giving them the finger. They’re saying you have so little skill with your weapons you could never be a threat to them. Since I’m human and honestly can’t fight worth a damn, the snub doesn’t bother me. It bothers Lena, though, and from his stance, I think Naito might even be insulted.

“Nom Sidhe,” Kelia curses. Without disarming, she brushes by Versh. “Lorn! Lorn!”

Versh lets her go and waits while Aren unbuckles his weapons belt and hangs it on something that looks like an extravagant coatrack. The rack is the only piece of furniture in sight besides a couch with a broken back in the large room to the right of the entryway. It’s pushed up against a wall that is covered in . . . graffiti, I guess. Fae symbols are scrawled from the baseboard up almost to the—

I duck my head. There are at least two fae armed with crossbows peering down at us from the balcony. Even if they aren’t Lyechabanians, I’m not eager to let them see my edarratae.

“This way,” Versh says. He leads us toward the corridor Kelia vanished into. We take one right-hand turn and then Versh leads us down a narrow staircase. I have trouble seeing in the dim light, but I move toward the blue-white sphere hanging ahead. Four armed fae sit in the room at the bottom of the stairs. They don’t say a word as we follow Versh through another doorway, but I feel their eyes watching us. Watching me.

I hear Kelia before I see her. She’s ripping into a fae seated casually on the edge of a red wood desk. He’s not bothered by her lecture. Neither are the two guards holding their crossbows at ease in the room’s back corners.

Unlike the graffitied walls and dilapidated condition of the front of this building, the basement is painted a deep burgundy and has plush white carpet underfoot. A number of silverframed paintings hang on the walls. I recognize the Sidhe Cabred in one, the Silver Palace’s sculpture garden in another.

Naito brushes back his hood and steps to Kelia’s side. The fae on the desk—I assume he’s Lorn—steeples his fingers.

“Naito.” He greets the human with an insincere smile before shifting his gaze to Aren. “I’m surprised you’ve allowed him to come. From what I hear, you don’t have enough spare shadow-readers to risk losing another one.” He glances at me. “Or two.”

“You know why Naito’s here,” Kelia says.

I don’t know why he’s here. Maybe it’s a male thing, a competition or something. If so, it’s stupid. Naito doesn’t trust Lorn—that much is obvious—but he should trust Kelia. She didn’t leave him when the vigilantes attacked. She loves him. There’s no need for him to risk coming to Lyechaban.

“That was over a year ago.” He turns back to Naito. “And my kaesha insisted I apologize. Surely even humans don’t hold grievances this long?”

“It’s a lack of trust, Lorn,” Naito says. It’s clear the fae is trying to get under his skin, but he does an admirable job of keeping himself together, especially with Lorn calling Kelia his kaesha.

“Ah, yes. I suppose that’s not unfounded.” With a flick of his fingers, he straightens his cuffed white sleeves and stands. “At least I can make this a short trip. I have no intention to increase provisions to the rebellion. Atroth is already quite peeved I’ve supplied you with silver, as minuscule as the amount was. You’ll have to find somebody else to bribe.”

“We’re not here for silver,” Lena says. Even though Lorn has been speaking English, I feel like I’m missing part of the conversation.

“No?” His gaze shifts to me. “I had an interesting visit yesterday. Few things take me by surprise, but when the king’s sword-master himself comes knocking on your door . . . Well, even someone like me couldn’t have predicted that.”

Kyol’s still looking for me. Why does that make me feel more nervous than relieved?

“What did Taltrayn say?” Aren asks.

“Why don’t we have a seat?” Lorn motions to a shiny table to our left. It looks like it might be made out of jaedric. If so, it seems like an extravagant waste of money. This whole room is.

Lorn takes a seat at the table. Lena sits across from him. Kelia and Naito remain standing. I want to follow their example and lean against the wall, but Aren places his hand on my shoulder. “Sit, McKenzie.”