A block of ice settles in my stomach. Defeated, that’s how Aren looks. Aren might be the fae who works out the logistics of the war—when and where and how to strike against the Court—but he’s not a Descendant. He can’t replace Atroth; only Sethan could.

Shit. Has the rebellion just lost the war?

“The Vancouver authorities are there,” she adds. “There were fires. Stray arrows. Human casualties. We don’t know yet what they think happened.”

It’s like someone’s taken an ice pick to my eyes. I press the heel of my hand to my forehead, trying to relieve some of the pressure. A part of me didn’t believe Atroth would authorize the attack. His fae have always gone out of the way to not involve normal humans.

“I’m sorry,” I say when Aren ducks back into the shadows.

He gives me another fake smile. “We’ll get you out of here.”

“That’s not wh—”

“Against these odds?” Lorn shakes his head. “I think I’ll take Kelia and go. I’ve already contributed much more time and energy than I should to your crumbling rebellion.”

His crumbling rebellion. A muscle in Aren’s cheek twitches. I’m sure it hurts, seeing everything he’s fought for fall apart with one fae’s death.

“I’m staying to help,” Kelia says. Lorn rolls his eyes, but doesn’t look surprised by her offer.

He has to help now if he wants to be sure she’s safe.

“Don’t you have people you can bring here?” I ask, remembering the dagger that killed Delan. Somebody in the tavern threw it.

“Lorn’s too concerned about his neutrality to involve his people.” Aren edges back to the building’s corner.

Lorn shrugs. “I’m doing just fine under Atroth’s rule. My associates have no reason to want a new king occupying the Silver Palace.”

This is why I don’t trust Lorn—he clearly only helps when there’s money to be made. Or Kelia to protect.

Aren ducks back into the darkness. “More fae. And they’re moving.”

“Organizing patrols of the lakeside?” Lorn asks. At Aren’s nod, he adds with a dramatic sigh, “It was only a matter of time.”

“We have to move,” Aren says. “I’ll keep as many of the swordsmen away from you as I can, but, Lorn, you’ll have to take care of the ones who slip past me. Stay with McKenzie and Kelia until they use the gate.”

He meets my gaze, still faking confidence. “You have the dagger I gave you?”

I pull it free from my waistband.

“Good. You shouldn’t need to use it.”

Lorn snorts and rearranges his sword-belt. Somehow, I doubt his blade’s drawn blood in decades.

I’m shaking as we inch toward the edge of the building. Aren’s exhausted. Even if he were fresh, he’d have trouble taking on a dozen fae at once. I don’t see how he’s going to make it through this, not unless that number is cut by half.

“Ready?” he asks.

No, I’m not ready. There’s no way this will end well.

He presses an anchor-stone into my hand.

“Wait,” Kelia says before we move.

Lorn peers sideways at her. “Having second thoughts, my dear?”

Without glancing his way, she says, “I can work small illusions.” She holds out her hand. I stare at it for a good five seconds, wondering what she’s doing, when a small smile bends Aren’s lips. He pulls her into a hug.

“That will help.” He steps back and turns to me. “She’s mimicking your edarratae. It’s not perfect, but it’ll be enough to lure the Court fae.”

A decoy. It’s a good idea.

“She’ll fissure out when the fae close in,” Aren says. “I’ll try to draw the others’ attacks while Lorn takes you through the gate.”

Lorn heaves a sigh.

The knots in my stomach loosen a little. This might work. I nod to signal I’m ready and then Kelia and I both pull on our hoods.

We start off casually, just four people strolling down the street. The guards spot us immediately. We’re heading toward the group at the gate. There are more than a dozen of them now. If half don’t follow Kelia when she runs, we’re screwed.

Aren waits until the silver plating is almost underfoot before he orders, “Go!”

Kelia’s hood flies off when she runs. There’s a second of stunned silence before five Court fae take off after her. Aren and Lorn draw their swords. I unsheathe my dagger.

The guards fissure after Kelia as soon as they step off the silver. We run onto it. Aren’s in the lead. He takes down one fae before he can draw his sword, blocks the attacks of a second and third while Lorn and I sprint for the gate.

Two fae block our path. Lorn mutters something under his breath but parries their attacks.

I throw off my hood—they’ve figured out I’m human, I’m sure—and see someone charging at me out of the corner of my eye.

I swing my dagger. The fae’s sword crashes against it, flinging it from my hand and sending a sharp explosion of pain through my wrist. He has ample time to finish me off. He doesn’t.

He grabs my arm. I slam the heel of my palm into his nose. He’s pulling me toward him, so I hit twice as hard. He clutches his bleeding nose, but lunges after me as soon as I run.

Aren steps between us. Kills him quickly.

I escape toward Lorn, toward the gate, retrieving my dropped dagger on the way. The soul-shadows rising into the air prove Lorn’s a hell of a lot better fighter than I took him for. He dispatches another fae, then dips his hand into the river.

I lose sight of him when a swordsman blocks my path. Aren’s beside me. He pushes me to the right as he charges forward.

There are too many. Two more approach, swords at the ready, but inching forward more cautiously than the one whose nose I broke. My little dagger isn’t going to do much good against them and . . . and, shit. They’ve sent for reinforcements.

A dozen fissures slash through the air at the edge of the silver plating. Fae step out of the light. In the midst of their twisting shadows, a crossbow rises.

“Aren!”

The fae fires.

Aren’s not able to fissure out of the way, but the arrow doesn’t slam into his chest. It plunges into the back of the Court fae he holds in front of him like a shield. The fae doesn’t disappear into the ether. His jaedric armor stopped the bolt from going all the way through. He’s alive, so when the archer looses a second bolt, Aren uses the fae’s body to block it as well.

I wrench my attention back to the two swordsmen in front of me. One of them has a deep, ugly scar carved from temple to jaw. I swipe at the air when he lunges. They want me alive; it’s the only advantage I have.

The scarred fae moves to the right, begins to circle. The other one waves his sword. He’s toying with me, the bastard.

I back up to keep them both in front of me. No need. Lorn’s here. He intercepts the scarred fae, manages to knock the sword out of his hand in time to meet the attack of the other guard.

“To the gate, please, McKenzie,” Lorn says, striking high at his opponent twice before attempting a low blow.

The cold night air burns my lungs as I dodge around them. Lorn’s fissure is still open at the gate, but I can’t go through it without a fae.