“Half-assed?” he asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “I promise those were some of my very best kisses.”

He’s dismissing my words with a quip and hiding his feelings behind that relaxed, cocky smile. I know why he’s doing it—it’s his way of protecting himself—but it still hurts. And it still pisses me off.

“Three days, Aren,” I say.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Three days?”

“Yes,” I force myself to say. “That’s how long you have to pull your head out of your ass. Then we really are over.”

Part of me can’t believe I’m saying this. I can’t believe I’m giving someone I love so much so little time to choose me, but I won’t wait for him like I waited for Kyol. I’m stronger now than I was then.

An eternity passes in the span of a heartbeat. Then Aren lets the few inches between us grow to a foot, to two feet.

“Good,” he says finally. He gives me a nod, then shoves his hands into his pockets and leaves.

• • •

GOOD.

Good?

I repeat the word over and over as I climb the staircase to the ground floor of the palace. Aren is glad I’m giving him an ultimatum. And, of course, he is. If three days pass, and I’m strong enough to stay away from him, then he doesn’t have to be strong enough to stay away from me. He’s already proven he’s weak on that front. Nearly every time we’ve been together, his will has broken. He’s taken me into his arms.

I could ignore my own ultimatum. I could pressure him more, attempt some sort of seduction, but throwing myself at him is too sad and pathetic. I’m not one of those girls who can’t live without the guy she’s in love with. Even when I wanted Kyol, I tried to have a life separate from him. I went to college, Paige set me up on a few dates, and every once in a while, I went out to the movies, the mall, and sometimes to a bar. I was okay without him, and I know I can survive a heartbreak now; I just don’t want to have to.

Good? God, Aren is such a coward, either for not trying to work through the life-bond issue or for not telling me the truth about what’s going on. I’m not going to wait around for him to grow a backbone. I’ll find answers myself, and I know exactly where to start asking questions.

Lena’s apartments are on the third floor. Hison is a long-winded fae, and I have no doubt he’ll still be there meeting with her, so I walk quickly through the governing wing of the palace and enter an ornate corridor. Magically lit orbs are set into silver sconces, and the blue-white light they cast highlight the carvings on the walls and ceiling. I receive a few questioning glances from the fae I pass—mostly aides to the high nobles, whose offices are also here—but no one asks where I’m heading. I might have disappeared for three weeks, but my reputation didn’t diminish at all. They know who I am, and they know I’m Lena’s ally.

The guards let me into her greeting chamber, a large, comfortable room with silver carpets and waves of blue silk on the ceiling. Plush couches are arranged in an inviting setup to my left, and to my right is a long desk made from a dark wood. Lena’s symbol—an abira tree with seventeen branches—is carved into its front, and rising from a chair behind it is Andur, a rebel I remember seeing with Sethan on more than one occasion. He acts as one of Lena’s advisors now.

“Lena’s meeting with Lords Hison and Kaeth,” he says in thickly accented English.

“I know.” I eye the door to his right, the one that leads into a small meeting room. When I start that way, Andur moves out from behind the desk.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind being interrupted,” I say before he can emit a protest.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t,” he says, trying but failing to hide a smile. He doesn’t move out of my way, though. No doubt, he knows Hison will be pissed if I walk in.

While he’s weighing the pros and cons of taking on Hison’s wrath, I pick up part of the muffled conversation behind the door. Or rather, the argument if I’m hearing the rise and fall of the voices correctly. I take a step closer to the door, then another when Andur doesn’t stop me. It’s not until I’m reaching for the handle that he says, “I’m strongly advising you not to enter.”

I freeze, expecting him to knock my hand away from the handle, but when I glance his way, he’s returning to the chair behind the desk. I start to give him a grateful smile, but then I hear a word that sends goose bumps prickling across my arms.

Garistyn. They’re talking about the kingkiller.

Forgetting caution, I turn the handle. I haven’t forgotten the problem of the garistyn, but I have conveniently shoved it to the bottom of my list of crises to take care of, mainly because I didn’t think it would be an issue anymore. The high nobles were using the garistyn as an excuse to delay confirming Lena as queen, but I’d assumed they’d confirmed her anyway while I was gone. She said they would.

The door swings open silently. My gaze finds Lena first. She’s standing rigidly in the center of the room, facing Hison and Kaeth. Her expression is neutral, but I swear her face is a half shade redder than normal. She might sound and appear calm, but she’s not. I know her that well now.

“I want their names,” Hison is saying. “I want their locations.”

“I can’t help you,” Lena tells him. “I wasn’t there.”

“We will learn the truth despite your interference.” Hison’s dark blue cape billows out behind him when he takes a step toward her. “One of the witnesses is a very strong ward maker. The ledgers will lead me to him eventually.”

Witnesses? Who is he talking about? Someone who knows something about the garistyn? Only Kyol, Aren, and I know who slid the sword into Atroth’s back. The king had guards in his hall, but as far as I know, they’re all dead. Hison would have questioned them long before now if they weren’t.

Maybe that’s it, though. Maybe he and Lord Kaeth just now found out someone else survived.

“The ledgers?” Lena says, ice in her whisper. “You mean the books that Atroth forced every fae to record their magics in? The ones that are completely accurate because everyone was anxious to confess their abilities so that Atroth could conscript them into his service? I wish you the best of luck with that.”

Sarcasm. Rumor has it those ledgers are mostly false. Every fae was required to fissure to Corrist to write down their abilities in Atroth’s books. I knew about the ledgers when I shadow-read for the king, but I didn’t know how much the fae resented being documented or that the trip was forced upon them. Very few told the truth when they signed their names. If Hison has discovered there’s a witness to the king’s murder, it’s unlikely the ledger will lead the high noble to him. I hope.

“King Atroth saw the importance of knowing the magics criminals and false-bloods could throw at us,” Hison says coldly, arrogantly. “Maybe one day, you’ll learn so as well. Confirm the identity of the kingkiller, Lena.”

“You want to execute Jorreb,” Lena says. “That’s the only reason you’re insisting upon this.”

“This is about justice,” Lord Hison says. “If Jorreb didn’t kill King Atroth, you or he would tell me who did. You’re protecting him.” His gaze swivels to me, standing here in the doorway. “Or you’re protecting her. Lord Kaeth.”