The Shadow Reader by Sandy Williams Read Free Book Online Page A

coupled with his chaos lusters triggers a warm, simmering sensation in my stomach. It’s not right to feel like this, especially not with Aren, son of Jorreb.
    I break eye contact, willing my body to cool and berating myself for reacting to those soft silver eyes. I try to tug my hand free again. I need his edarratae gone so I can think clearly.
    After another moment, he releases me. I fold my arms across my stomach without looking at my mended palms. Healing is an endangered magic, and it seems wrong that a killer should be gifted with that ability.
    Aren motions toward the front of the inn. “Come, nalkinshom . We need to talk.”
    I keep my feet rooted to the ground. “I have a name. You don’t have to insult me.”
    “Insult you?” He cocks his head. “ Nalkin-shom is one of the least insulting titles you’ve been given.”
    I frown. “Titles?”
    “Yes, titles. Nalkin-shom means shadow-witch. Lena prefers to call you traep-shom . Shadow-bitch. Some of the other names lose their sting in translation, but there’s also shadowscum, map-whore, kin-killer.” He pauses. A grin bends a corner of his mouth, and I swear moonlight twinkles in his eyes. “What? You didn’t know you have the reputation of a killer?”
    “The Court captures most of the fae I track,” I say, trying not to let his smirk get under my skin.
    “Fae children have nightmares about you.” He grabs my wrist, waits until his edarratae leap up my arm. “Parents tell them if they’re bad, the nalkin-shom will come for them in the night, sear them with her lightning, and drain them of their magic.”
    My heart beats in time with the energy pulsing through me. “You’re exaggerating.”
    “Am I?”
    “You’re the false-blood. If the fae tell stories to scare their children, then they’re telling them about you.” False-bloods are like cult leaders on crack. They gather a following of the gullible and disillusioned, then wreak havoc on the Realm, claiming to be the chosen progeny of the Tar Sidhe , the magically superior fae who ruled the provinces centuries ago. I’ve hunted down half a dozen false-bloods over the years, some more successful than others, but all of them violent. Aren’s the real monster here.
    To my surprise, he chuckles. “Come, nalkin-shom . You need to meet someone.”
    He doesn’t give me the opportunity to protest. He lets go of my wrist, places his hand on the small of my back, and ushers me forward. We round the corner of the inn. Either the rebels have all fissured out or they’re holed up inside the house, all except for Lena, who’s on the porch speaking to another fae. He’s new. I’d certainly remember if he was one of the onlookers during my sentencing. His blond hair is long and straight, falling over broad shoulders covered by a burgundy cloak. His tunic and black trousers look rich and clean, and the leather scabbard at his hip is in pristine condition, almost as if he’s never had to draw his sword. He’s either a criminal or a noble. Either way, he has access to tinril , the currency used in the Realm, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s the fae funding Aren’s rebellion.
    He ends his conversation with Lena as we climb the porch steps.
    “This is Sethan, son of Zarrak,” Aren says. Lena’s brother? I hate him already. “Have a seat, McKenzie.”
    He places his hand on my shoulder, guiding me to the weathered wooden bench beside the front door. I sink down, partly to get away from his touch and partly because I’m so damn tired. My stomach growls a reminder that I haven’t eaten anything since a few hours before my final, and a headache pounds behind my eyes. The least the rebels could have done was given me a scrap of bread when they locked me inside that room.
    The fae remain standing. I hate having to look up at them, but I cross my arms, lean back, and wait for Aren to speak.
    “Tell us what you know about the Court.”
    Even though my stomach twists into knots, I keep my gaze