I miss Kelia. It’s weird, admitting that. I only knew her for a few weeks, but we were close to being friends. I think she was honest with me, and I think we’d get along well if she were still alive. I could ask her about Aren. I miss him, don’t know if I’m doing the right thing with him. I don’t know him any better than I did two weeks ago. For us to work out, we need to spend time together, time where we’re not running for our lives or tracking somebody. Not for the first time, I wonder if it’s a bad idea to try to start a relationship right now.

Sara locks up the wine store. I think about following her, but a flicker of blue light in the corner of my vision catches my attention. It’s Trev. The last time I saw him was yesterday back at my apartment. Blood was gushing from a bad leg wound then. Aren or Lena must have healed him because he’s not even limping now.

He doesn’t see me until I close Naito’s sketchbook and stand. His gaze travels down to my feet, then back up. “You’re not injured?”

A couple is sitting at one of the other tables, so I just shake my head, tuck the sketchbook under my arm, and start walking.

“How did you find me?” I ask when I’m far enough away.

“The kimki,” Trev says. “He came to the palace with an anchor-stone and your name tied around his neck.”

Looks like Lorn kept part of his promise. Maybe he’ll keep the rest of it and find out where Paige is.

Trev increases his pace. I’m barely able to keep up. It’s annoying—he knows humans are slower than fae—but I don’t complain. Trev isn’t my biggest fan. He puts up with me when he has to, but he’s never exactly liked me. I helped the king hunt down his friends and family. Like most of the rebels, he has a reason to resent me. Those reasons didn’t disappear just because I joined their side of this war.

My feet are sore, but I jog to catch up with him when I fall too far behind. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

He glances my way for a whole half second. “Lena healed me.”

I frown, then realize he’s talking about the remnants’ attack at my old apartment. He almost bled to death because of me.

“No, not for that,” I say, then I grimace. “Well, yeah, for that, too. But I’m sorry for what happened before I met you. I didn’t know everything that was going on.”

“You’re forgiven, of course,” he says. His accent makes it difficult to pick up the sarcasm in his tone, but I’m certain it’s there.

I don’t jog to catch up with him when I fall behind this time. He can either slow down, or I’ll meet him at the gate. That’s where we’re heading. I’ve never been to Nashville before, but I’ve seen Atroth’s maps of the U.S., and while I haven’t memorized every single gate known to exist in this country—there are way too many to keep track of—I do remember one being on the lake to the east of the city. I’m pretty sure the highway up ahead runs to the west of it.

It takes twenty more minutes to reach a small, wooded cove on the lakeshore. Trev dips his hand into the water without a word. After the fissure rumbles open, he reaches into the draw-stringed pouch tied to his belt and takes out an anchor-stone. Chaos lusters flicker over his hand when he imprints it. He hands it to me, then holds out his arm.

It’s awkward, touching a fae who hates you, but I wrap my fingers around his forearm and brace myself for the In-Between. Cold, harsh air clenches around me, squeezing for what feels like an eternity, before it spits us back out. My body is stiff and sore and pissed at me for traveling so soon after Lorn’s hellish fissure. My vision turns white, the world tilts, and I have to hang on to Trev in order to stay on my feet.

I’m still freezing. I don’t realize why until I let go of Trev’s arm and force my eyes to focus. I expect to be in the Realm; I don’t expect to be in a city that is not Corrist. It’s night here, but the streets are white with snow except for the circles of blue beneath the magically lit street orbs. Long, thin icicles cling to the eaves of the row houses lining the street. They’re single-storied, but there’s quite a distance between their front doors, which means they’re big. We’re in an upscale part of this city, and something about the architecture—the curved rooftops and pale blue stucco of the walls—is familiar. I think I’ve been here before.

An uncomfortable, nervous feeling pools in my gut.

“Where are we?” I take a step away from Trev and lock my gaze on the shadows from our extinguished fissure. I dropped Naito’s sketchbook when we stepped out of the In-Between. I bend down to retrieve it from the snow-covered ground, my heartbeat picking up its pace because I don’t know if I can trust Trev.

“We’re in Rhigh,” he says.

The sketchbook slips from my fingers. A gust of wind flips it open before I recover. I slap it shut, dust off the snow that sticks like powder to its cover. This place is familiar because I have been here before. With Thrain.

I hug the sketchbook to my chest as if it can keep me warm. It was cold ten years ago, too, but I was wearing long sleeves and a jacket when Thrain abducted me, not a thin, short-sleeved T-shirt. After three days in this weather, though, the extra layer of clothing didn’t matter. Thrain didn’t warm the air in the house he imprisoned me in. I would have frozen to death if Kyol hadn’t found me.

Trev starts walking down the street, toward a multistoried, ornate building. The high noble’s home, maybe? Rhigh’s gate is in the other direction.

“Trev,” I call out. Either he doesn’t notice my reaction to this place, or he doesn’t care. It’s probably the latter. He hasn’t asked why I was in Nashville or who took me there.

I hate being on this street with him—there’s no telling who might be watching from a window—so I grab his arm and pull him into a narrow walkway. If he didn’t want to move, he wouldn’t, but he doesn’t shake free until after we’re off the main street.

“Why aren’t we in Corrist?” I demand.

“Lena wants you here,” he returns. That’s it. No elaboration.

If this wasn’t Rhigh, and if I didn’t need a fae to fissure out of here, I’d turn on my heel and leave. With the exception of Kyol and a few others, this was how the Court fae treated me. They were usually more considerate than Trev—they never would have brought me here without a cloak—but they were mum when it came to explanations. When I was a teen, I didn’t have the confidence to demand more information from them, then it became a bad habit, doing what they said without knowing the reason why. I’m not putting up with that from the rebels.

“Why does she want me here, Trev?”

“Because I asked for a shadow-reader.” Aren’s voice comes from my left. A tingle runs through me when I see him. He wasn’t on the main street before, but he must have seen Trev and me slip between these buildings. And he must have been outside somewhere because the wind has made his hair even more disheveled than usual. He doesn’t look like a bum or an unkempt tor’um, though. He looks good. I don’t know how he pulls that off. Maybe it’s the armor hugging his torso and his arms and legs, or maybe it’s the way his silver eyes drink me in. Whatever it is, it makes him undeniably attractive.