Read The Shadow Reader for Free Online Page B

I can’t outrun him. I can’t fight him. With a sigh, I return to Aren.
    I meet his eyes. “Glad to know you’re a man of your word.”
    “I said I’d give you your freedom and I will. Eventually.” He pauses to pass his silver-eyed gaze over me as if he can’t quite figure me out. I don’t like the scrutiny, especially not when something in my chest tightens in response. “But I can’t let you go right now. Especially not after seeing what you can do. You’re amazing.” A small smile finds its way back to his mouth. “I’m sorry, McKenzie, but you’re going to have to stay with us until this war ends.”
    “The war’s never going to end.”
    He shrugs. “I guess you’re going to be here awhile, then.” His gaze shifts to the fae beside me. “Take her up to her room, then find Sethan. We need to talk.”
    Aren takes one last look at the map scrawled into the picnic table and shakes his head as if he still can’t believe it.
    “Aren,” I call when he starts to walk away. I don’t want to say another word to him, don’t want to look into his silver eyes a moment longer, but I have to know.
    He turns.
    “The king’s sword-master,” I say past the lump in my throat. “He’ll kill you for taking me.”
    If Kyol’s dead, I have no doubt Aren will boast about it. I hold my breath and my heart shatters and mends a thousand times while I wait for his response. I’m too terrified to hope, too desperate not to. Finally, after what seems like millennia, Aren dips his head in acknowledgment.
    “It will be an interesting fight.”

FOUR
     
    A S SOON AS the door to my room closes, I waste no time stripping the sheets off the bed. I test their strength. Both are ratty but they’re strong enough to resist my attempts to rip them. Whether they’re strong enough to hold my weight, I don’t know yet, but I’m not sitting here for another twelve hours alone with my thoughts.
    I walk to the window. My room faces a bright, full moon. Its light struggles through the treetops, mottling the surface of the picnic table. The rest of the lot is deserted. I don’t know if that makes me lucky or the rebels careless, but I plan to take advantage of the situation. Problem is, I’m three stories up and two sheets aren’t going to make a long enough rope.
    I try again to rip the cotton. I don’t break a single thread. At least it’s stronger than it looks, but I need something sharp, something that will cut.
    The bed is the only piece of furniture in the room. Kneeling beside it, I inspect underneath for anything that might snag the fabric. The mattress rests on a network of metal links. It’s too dark to see anything useful, so I pat around until I feel a loose link. I work it around until one end pulls free from the bed frame. Once that’s accomplished, I stab the metal through the center of one sheet, brace both my feet on the bed, lean back, and pull.
    “Ha!” I gloat to the empty room when the sheet rips perfectly down the middle. I repeat the process with the other sheet, ending up with four halves. Tying each of these together, I take my makeshift rope to the window and peek out. Still no patrol.
    I test each knot. When they all hold, I clamp down on a sudden surge of anxiety. I have to do this. I won’t wait around for Kyol to save me.
    Kyol’s alive.
    I close my eyes, silently say a quick prayer of thanks. Our relationship—if you can call it that—has been awkward these past few months. It’s my fault. I’m trying to be a normal human. I’ve concentrated on my studies. I’ve looked for a real job. I’ve even let Paige set me up on a number of blind dates. The guys have all been nice, and I’ve tried to like them—really, I have—but, so far, I haven’t been interested in a second date.
    Frustrated, I shove open the window. Christ, it’s loud. It screeches like it hasn’t been opened in decades. I hold my breath and listen. No footsteps sound from the hallway; no voices shout from outside.