Sandy Williams - The Shattered Dark

People say second books are harder to write than first books. Thats especially true when you have twins a few months before your deadline. This book wouldnt have been written if it werent for a few awesome people.

My mom, who made the five-hour trip between Houston and Dallas more times than I can count. Thank you for watching the boys so I could work. The same gratitude goes to my husband, who was on baby duty every evening and weekend for months, and to my grandmother, who helped keep me sane on the days I was home alone, juggling the babies and a deadline. I couldnt have done this without your sacrifices and support!

I also have to give a shout-out to Rissa Westerfield, who has taken such great care of my boys. I dont think any of us would have survived without you!

Mega gratitude goes to my beta readers, Shelli Richard and Renee Sweet. Renee, your comments are always spot-on, and they never fail to make me laugh. Thanks so much for knocking some sense into McKenzie!

To my agent, Joanna Volpewow! You always know exactly what to say to keep me from totally freaking out. Thank you for your guidance and your many last-minute reads! Also, much appreciation goes out to the illustrator, Adam Watkins, who endured many final tweak e-mails from me to create a kick-ass map of the Realm.

And to Kat Sherbo, my editor: Thank you for being so incredibly understanding while I learn how to be both a mom and a writer. Your patience made it possible for me to make this the best book it could be.

Lastly, big hugs to my boys, who still love me despite the number of hours Ive spent banging away at my computer. Your smiles brighten the gloomiest days!

I HAVE FIFTEEN minutes to grab what I need from an apartment I lived in seven years. Sadly, thats more than enough time. My walls are bare except for a single abstract painting, and the sofa and coffee table are secondhand, just like a college students furniture should be. This place was always supposed to be temporary. I used to think that would be because Id graduate and move on to a real job, a nicer apartment, and, well, a nicer life. But war will ruin anyones plans.

Instead of turning on the lights, I open the blinds as a courtesy to my guards, two fae named Trev and Nalst. Theyre here as a precaution even though its extremely unlikely that the remnants of the kings fae will choose this moment to come here. We took the Silver Palace two weeks ago. Theyve had plenty of time to ransack my place, but everything is where I left it. Most likely, they have no clue where I live. Back when I worked for the king, my identity was one of the most tightly guarded secrets in the Realm, and the few people who knew my name are now either dead or, like me, theyre working with the rebel fae.

Hurry, Trev orders. A bolt of blue lightning strikes down his neck, disappearing beneath his jaedric armor. A faes chaos lusters grow more active, more frenzied when theyre near human tech, but thats not why Trev is anxious. The rebellion needs every sword available to keep its enemies from retaking the palace. He and Nalst need to return to the Realm ASAP.

They wait in the living room while I head to my bedroom. I grab a suitcase from my closet, throw in my favorite pair of jeans and a few shirts, then I reach up to the shelf above the clothing rod and grab a leather-bound sketchbook. Half its pages are filled with my messy shadow-readings. The chicken scratches look more like a lunatics drawings than maps, but if I show them to a fae and name the location out loud, he or she will be able to travel to the place Ive drawn. That skill and my Sight are the reasons I was pulled into the Realms wars. Few humans can see the fae; fewer still can read their shadows.

This is the sketchbook I always used when shadow-reading for the kings fae, but I didnt have it with me when the rebels abducted me from my campus a little over a month ago. I shouldnt have needed it because I was supposed to have the day off.

I toss it into my suitcase, glad to have the sketchbook back. I like the broken-in look of the leather, and the long strap allows me to wear it across my body like a messenger bag, so its easier to hang on to than a normal notebook. With the way the war in the Realm is going these days, I need that little convenience. I can run faster when my hands are free.

Leaving the suitcase open, I walk to my desk to take my wallet out of the middle drawer. Theres actually money inside. Sixteen dollars to be precise. Thats probably more than what I have in my bank account. Back when the king was alive, he gave me a small monthly allowance for tracking down criminals. Many of those fae were truly horrible, but some of them? Some of them, I recently learned, were not.

I make sure my drivers license and Social Security card are inside the wallet. Theyre the real reason Im here. Every year I worked for the king, my human life slipped further and further away. I lost my friends, my family, and my best chance at a college degree, all because I put my work for the fae before myself. I cant do that anymore. Im starting over, and this time, Im determined to find a balance between my human life and my life working for the fae. The license and Social Security card will help me do that. A start-up news aggregation Web site offered me a job in Las Vegas, and I need to give the identification to the owner, Brad Jenkins, to finish the employment process.

A part of me cant believe Im setting down roots in Vegasthe city is too flashy for my tastesbut thats where Im sharing a hotel suite with another Sighted human, who actually likes the city. I guess Im lucky, though. Jenkins is probably the only editor alive whos going to take a chance on a college flunkout.

I slide the wallet into my back pocket, then grab a photo album off a shelf. I dont open it. I hardly ever do. It contains pictures from a different life, a life back before I became entangled in the Realms wars. I havent seen or talked to my parents since I was seventeen. I didnt plan for that to happen. I planned to go back home after I graduated from college. I needed the degree to prove I wasnt wild or irresponsible or any of the dozens of other things they accused me of being, but maybe I can accomplish the same thing with a job. If things go well, I might finally find the courage to give them a call.

I want to give them a call. I miss them and the safe, comfortable life they provided.

After I tuck the album into the suitcase, I add my laptop and power cord. Trev and Nalst will be extremely annoyed if they see the tech, but the laptops battery is completely dead. It shouldnt affect their magic much, certainly not enough to prevent them from fissuring me back to Vegas.

The suitcase zips up with plenty of room to spare. I survey my room again, feeling like I should have more memories to take with me, when my gaze rests on the small, wooden box sitting open on my desk. I hardly ever wear jewelry, so the box doesnt contain much. Theres just a thin gold necklace, a beaded stretch bracelet, a few other trinkets and

My breath catches. There, neatly curled at the bottom of the box, is a name-cord. Its a string of onyx and audrin, a smoky, quartzlike stone found only in the Realm. Fae used to wear name-cords braided into their hair, but only the most prominent families keep the tradition now. This one belonged to Kyol. He gave it to me with a kiss and an embrace the day the king made him his sword-master. Back then, neither one of us could have predicted hed one day kill that king.

I should leave it behind. I miss what Kyol and I had together, but I chose to leave him. I chose to take a chance on somebody who risked everything to be with me. Honestly, though, I miss Aren, too.