by Beth Revis
Still I pushed the bird’s light through my crucible toward Ernesta, willingly trading what remained of its life for a moment of hers. The bird’s body was now consumed by the black.
One claw twitched.
I straightened, focused on the bird’s body. The other claw moved, then a wing. The darkness didn’t sink into the bird’s skin; it crackled over its corpse. The tawny white spines of the bird’s larger feathers turned black with crimson seeping from the veins.
The bird’s eyes were already onyx beads, but they seemed harder now as the awlspring blinked slowly. It righted itself, the move somehow graceful despite the awkward position in which it had been laid. The claws—now obsidian and serrated—scarred my wooden table.
I did not take my eyes off the bird as I reached for a knife.
The awlspring cocked its head, staring at me. I was connected with every living thing I had raised, but this was different.
Sunlight gleamed off the bird’s feathers, each one razor sharp. Its curved beak could have been made of steel, the tip sharpened more than that of a sword. The awlspring opened its beak in a silent scream, and a forked tongue flicked out.
I glanced behind me. Nessie stood where she always stood, but her face did not seem so impassive as before. Had the experiment been successful? Had the lingering energy within the bird reawakened my sister’s soul? My heart lurched. There was true expression in her eyes.
But it was fear.
I turned around. In that brief moment, the bird had moved silently closer, its talons gripping the edge of my table, the wood cracking from the impossible force. The bird craned its head closer, its onyx eyes boring into me.
I reached out with my connection to the dead for the bird. As before, I sensed only emotions, no concrete thought. But the feeling from the bird was no longer varied and touched by its life. It felt only one thing.
Hunger.
Ravenous, bone-deep starvation. Its only desire was to feed. Its entire being was insatiable.
Entranced, I stared at the blackness that slimed its way through the awlspring’s now razor-edged feathers.
The hunger started to fill me.
The bird clucked, a sound of motherly affection.
My crucible was still in my shadow hand. I lifted it up. The black spiraled at the base, flickers like flame licking at the light. The dark energy was infecting me, corrupting me. I wanted to devour, consume the light, the life, the souls swirling in my crucible, and leave nothing at all behind but the dark.
I licked my lips and tasted copper. Blood smeared my teeth—I had not even realized I was biting my lip so hard.
“No.”
The word was whispered so softly that I almost didn’t hear it through my starved focus. But I knew my sister’s voice.
In my shadow hand was my crucible. A feast beckoned me, begging me to succumb to the darkness and destroy the souls I had so lovingly gathered. They were all right there, in the crucible, strings of light I could devour and be filled with power.
But in my other hand was a knife.
Before I could hesitate, I slammed the knife through the core of the bird, pinning it to the wooden table, acting on instinct more than knowledge. If I had truly raised this bird from the dead, the blade would not kill it. The dead cannot die. But the awlspring’s life energy had burned up in Nessie like oil in a lamp, and now it was nothing but a puppet of the dark, a toy easily broken. I wished I understood more, could do more than simply kill this experiment gone awry.
The thing screeched with an otherworldly scream, its beak opening impossibly wide, its claws spread and grasping, its wings twisting and curling like burned paper, the black gore beneath the blade staining the cracked wood.
FIFTEEN
Nedra
A BOAT COMES.
I heard the warning from my revenants. With the burning of the fishing boat, I’d hoped that others would be deterred from acting out foolish threats. Fortunately, I’d not been so simple as to eliminate a watch. I raced down the stairs, calling my revenants to me, so that when I burst through the mahogany doors moments later, the full force of my undead army stood behind me.
But it was not a Cliffside fishing boat.
It was an Imperial cruiser, the black lacquer shining against gilded highlights carved into the delicate frame. It was a bigger ship than any local one, with at least a dozen or so cabins belowdecks, and three large, rectangular sails beneath a silk Allyrian flag snapping in the wind.
My fist clenched. I had known the Emperor would come for me eventually. It did not matter that I had saved him, had saved this whole island; I had committed treason of the highest order.
I felt my rage pouring into my revenants.
He should have sent more than one ship.
All of us, as one, focused on the black cruiser slipping through the waves, heading straight to us. For a moment, I regretted giving up the warship and the cannons.
And then I saw the man leaning out over the bow, his arm raised in greeting. “Grey?” I whispered breathlessly.
The boat landed, and a gangplank lowered to the steps. Only Grey departed, but the ship remained docked to my island. I went down a few steps to greet him.
My knees trembled, and I stopped, waiting for him to reach me. Why weren’t my legs cooperating? Why was my heart beating so chaotically? I sensed my revenants retreating. With the threat gone, they faded back into the quarantine hospital. I tried to seep some of the dead calm inside of them into my tight chest.
And then he was right in front of me.
He’d been grinning so widely that I could see the flash of white teeth from the boat, but now his expression sobered.
“Nedra,” he said, his voice low.
I couldn’t seem to move. When he had left me before—no, when I had walked away from him—I had believed there was no coming back from that choice.
But he was here now.
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.
The corners of his lips twitched. “Hi,” he said.
The wind blew my hair into my face, strands of white flickering across my vision. “Well, come in,” I said, turning on my heel and leading the way inside.
SIXTEEN
Grey
I FORCED MYSELF to follow Nedra into the quarantine hospital. My body was reacting as if I were expecting a fight—muscles clenched, fists tight, jaw hard. I made myself breathe, swallow. There would be no fight.
Not one I could win, anyway.
The revenants that had been scattered over the steps were disappearing deeper in the quarantine hospital. All except for Nedra’s twin, Ernesta. She stood beside the iron spiral staircase leading to the clock tower. She watched me.
I was never really comfortable with the way Nedra’s dead twin sister stared at me. The problem was that Ernesta looked so very much like my Ned. Same nose, same lips. Same olive skin, smooth over high cheekbones.
The only difference was in her eyes. Nedra’s burned with intention.
Ernesta’s were hollow, empty caves.
I turned to Ned. She was so different now—one arm amputated, her hair paper white, her cheeks sunken, her eyes fierce. No—that wasn’t different. Her eyes were always sharp, like the edge of a blade. I just wasn’t used to that razor gaze being directed at me.
“Um,” I said.
“Eloquent as always, Grey,” Nedra said, but she smiled, and the tight coil inside me finally released. She might have an army of the undead, but she was still Nedra. She still called me by the name she had given me.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d ever come here again,” she said in almost a whisper.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to.” I took a step closer. I couldn’t read her expression. “I meant what I said before.”
Nedra frowned.
“When I said I loved you,” I
told her. “I meant that. Truly.”
Nedra stiffened. “I seem to recall you had a ‘but’ with that. You loved me, but . . .”
“I can still love you, even if I don’t agree with everything you do.”
Nedra’s eyes drifted to the floor, her head shaking almost imperceptibly. “That may be so, but can you still care about me if you don’t agree with what I am?”
I crossed the distance between us, putting my hands on her cheeks and turning her face toward mine. “I love you,” I said, hoping she could see the truth I could never deny. And I want to save you, I didn’t dare add.
A flicker of a smile crossed over her lips. “I’d like to believe that,” she said sorrowfully. She took a step away from me, then jerked her head to the spiral staircase leading to the clock tower. I followed her up. She moved with ease, while I struggled to catch my breath as we reached the top.
Nedra had turned the clock tower room into her private domain. With ticking gears on one side, connected by pistons to the milky glass of the clockface, the area had a steady heartbeat that Nedra seemed to find comforting. One corner was littered with blankets and cushions piled atop a mattress; the other had a worktable half-drowned with wax from melted candles.
“When I saw the ship,” Nedra said, “I wondered if the Emperor had decided to arrest me.”
I rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the tension in my body. “He will,” I said. “I don’t know when. I don’t think he wants to, but the people may force his hand. Necromancy—you knew it was illegal.”
“Laws don’t change whether something is right or wrong,” Nedra insisted.
“But that won’t matter,” I shot back. “You’ll be arrested and tried for the highest crime in the Empire.” And we both knew she was guilty.
Nedra’s chin tilted up. “He could try.”
I had to make her see reason. “Nedra, anyone who was even loosely tied to the rebellion—whether they were on Governor Adelaide’s side or not—has run. The dungeons will be full of traitors. The Emperor can’t just ignore your crimes, even if you used them to save him. The people want answers.” But more than that, they wanted someone to pay for the plague, and they didn’t care who.
“Arrests have happened already?” Nedra asked. She eyed me. “Your father?”
“He managed to escape.” I was careful to keep all emotion from my voice.
“But . . .”
“He and Mother likely went to Doisha. We have an estate there as well. And the Empire doesn’t reach quite that far.”
She noticed my use of “likely,” the uncertainty that I tried to hide. My parents had left me behind. But she only said, “I can’t imagine you in Doisha.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t invited.”
She spared me any further comment. Her eyes grew distant, and her hand reached unconsciously for the iron bead she wore around her neck. How cruel it was that her parents, who loved and were loved, were gone, while mine were alive and happy, probably on the beaches of sunny Doisha, drinking wine and laughing about their escape.
“So you’re alone at your house?” Nedra asked, changing the topic for me.
“The Emperor gave me rooms at the palace.”
Her eyes dropped. I wondered if she was going to invite me to stay here instead. I wondered what I would say if she did. When she didn’t speak, though, I said, “I’m actually leaving for a trip now.”
Her gaze shot to me, and I felt a pang in my heart.
“I’m heading to Hart first,” I said. “And then the mainland. The Emperor gave me a special task, to find ways to help revitalize the economy of the north. I’m going to try, Nedra. I could make a real difference. I—” I paused, trying to think of the right words. “I want to help. I want to do some good.” For them, because I failed you, I thought.
What I most wanted was to convince Nedra to come with me—just her, and not her revenants. If I could do that, perhaps I could get her to Doisha, like my parents, or somewhere else that the Empire couldn’t reach.
I opened my mouth to speak, my eyes falling on the little workstation Nedra had set up for herself, littered with books, candles, paper, and quills. And—
I cursed, loudly. “What is that?”
Nedra stood and strolled over to me. “An awlspring,” she said, looking down at the mangled body, covered in black slime, pinned to her wooden desk with a dagger. “Or, it used to be.”
My eyes drank in every detail, even though I wanted to look away. Perhaps the form was originally that of an awlspring, but it no longer resembled the delicate raptor. Its claws were twisted and black, its beak mangled and no longer even, as if someone had taken the top and the bottom and yanked them in different directions. The eyes were lined in red, and even though the creature was dead, it seemed to stare at me with anger and malicious hate.
Nedra grasped the hilt of the knife and jerked it from the table. Black oozed off the blade, and she wiped it carelessly against a dirty rag on the desk before using the cloth to wipe the table’s surface and wrap the body up, letting it drop unceremoniously into a metal waste bin. The body thudded and splattered in the container.
SEVENTEEN
Nedra
GREY’S EYES KEPT darting to the waste bin, where the dead awlspring was half-hidden by the black-stained rag.
I drew closer to him, anticipation twisting my stomach, ready for the moment when Grey would once again demand that I choose between him and necromancy.
And I knew the answer I would give.
But rather than an order, he simply asked, “Why?”
I blinked, confused. “Why?”
“Why don’t you let them go?” he asked, nodding toward the door, to all the revenants I’d raised beyond it. “You don’t need them. If you just let them go back to their graves . . .”
My jaw clenched. “You don’t get to tell me to give up my sister.”
Grey shook his head. “No, I mean . . . what about the others? Keep your twin, I can understand that, but the others . . . It makes things so much worse. People fear your army.”
“I like them afraid.” Why couldn’t Grey see that? I needed the people afraid of me, because once their fear ran out, they would attack. That’s what had happened with the ships from Cliffside, that’s what would happen, eventually, with the Emperor and his men. I had to make sure their fear outweighed their anger. It was my only hope.
He reached out, grabbing my wrist, his grip warm but firm. “I mean it, Nedra. You’re in danger.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I jerked away from him. I had watched the boats burn. “That’s why I need an army.” It was the only chance I had to defend myself.
“I can take you away. Ernesta, too, if I have to. I can take you both, hide you somewhere the Empire can’t reach you.”
His voice trailed off as I shook my head. “Grey, you don’t understand.”
“So help me to see,” he said.
I stood up, sighing. I needed air. I walked past Grey and moved to the door that led outside, to the little balcony in front of the clockface. Grey followed me, his steps small, his knuckles white as he gripped the thin railing, the only thing that protected him from a drop to the bricks below.
“What’s that?” he said, pointing to the charred remains of the ships that I’d destroyed earlier.
“The reason I need an army of the undead to protect me.”
Grey turned to me, searching my eyes. “You’re not like that,” he said, confident. “You wouldn’t keep other people from freedom just to protect yourself.”
“I’m not,” I said quietly. “Grey, the plague . . . It took away so much from so many. I had a chance to right some wrong in the world.”
He shook his head, disappointment flickering in his face. “This isn’t right.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
&nb
sp; “And you do?”
“No,” I answered. “They do. I brought my revenants back because they wanted to be brought back. The plague was murder. If I didn’t bring them back after, when I could, when they wanted it, how is that different?”
Grey was silent for a long moment. “They’re not your responsibility,” he said finally.
I looked away, my eyes scanning the horizon as if there was something in the distance that could make Grey see the situation from my point of view. The clock tower faced the city, and to the right, across the sea, was the mainland of the Allyrian Empire. I looked to the left. Leaning against the railing, I pointed. “What’s out there?” I asked.
“The pauper’s grave?” Grey asked. We couldn’t quite see the land cleared to make room for the graves of those killed by the plague from this angle. I imagined that I could see a glow there, like a setting sun over the thousands of corpses, but then I looked past it. “No,” I said. “Farther out.”
“The sea?”
“And?”
“A few islands.” Grey paused, thinking. “And a lot more sea.”
A row of islands trailed like a ribbon from the mainland up to Lunar Island. Most were so small cartographers didn’t bother putting them on maps; they just swept the words “the Stellar Chain” over the area and let ship captains figure it out for themselves. The tiniest ones weren’t always there; sometimes the waves washed over them, sometimes not. Ships avoided these little, rocky islands; it was too easy to scrape a hull against the jagged stones. No one bothered with the ones north of Lunar Island—there was nothing past the end of the Stellar Chain. Once the rocks were gone, they were replaced by icebergs, floating in the cold blue waves.
But the fishing was good there.
“My father told me about some fishermen who went north, around the Stellar Chain,” I said, my voice soft as I remembered the way Papa told his stories, between bites of Mama’s best roast chicken at the supper table, the room warmed by the wood-fueled stove, our laughter sprinkled more generously over our meal than salt.
