Song of the Dead

by Sarah Glenn Marsh

  “By the way, what’s that song you were humming? I like it.” She smiles. “It reminds me of this play I saw one summer—”

  “The Black Violet, right?” I shake my head at myself as she nods enthusiastically. I can’t believe she’s got me rattling off the names of plays. Stranger still, I even like the sound of some of them. Setting my sword down, I offer her my hand. “This is an excellent song for dancing. Shall we?”

  Meredy doesn’t move, her face falling slightly. “Oh, no. I can’t dance.”

  “Can’t?” I press, feeling emboldened by the dark and the quiet. “Or don’t like to?”

  “Don’t like to,” she confesses after a moment. “It’s awkward. I hate it. I don’t know what to do with my arms, my feet, or even where to look.”

  Still, I keep my hand extended. Dancing comes as naturally to me as caring for animals does to Meredy. I have sword fighting to thank for that. “You’ll love it when you’re with me. I promise.” As she hesitates, I press, “One dance. Just one. What could it hurt?”

  Slowly, like she’s afraid I might bite, she reaches for my hand. I close my fingers over hers and look a question at her. When she nods, I pull her against me. Then, singing the song I was humming earlier, I guide Meredy around our balcony dance floor, sweeping her through patches of moonlight like we’re on a stage. At first, her fingers are rigid where they grip my waist, but the longer we dance, the more she relaxes, even leaning into me.

  “You have a beautiful voice. Have you ever thought about acting in a—?”

  “Don’t say it,” I growl, but playfully, before picking up the tune where I left off.

  Evander and I used to dance to this song all the time. Dancing to it with Meredy should feel like a betrayal, but somehow it doesn’t. What would Evander say if he could see me now? That it’s too soon? Over a year ago, we agreed we’d have to love again to go on living if something happened to one of us, thanks to the nature of our job. What I feel for Meredy, though, has come on swift and strong and sudden. But it feels too right for me to shy away just because I’m afraid of the things others might say. Let them talk.

  As Meredy gets bolder, spinning me around with a gleam in her eyes, I realize why. We have our own rhythm. It’s not the same as the one I shared with Evander, but I like it just as much—Meredy and me, making up a new dance as we go along, feeling for each other’s breaths, for each slight hesitation, anticipating each other’s every step so that we move as one.

  For the first time, as I pull her closer, there’s no one—not even Evander—standing between us. No one to keep us apart. And left to ourselves, we fit together just right.

  Still, that doesn’t change how stubborn she is. Too stubborn, too much like me. How many days, hours even, would go by before we had an argument where neither of us was willing to compromise? And I can’t forget, her mother is locked up in the Wyldings’ palace dungeon for trying to kill me. We’re both essentially orphans now. What kind of life would we have together?

  One where we make the rules. One where the only limitations are the ones we define. One where our family is made up entirely of people we choose.

  As she smiles at me, wanting to spin me around again, the part of me that wants this—wants her—grows louder than my doubts. There are plenty of reasons we shouldn’t work. But this spark in my chest, this thing that flares to life whenever I’m around her and keeps getting brighter, says otherwise.

  I loved Evander. I still do. But being around Meredy has made me realize there’s enough room in my heart for someone else without erasing him.

  I want to live, and part of living means loving again. Maybe Meredy is the person I should give my heart to. Maybe she isn’t. All I know for sure is that I want to find out. I just have to find the right words to ask if that’s what she wants, too.

  Meredy leans closer, laying her head on my shoulder. I forget to keep singing, but we don’t break our embrace.

  V

  Now having realized we aren’t a bunch of thieves and murderers, the people of Sarral are desperate to apologize for our less-than-warm reception to their kingdom.

  And lucky for them, the fragrant, sweet waffles made by one of the weather workers who tried to kill us are so good, they almost make up for our brush with death. When Azelie drizzles some cardamom-vanilla syrup on them for me, I decide I wouldn’t mind staying in Glia Raal a while if I didn’t have so many other places to see.

  Of course, how long we stay is entirely up to how quickly the carpenters can fix the Paradise. And since I’ve seen enough healing houses to last me a lifetime, we’re moving to a nearby boarding house after breakfast.

  As we crowd the healers’ long dining table at the back of the house, which I’m told is usually reserved for celebrations among the staff, Lysander shoves his shaggy head between me and Kasmira. Before I can swallow the giant bite of food I just took, Lysander licks my half-eaten stack of waffles.

  I laugh and start to choke as Meredy groans. “He never did this sort of thing in Lorness!”

  Kasmira thumps me on the back with a fist, which only makes me laugh harder. Shaking her head at Meredy, she says, “I’m gonna guess that’s because there weren’t any waffles in Lorness.”

  “Here, Lysander.” Suddenly feeling cheerful myself, I offer him the top waffle off the dwindling stack.

  He accepts with an unexpected lick of my cheek.

  Great. Grizzly breath.

  Azelie catches my eye and waves from the end of the table. Her pale hair is wrapped in two small buns on either side of the top of her head this morning, and I get the impression she changes styles often. The variety suits her, a girl who grew up not fearing change the way we Karthians did practically from birth.

  “Who’s going to tour the city with me? I have the whole day planned.” Azelie crooks one of her dark brows, eyeing each of the crew in turn, but they all seem to be waiting for Kasmira’s answer.

  “Not me, I’m afraid.” Kasmira pushes away her empty breakfast plate and stands. She’s wearing the clothes I remember from the night of the storm—a pale gray blouse, dark vest, and dark trousers, as well as her assortment of “cutlery,” her daggers in their sheaths. She must have found a way to wash her things, as I remember a lot of blood on that blouse. “I’m off to the harbor to oversee repairs.” Her expression darkens. “If they put a single nail in the wrong spot . . .”

  “They’ll pay for it in blood, right?” Azelie chirps.

  Kasmira blinks, bemused. “That’s right,” she says after a moment, then sweeps her gaze over the crew. “You lot are free to do what you want until further notice.” She turns to me. “Sparrow, your orders today are simple: Don’t start any fights you aren’t willing to finish, and don’t sustain any life-threatening injuries before suppertime.”

  I try to hide my sheepish expression by stuffing a piece of waffle in my mouth. “Deal.”

  Azelie glances from me to Meredy, her smile never dimming. “Guess it’s just the three—” She breaks off, interrupted by a grumble from Lysander as he sniffs the crew’s abandoned plates. “Four of us,” she amends as everyone else files out of the room. “First stop: my uncles’ dragon nursery.”

  * * *

  * * *

  The wooden cart that pulls us out of the bustling city center is, disappointingly, driven by horses. Meredy and I take the narrow board that makes up the passengers’ seat—Azelie winking at me as I slide in next to Meredy—and our tour guide herself sits up front beside the driver. Of course, not being beside us doesn’t stop her from talking almost constantly as shop fronts give way to swaths of sunny fields where farmers keep watch over cows and gather produce.

  “My uncles started their dragon nursery a year after they were married,” Azelie says from up front, snaring my attention. “They met while working on one, so it seemed fitting. I think you’ll really like it. The dragons are so cute when they’re
little.”

  Dragons, we learned over breakfast, are the cart-pulling lizards. They might be too small to ride, but they’re apparently much stronger than horses. They also help farmers protect livestock from predators; guard Sarral’s necromancers from Shades on the rare occasions that they visit the Deadlands; provide comfort to the sick and elderly; and—under the guidance of beast masters—run in races for sport and entertain people at festivals.

  Meredy nudges my shoulder, her eyes wide, pointing at something in the distance. A jade-green dragon, smaller than the one I saw in the city, gathers apples in its mouth and drops them in a basket. Meredy looks completely smitten and seems to have forgotten some of her guilt at deciding to leave Lysander in the boarding house’s backyard—which, in sharp contrast to the closet-like rooms we’ve each been given, is actually of generous size, complete with trees for him to nap under.

  “Most people can’t afford a dragon, and they’re quite difficult to breed,” Azelie goes on. “It’s usually only beast masters who keep them as companions, but occasionally a farmer scrapes together enough savings—that’s when they come see my uncles.”

  Raising her voice over the noisy grind of the cart’s wheels, Meredy says, “I know Karthia hasn’t been open to visitors, but couldn’t beasts as strong as dragons swim to—?”

  “Oh, no.” Azelie giggles. “They’re terrified of water. Now, there’s a kingdom far to the west that’s rumored to have much larger dragons. Ones that beast masters can’t control with their powers alone, so they have to keep them in chains for fear of death and destruction.” She wrinkles her nose. “But it’s entirely possible my mother made that up to scare my brothers and me into behaving.”

  The landscape rushing past the cart turns wilder, the houses within sight of the dirt road becoming fewer, replaced by ancient, twisting trees that crowd the sides of the path ahead, making it narrower. Meredy leans into me, hiding her face against my neck as branches grasp at our hair and clothes.

  “Dragons were rediscovered about two hundred and fifty years ago, which is why you’ve never heard of the—ah!” Azelie’s words end in a yelp as she ducks to avoid a branch. “There was just one small colony left, surviving in the barren canyons far outside the village of Ithax. People always thought the noises the dragons made were the cries of angry spirits echoing out of gates to the Deadlands—until one woman was brave enough to explore and found a sick little creature too weak to do more than breathe puffs of smoke.”

  The trees ahead begin to thin. We’ve almost reached our destination.

  “No other kingdom that we know of has dragons like ours anymore,” Azelie continues, her words muffled as she hides her face from the branches by holding up the long skirt of her gauzy yellow dress. “That’s part of the reason we’re so afraid of the Ezorans. They take the most valuable things from the places they raid, and our dragons are priceless to us.”

  We break free of the trees at last. A man who shares Azelie’s bright smile waves to us from a stable yard, and the cart grinds to a halt.

  “Uncle Halmar,” Azelie murmurs as she leaps from her seat and runs to greet him. “What’s wrong?” Evidently, she sees something behind his smile that Meredy and I can’t. “Wasn’t Uncle Ino supposed to join us today, too?” she demands, seeming to shrink slightly in anticipation of the answer.

  Halmar lowers his gaze. “He’s not coming, dear heart. Not in the mood to see anyone, I’m afraid. The Ezorans clashed with the guards at our northern border two nights ago, and one of Ino’s oldest friends was killed while on patrol—oh, no one you know,” he adds hurriedly, at Azelie’s horrified look. Clearing his throat, he continues, “An entire Sarralan patrol went down to a mere handful of Ezorans. Ino’s just gotten word.” He wipes his damp brow and sighs. “They’re getting stronger, if that’s possible. And more daring.” Frowning, he finally regards Meredy and me. “I’m sorry. This is hardly a proper welcome, especially to visitors who’ve come from so far . . .”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I say quickly.

  “We’re so sorry about your husband’s friend,” Meredy adds.

  We exchange a look. Between us, we’re so acquainted with the language of loss by now that we could probably teach others to read it.

  Azelie puts a hand on her uncle’s arm. “The Queen’s Authority will drive them back eventually, like they have before.”

  “Perhaps,” Halmar agrees. “But they need to drive those snakes away for good, not struggle through another skirmish. Of course, if the Ezorans turn away from Sarral, I bet they’ll merely find another land to stain red . . .”

  A chill steals over me, one that lingers despite the sun bearing down on us. From the sound of things, if these Ezoran raiders got wind of Karthia’s recent change in leadership, they could devastate the kingdom in a blink. Still, if they were ever a threat in our long history, King Wylding never mentioned them. Maybe they’re as unaware of Karthia as we were of them. I hope so. Karthia hasn’t had an army since it finally proved long ago that no one from the outside world was allowed to enter. Now there are only handfuls of soldiers for the palace in Grenwyr, and guards for important nobles presiding over Karthia’s many provinces. I can’t imagine Valoria, capable as she is, has had time to recruit and train soldiers yet.

  Swallowing hard, I banish the thought.

  After introductions have been made, Halmar leads us around the low building to a large paddock with a wrought-iron fence that’s taller than we are. Inside it, dragons are sunning themselves in short, scrubby grass partially blackened in places.

  “What do you think, Karthians?” he asks, putting on a smile for us.

  Exchanging a look, Meredy and I answer together, “This is amazing!”

  After that, Meredy follows Halmar around, asking questions about the dragons’ care while Azelie and I hang back near the paddock gate and watch a pinkish-purple dragon slurp water out of a low metal basin. The creature rolls onto its back, wallowing in a wide puddle of mud like pigs do. Its colors remind me of the flowers that grow in the sprawling garden behind the Convent of Death back in Karthia.

  “Do they ever figure out ways to escape?” I ask, eyeing the sturdy metal fence.

  Azelie laughs softly, though her eyes remain troubled after hearing her uncle’s news. “Occasionally. That’s why my uncles have a beast master who lives here with them—to keep the little scoundrels from wandering off too far.”

  I lean against the high fence, trusting the dragons not to burn my legs through the gaps in the metal while my back is turned, and let the warmth of the sun beat down on my face. Azelie does the same, as if the heat and light can somehow chase away the shadow the Ezorans have cast over the day.

  “Seems like there are a lot of beast masters in Sarral,” I murmur, breaking the silence.

  “There are. Compared to other mages, at least. Beast masters are particularly celebrated here because our queen is one, so . . .” Azelie’s words trail away as she follows my gaze to the far side of the paddock, where Halmar is showing Meredy how to feed the dragons something slimy from a bucket. Meredy’s face glows like it does whenever she’s with Lysander.

  I like seeing her this way—carefree, an echo of the girl she was when we first met years ago, before too much of the world settled on her shoulders.

  When I feel Azelie’s gaze shift to me, it’s not the sun’s warmth that stings my face. Searching for a distraction to avoid more questions about Meredy, I ask, “Have you ever thought of training to be a mage yourself? I have a friend who would’ve loved growing up where inventors aren’t forbidden. And you don’t seem too happy working for the healers.”

  Something tightens in Azelie’s face, though she’s still smiling. “Inventing is the most difficult magic to work. There are only two master inventors in all of Sarral. One has spent his life working on creating a language unique to our kingdom, and he already has two apprentices. And an
yway, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.”

  I frown. Her eyes are such a dark brown they’re almost black, and the darker the hue of any iris, the stronger a person’s magical ability usually is. “What do you mean? Did someone make you doubt yourself? Do masters here charge for—?”

  Strong jaws clamp down on my ankle, teeth sharp as a Shade’s. I scream, drawing a dagger from the sheath on my belt, and whirl toward my attacker, surprised to see the dragon with pinkish-purple scales gnawing on my ankle. It blinks its liquid violet eyes serenely as it grinds its teeth. Sweat drenches my brow as I hold back another scream.

  Lowering my blade, I yell, “Death be damned, get this filthy beast off me!”

  Meredy and Halmar have already closed half the distance between us, having come running at my screams with wide eyes.

  “As your assistant healer, it’s my duty to advise you that this dragon is female. And the females, in addition to breathing fire, have mildly poisonous teeth,” Azelie says cheerfully as she tries to pry the dragon’s jaws open. “We think it has something to do with protecting their young, but we’re still learning about them. We don’t even know what most of their powers are yet.”

  “Powers?” I grit out. “You mean this thing could kill me with magic, too?”

  Azelie shrugs, her expression turning thoughtful. “According to legend, all dragons have certain magical abilities that they can only use once they’ve reached adulthood. I suppose it could just be an old rumor, though I like to think it’s true.”

  Finally, after what seems an eternity of heat creeping up my leg—it must be an effect of the poison—Azelie manages to get the blasted creature off me. “You’re lucky. It’s just a little love nip,” she declares cheerily as she inspects the wound.

  “Stupid nipper,” I growl at the beast, who wags her long tail like a dog in response.

  I hastily count thirty or so tooth marks. They ooze with a mixture of blood and something sickly yellow, making me cringe. Looks like I’ve already broken Kasmira’s order about not doing anything that leads to life-threatening injuries, and it’s not yet noon.