“All right, everyone,” Valoria says in a purposeful voice, clapping her hands to draw all the students’ eyes her way. “Gather round. I have a favor to ask you. Karthia is in need of new defenses against any outside forces that might seek to threaten us in the future, and I want to hear your ideas . . .”
“There’s a lot we need to catch up on, sister dear,” Simeon says, his voice soft in my ear as he draws my gaze away from Valoria. Holding up his right hand to show off the shiny band on his ring finger, he adds, “So much changed while you were gone.”
I smile, partly at the sight of that ring and the promise it holds, but more because of the way at least one of my friends is welcoming me back without hesitation or judgment.
“When’s the wedding?” I ask, allowing Simeon to drape an arm around my shoulders and steer me through the library and out a set of glass doors that lead to a central courtyard. It’s open to the sky but sheltered on all sides by the circular building’s walls.
“The sooner the better, now that we’ll have an army to train. Think they’ll all expect invitations to the feast after our ceremony?” He winces at the thought, then brightens. “I don’t mind, I suppose, as long as they bring us really expensive gifts.”
Simeon’s attempt at humor brings a reluctant smile to my lips. “Danial told you what we discussed in the throne room last night, then?”
He nods. “He’s in the city right now, trying to drum up volunteers so we can start training. It was on his mind well before you convinced Valoria, as he keeps reminding me. But with citizens giving speeches against Valoria almost daily, I don’t know if he’ll have any luck getting people to join our cause.” He gestures to a stone bench beside a small pond.
The courtyard’s carefully tended shade trees hanging over both bench and pond make it a tempting spot to linger. “As you know, Valoria seems to think the students here can help with Karthia’s defenses, too.”
The skepticism in my voice must be obvious, because Simeon says, “You’d be surprised what some of them can do, and I bet they’ll soon surprise themselves. Like Noranna there. I can’t wait to see what she’ll invent.” He takes a seat on the bench and points to the glass doors we came through to get here.
Just on the other side of the glass, Azelie talks animatedly to a girl with tight brown curls and soft, dark eyes who must be Noranna. After a moment’s hesitation, the girl slips her metallic right arm through Azelie’s, whisking her away somewhere. Remembering the mechanical leg Valoria designed for her father, I smile, recognizing her handiwork in the girl’s arm.
That’s Valoria for you—still finding ways to help her people, even when many of them are calling for her death.
Glad to see Azelie settling in here so quickly, I sit on the bench and take a closer look at my brother in every way but by blood. Aside from the Sisters of Death, who found me as a baby, I’ve known Simeon longer than anyone, since before we could talk in complete sentences.
At first glance, he looks much the same as when I saw him last—like he doesn’t get enough sleep anymore. Who does, nowadays? But the longer I study him, the more I notice little lines on his face that definitely weren’t there before, etched by some worry or another, and wonder how many more he’ll have before his twentieth birthday.
“How do you really like it here?” I ask, still reeling from Jax’s abrupt exit.
Simeon runs a hand through his sandy blond hair. “It’s not bad. We’ve gotten ten students since Valoria reopened this place as a school, and your friend Zee makes eleven. Their studies seem to be going well so far.”
I arch a brow. “And just what is it they study? No one’s been clear on that.”
“Magic. If they already know their power, they’re supposed to delve deep into it. Push the boundaries, but also learn control,” he explains. A hint of pride for the students glimmers in his sky-blue eyes. “Valoria encourages every exploration, which is why—”
“She’s gotten so many death threats, and worse,” I finish for him. A phrase I heard in Sarral pops into my mind, and I add, “You know what they say—getting a Karthian to change is harder than teaching rocks to dance.”
Simeon snorts. “Where’d you hear that?” He shakes his head. “I’m the one who’s supposed to make you laugh, remember? Or did you forget how this whole sibling thing works while you were gone?”
I reach a hand up, about to ruffle Simeon’s hair until it sticks out in all directions, when his expression turns solemn. I drop my hand as he takes a deep breath, seeming to decide something. “Can I count on you to help with the wedding planning, then? Or will you be gone before the big day? I understand if you need to leave again, of course,” he adds hastily. “But if I’d known you were hurting so much in the first place—”
“We all were. And there’s nothing you could have said or done to make me stay. I wanted to leave. I needed to,” I explain, my throat suddenly tight.
“I know. I know you. Which is why”—Simeon pauses, a hint of a smile touching his face—“I’m trying to say that I wouldn’t try to stop you if you needed to leave again. A little warning next time would be nice, is all. Because it hurts when you’re gone.”
“I’ll be here for your wedding, Si,” I say firmly.
“Promise me the usual way. Our way,” he says at last, with no hint of teasing.
Just like we’ve done since we could talk, we spit into our palms and shake hands. It’s disgusting, but being Simeon, he somehow makes me laugh. I think it’s the way he nearly gags as our hands slide together that I find so entertaining.
“This is what you asked for!” I remind him as we hastily wipe our hands on our pants.
“True,” he sighs. Glancing sideways at me, he adds, “It’s good to see you like this. Happy again.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I believe I have a certain stubborn redhead to thank for that?”
My lips twitch upward. “Maybe.”
He’s right. One mention of Meredy, and I’m already thinking about the next time I’ll get to see her. The smile is because I know how good it feels just being around her.
The morning breeze ruffles my hair as Simeon and I lapse into an easy silence. I rest my head on his shoulder, watching a rainbow of fish scurry around the pond near our feet. If only the peaceful morning could make me forget the rebellion brewing in the city.
Simeon hums something, a catchy tune, so soft at first that I almost miss it over the breeze rattling branches overhead. After a moment, he adds words to the melody under his breath:
“Should’ve stuck to dancing
And combing his hair
All the ladies used to find him quite fair
Our king for a day.”
I blink at him as I try to process what I’m hearing. There’s a song about Hadrien already? It’s catchy, like one of Kasmira’s sea chanteys, the kind sailors howl in off-key voices when they’ve ventured too deep into their pints, though Simeon can actually carry a decent tune.
Seemingly oblivious to my incredulous stare, he continues to sing:
“He had a silver tongue
And a golden spoon
He gave us death when he promised the moon
Our bloody king for a day.”
Someone sniggers under their breath. I glance sharply in the direction of the sound, toward the glass courtyard doors. The tall, broad-shouldered boy leaning against them—Karston, the one who fought with Jax—covers his mouth with his hands in a poor attempt to stifle his laughter. The cut beneath his left eye seems shallower now that he’s washed the blood away. There’s another cut on his slightly crooked nose, though it looks older—perhaps a scar. He’s brushed the carpet fuzz and dust from his close-cropped dark hair, too, I see. The sight of his simple black necromancer’s uniform makes me miss Evander in a swift, painful rush, the strongest one I’ve had in days.
Karston doesn’t seem to notice me s
taring, all his attention on Simeon’s song. I focus on my friend’s voice again as another verse begins:
“With a head far too big
To fit in his crown
He—”
The rich sound of laughter gets louder, drowning out the words. Simeon falls silent. A faint flush creeps into his face as he takes note of his growing audience.
“Forgive me, Master Simeon,” Karston says, squaring his shoulders and moving toward our bench with long, purposeful strides. “But after what happened with Master Jax in there, I needed a laugh. I came out here to get some air, and heard—” Swallowing another bout of laughter, he grins and shakes his head. “Sorry. Again. What’s that song called? It’s brilliant.”
Simeon’s face and neck glow red as he answers, “‘King for a Day.’”
“It’s great. I’m surprised I haven’t heard it before.”
“You couldn’t have.” In almost a whisper, Simeon confesses, “I made it up.”
Karston gives a low whistle, impressed.
“Forget teaching. I think you have a future as a bard,” I add, mustering a smile to show Simeon how much I enjoyed the melody despite the reminder of Hadrien. “Have you thought of writing Danial a song for—?”
“Whoa!” Karston’s yelp of surprise cuts across me. He blinks a few times, and when he speaks again, it’s with a hint of a slight drawl whose province of origin I can’t place. “You’re her. Sparrow. The king-slayer!”
I wince at that name and hastily roll my sleeve down to my wrist. “Please, don’t call me that.” I wish I could sink to the bottom of the fish pond here and now.
“Karston,” Simeon says quickly, shooting me a look of mild concern. “I don’t think she wants—”
“I saw one of your tattoos. Part of it, anyway. You’re a legend,” Karston says quietly, rubbing a hand along the stubble lightly covering his sharp jaw. “You were the reason I came to Grenwyr City, to the new school, even though my father disowned me for it.” He kneels before me like a warrior about to be honored by his leader. “You’re a hero to a lot of people around here.” He gestures to the temple walls, then flashes a triumphant grin. “I knew you’d come back. The others said you wouldn’t. But I never doubted.”
As he holds my gaze, I now understand why he sought out Valoria’s school—beyond his thought that I would be involved, apparently: His eyes aren’t blue, like I thought when I first saw him. They’re a rich violet color that only looks blue in certain lights, like when the sun peeks through gaps in the shade and washes them out.
“What does your Sight show you?” I ask, my curiosity warring with my discomfort over being called a hero.
“Gates to the Deadlands, like you,” he says with a touch of pride.
I exchange a glance with Simeon, who raises his brows. Everyone else I’ve met with an unusual eye color has a unique magical ability, a power other than one of Vaia’s five gifts, so there must be more to Karston’s skill.
“Thanks to Jax and me, Karston knows everything about being a necromancer that you can put on paper,” Simeon adds. “We trained him, because as far as we can tell, he’s one of us.”
“But with no dead to raise, what’s the point?” I sound just like Jax.
Simeon shrugs, his expression neutral. “Valoria seems to think our magic might still be needed someday. She doesn’t want to lose what we’ve learned about raising the dead the way King Wylding lost so much other knowledge.”
I glance back at Karston, who’s still kneeling. Sliding closer to Simeon, I make room on the bench, but Karston doesn’t rise.
“Get up,” I urge. “I’m nobody’s hero.”
Completely ignoring my words, he says in a rush, “Master Odessa, would you ever consider taking me on as your partner?” Running a hand over his close-shaven dark hair, he amends, “I know no one could ever replace Evander. I’m not half the swordsman he was. But now that you’re back, you might need to go to the Deadlands someday, and according to the rules . . . no one should ever go alone.”
I cross my arms. “No way. I don’t need a partner, and no one needs to go to the Deadlands anymore. We can stop potential Shade-baiters before they ever reach the spirit world. You can help us patrol the cemeteries around the city—without a partner.” I’m not sure why I feel a pang of guilt as Karston’s face falls, though he quickly hides it. “Besides, I’m . . .” My voice trails away as I think. What am I, now that I don’t raise the dead? I go with the first thing that comes to mind. “A fighter. I have to keep Valoria safe as she tries to make peace with the rebels and train up an army.”
“I understand,” Karston says solemnly, climbing to his feet at last. “But if you decide you need a hand with matters of death in the future, I hope you’ll consider me.” There’s something about the way he carries himself, a certain confidence that I like. Maybe even respect.
“I’m a terrible partner, anyway. I’m unreliable,” I add hastily, more to myself than Karston, ignoring Simeon’s muttered protest. “I’m selfish and short-tempered. I make bad decisions, because sometimes I think with my fists instead of my head, and—”
“Me too,” Karston cuts in, grinning sheepishly as he touches the swollen spot beneath his eye. “From what I’ve heard, we’ve got a lot in common.”
Just like when Nipper wagged her tail at me back at the dragon farm in Sarral, I can feel my resolve slipping faster than water through my fingers.
“How much do you know about raising the dead, anyway?” I press.
“Everything—at least, in theory,” Karston says firmly, echoing Simeon. “I know you have to anoint the dead person’s body with milk, then take one of their kin into the Deadlands with you in search of the spirit you want to return to our world. You call the spirits to you by spilling blood, and you keep your wits about you by eating honey.”
I frown. “Any child in Grenwyr City could tell me as much.”
He’s reminded me of an old rhyme, one the Sisters of Death taught me as I worked alongside them in their kitchen making sticky buns. Milk to wake them, blood to sate them. Honey to steady, sword at the ready.
Karston gives me a long, considering look. “I know it’s a good idea to always carry liquid fire with your blood and honey, too. One well-aimed vial could take down a hungry Shade just waiting to gobble up you, the spirit you came for, or both.”
I nod, resigning myself to the inevitable. He has knowledge but not experience. Of course, he can’t get that without traveling to the Deadlands . . . with a partner. And while there’s no need to go there now, I don’t know what the future holds. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I can’t count on anything forever.
“People who hang around me tend to get hurt,” I snap, but the bite I mean for the words to hold isn’t quite there. “Sometimes fatally.”
Karston nods, his brows drawn together in thought. “So I’ve heard.”
“And?” I prompt, though I already suspect what he’s going to say, because it’s just what I would.
“I’m not afraid.”
“Then, if you’re serious about this, I suppose we can try it out sometime, should the need arise . . .” Leaping up from the bench, I offer Karston my hand. As he takes it, I add, “But so we’re clear: You could never replace Evander, and it may be years—if ever—before I need to return to the Deadlands. Which means the most we’ll be doing for the foreseeable future is trading off patrol shifts a few times a day to keep Shade-baiters from doing anything stupid.”
Karston’s grip is warm and strong as we shake on it. “If there’s one thing I understand about the world after eighteen years,” he says, “it’s that I have to take whatever I can get, whenever I can get it.”
XII
That night, after patrolling two cemeteries and chasing away a fleet-footed shadow from a Deadlands gate, I try and fail to fall asleep without Meredy beside me for the first t
ime in days. It makes sense that Meredy would return home to Crowther Manor, the huge house in Noble Park that her older sister inherited, to spend some time catching up with Elibeth. I’ve always liked the eldest Crowther sibling, another beast master, and the pack of tall, skinny greyhounds that follows her everywhere. I certainly shouldn’t envy her, not after I spent most of my day with Simeon, yet I wish Meredy were here with me instead.
As I push back the blankets on the large bed, Nipper hisses a puff of smoke, startling awake. She uncurls herself from her spot on top of my feet, wagging her tail and looking at me expectantly like she’s ready for an adventure.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” I tell her. It’s nice having someone to talk to when the world is silent and still, even if the dragon can’t answer. “I just figured we might as well unpack.”
The wood floor is cold against my bare feet as I climb out of the four-poster canopy bed that used to belong to one of Valoria’s Dead aunts. I chose her room, close to the bustle and warmth of the kitchens, instead of my old one because it more comfortably fits two. That, and going back to my old room felt wrong somehow. When I stepped inside, nothing was quite as I remembered it, or quite so welcoming despite someone having spruced it up, like I was trying to fit myself into a space meant for some other girl.
After lighting the lantern on my bedside table, I sweep across the room to the wardrobe. My lone bag sits beside it, waiting. I pull out rumpled tunics and trousers and the one dress I kept from my days of near-constant parties at the palace. As I sort things into piles, I wonder if Valoria has kept up her Eldest Grandfather’s tradition of celebrating every single festival on the Karthian calendar, resulting in three or four parties a week.
Finally, after unpacking and eating some of my coffee beans, there’s only one leather-wrapped parcel left at the bottom of my otherwise empty bag.
The crystal. The one that let me talk to Evander. With a stab of guilt, I realize I haven’t even thought about it since before we stepped off the ship. How could it be that I feel closer to Evander when I’m remembering him with Meredy than I did when the crystal allowed his voice to surround me?
Song of the Dead Page 13
