It’s so typical of Valoria that in another time, in another place, I’d laugh. But the metal soldiers are still on my mind, and Valoria’s blood is soaking into my shirt from where I hugged her, making laughter impossible. Even Karston gazes distrustfully at the fallen metal soldier, his shoulders hunched, his body tensed with the pain of invisible wounds.
A sob makes me look toward the edge of the garden just in time to see Noranna’s brown curls disappearing as she bolts away from the palace.
Azelie hurries after, her face unreadable.
After helping Valoria to her feet, my gaze returns once again to the soldiers. That night in the kitchen, they seemed almost comical, but there’s nothing funny about them now.
“Lock them up,” Danial says to the attending palace guards, those made of flesh and bone, nodding at the metal soldiers. “Put them in the empty dungeon and chain them to the floor. They’re to be kept under lock and key, the doors always guarded, until further notice.”
“Will you help me over there?” Valoria asks Meredy and me in a low voice, nodding subtly toward the horrified crowd. “I’ve got to show them I’m all right, or they’ll never trust me.”
“Damage control,” Meredy murmurs sympathetically. “Right.”
We try our best to make it look like Valoria is walking unassisted toward the nobles, like we’re just worried friends sticking close to her side when really, we’re helping to keep her upright. Her voice is calm and commanding as she reassures everyone that she’s going to be just fine, and that there are clearly flaws in the soldiers’ design. She’s apologetic and somehow still authoritative—that is, until the crowd finally disperses.
That’s when she wilts and leans on us as much as she can to stay upright.
“Help me get her to the garden?” I ask Meredy, who nods at once. As we march deeper into the garden, away from the few lingering nobles and the servants already scrubbing blood off the flagstones, I call over my shoulder, “Jax. Karston. Simeon. Danial. Group meeting, now!”
Karston doesn’t seem to hear me like the others. He stumbles toward a row of bushes closer to the palace walls, looking like he’s going to be sick. Can’t say I blame him.
When the rest of us are far enough away from the crowd that the sigh of the sea drowns out the babble of distant voices, I find a bench where Valoria can stretch out and recover from almost dying. Danial, whose limbs are still painfully stiff, joins Valoria on the bench while everyone else sits beside me on a bed of ivy.
“We need to talk about what happened with those soldiers,” I say in a low voice—just in case. “Could there be something wrong—some flaw in their design?”
“It’s possible,” Valoria says at last, rubbing a flake of dried blood off her cheek. “I got so swept up in their potential—you know how I am—but the truth is, we need a real, operational army that doesn’t rely on magic. It’s too risky. We can and will keep training our human volunteers. That’s a promise. In fact, once the fever dies down, the council and I have a plan to bolster our recruitment efforts. I can’t share it yet, but it’s a good one. I should know.” She allows herself a small smile. “I helped think of it, along with Danial. Today’s display with the soldiers was really intended to placate the nobles closest to my family, nothing more—though they failed spectacularly at even that.”
“So you have a plan. Good,” Jax says, carefully avoiding my gaze. I’m sure he’s thinking of the plan we’ve put in place, continuing to train the volunteers. “What about the soldiers you’ve already built, though?” He frowns. “If we don’t dismantle them, what’s to keep them from trying to hurt you again?”
“They’re just objects. From my understanding, they can’t do anything without a mage to move them,” Simeon cuts in, looking unusually grim. “What we should do next is make a list of everyone we know who has a magical gift that causes things to move. If we stop the mage, we stop any chance of this happening again.”
“We can add their names to the list of people Valoria has her guards investigating for the fire at the school,” Meredy adds thoughtfully. “Maybe we’ll find a connection between the arsonists and today’s attack.”
“Good thinking,” I say softly, directing the best smile I can manage in Meredy’s direction. She answers me with a softening of her gaze, a blink of affection. Louder, I add, “It’s going to be a long list, though, when it could be any number of people. A rogue mage, even, like Vane. We might have stopped a lot of deaths if we’d known about him and his power sooner. That’s why I think we need to take action now, too—with our swords, not a quill.”
“Still, a list is worth trying,” Danial says softly, weary from the earlier healing. “Now, as for the soldiers themselves—I say we burn them. The metal can be used again, but since we have a plan to build a real army, they aren’t needed.”
“Very well,” Valoria agrees after some thought. “I’ll make a list of potential enemies at today’s demonstration and check them against those being investigated for the fire. And as soon as we can, Noranna and I will take a few of the soldiers apart to see if there’s a flaw in their design. Just in case they can be salvaged. If we don’t find anything, I’ll make arrangements to have them melted down.” As I expected, she makes no mention of taking a night off to rest after her brush with death.
“You really think any further tinkering with these murderous piles of junk is safe?” Jax asks, frowning at Valoria. “Let me be there when you do it, at least.”
“Why? Because I can’t take care of myself?” Valoria’s eyes narrow. Combined with her crimson-stained jacket, the effect is chilling, but Jax doesn’t shrink back from her as she leans in until they’re nose-to-nose. “You forget, Jax of Lorness, I’m not a damsel. I’m not even your equal. I’m your leader, and it’s my job to protect you—” She takes a deep breath, drawing back from him to gaze at each of us in turn. “All of you. It’s my job to protect all of you, and that’s what I’m going to do now.”
With that, she rises from the bench and strides toward the palace without looking back. I watch her go, reluctant to take my eyes off her after coming so close to losing her yet again.
“I’ll make sure she gets some rest before going anywhere near the dungeons,” Meredy declares, getting to her feet and offering Danial a hand. “Come on, I’ll take you back to your room on my way. You need rest more than anything.”
Leaning heavily on Meredy’s shoulders for support, Danial limps off, leaving me, Jax, and Simeon alone.
“I have another theory,” I say quickly, before the others decide to go their separate ways, too. “About the soldiers.”
It’s an idea so wild that Danial, Meredy, and Valoria, in their various well-intentioned trappings of practicality, would have rolled their eyes if they’d heard it. But my fellow necromancers, the two boys sitting on either side of me, have never laughed at even my wildest thoughts before. I suppose this will be a test of our friendship.
Glancing between them, I get the words out quickly before I lose my nerve. “What if the reason we didn’t see a rogue mage working their magic on the soldiers at the demonstration is because that mage wasn’t there in the flesh?”
Simeon arches a brow. “You mean . . . a mage who can use their power from a great distance? I guess it’s possible. Many things are possible—the students at the temple remind me of that every day.”
I shake my head. “I mean . . . I know it’s a long shot—the longest—but what if a spirit from the Deadlands was loose in our world?”
“The Dead never came back with their powers when we raised them, though,” Jax says gruffly. He crosses his arms, looking confused, but not dismissive.
“I’m not talking about one of the Dead. I’m talking about a spirit who hasn’t been brought back by a necromancer. What if a spirit left the Deadlands on their own and came back here to seek revenge on Valoria for banishing them from their cozy life in K
arthia?”
“You mean, the spirit of one of the Dead she had us take back after the battle?” Simeon asks, frowning. “They all seemed at peace with leaving on the night we said goodbye.”
“But that doesn’t mean they were okay with it after they had some time to think it over,” I argue. “Valoria made that decision pretty quickly after the battle. And last time I was in the Deadlands”—I pause, exchanging a look with Jax—“the spirits seemed to be avoiding us. Except for the one who looked frozen, like she’d been turned into a statue.”
My fellow necromancers are quiet, neither looking directly at me.
Face burning, I mutter, “Forget it.” I must sound ridiculous. “It’s not a practical theory, I was just thinking of how many enemies Valoria must have among the spirits. There’s Hadrien, for one, but there’s bound to be a host of others. Think of how many of his supporters we buried, and how many we locked up—some of them must have relatives in the Deadlands.”
I turn away from my friends, toward the cliffs. In the distance, at the point where the garden ends and a cliff overlooking the sea begins, there’s a faint blue haze that won’t begin to really glow until nightfall. Looking at it, I can’t help but worry about what’s been happening in the Deadlands since my last trip there.
“I think we should go,” Simeon says at last.
“Sparrow, I don’t know if what you’re suggesting is even possible, but there’s no better way to find out than asking the spirits themselves,” Jax agrees.
“Wait here, then,” I tell them, pointing toward the distant gate. “I just have to get Nipper, and then we’re going on a little trip.” I start to walk away, but turn back to add, “And nobody breathes a word of this to Valoria, in case it turns out to be for nothing. Deal?”
While our queen searches for answers her way, making lists and picking at gears, I’m going to seek them the only way I know how, even if it’s all for nothing. I’m going to probe the darkness of the Deadlands on the chance that something sinister might step into the light.
XXIII
The weight of my necromancer’s belt is like an old friend’s embrace, comforting and familiar. When I went to fetch Nipper, I couldn’t help putting it on. I even took a few extra moments to visit the kitchen and refill the glass vials of milk, honey, and blood that are supposed to accompany me to the Deadlands, and knowing they’re by my side makes me stand a little taller. I have my armor back.
“Looking good, Master Necromancer,” someone calls as I hurry down the hall, giving a soft, musical whistle. Meredy. We exchange a smile as I head outside.
With Nipper straining against her lead, I’m about to leap into the faint blue light of the gate after Jax and Simeon when movement out of the corner of my eye makes me pause. I turn back toward the palace, shielding my eyes against the dying sun.
It’s Azelie, standing near the edge of the gardens with a long pair of shears in hand, taking some clippings from the rows of herbs. “Be careful in there!” she calls after us, frowning uncertainly at the gate.
“We will,” I answer, wincing at how loud my voice sounds as it carries across the otherwise empty grounds. “And Zee . . .” I give her my best pleading face. “If she asks, tell Valoria we’re just taking a peek in one of the cemeteries. Please?”
When she nods, I turn back to the gate and shift my focus to the task at hand.
Simeon and Jax are waiting for me on the other side of the gate, in a dank and dim tunnel. “Nice belt,” Jax tells me as we make our way down the long, dark path that eventually opens into the Deadlands.
“But where’s your pin?” Simeon asks, touching the sapphires above his heart.
I shrug. It still didn’t feel right to put it on even though I chose to wear my belt. That pin stands for something. It makes what we’re doing here seem too official, when really, we’re just breaking the law.
Pulling my cloak tighter around my shoulders—the chill in this world seeps all the way into my marrow—I guide Nipper through a pale, luminous garden, careful to keep both hands on her lead this time.
Jax makes Simeon walk in the middle of our procession, slightly behind me, but ahead of himself. He keeps his sword drawn, guarding Simeon’s back with a muttered, “Don’t try anything stupid down here. You’re going to be a married man soon.”
Usually, Simeon would punch Jax and have a joking response at the ready, but today he just nods and sticks close behind me and the dragon.
“Look,” Simeon gasps a little while later, pointing to something in the distance. “Some friendly faces we can ask. You’ll do the talking, right, Sparrow?”
Up ahead, many spirits flit like butterflies around the garden’s edges, their toes just skimming the grass. We try approaching some of them, but any time we come within reach, the spirits scatter like minnows darting away from a child’s careless foot in a lake. I don’t like it. The spirits know us. They usually don’t avoid us unless they’re hiding from something else—like a Shade. But when I came here last time, looking for Jax, they gave me this same strange treatment.
Even spilling a little blood from the vial on my belt doesn’t bring any of the spirits a single step closer to us, and it’s usually irresistible.
By the time we’ve crossed the garden, looking for a friendly spirit, the scenery beyond its hedges has changed from a star-flecked mountain range to a dense forest of pines. It’s one of the things that still amazes me here—how the Deadlands never rests, constantly fitting its pieces together in new ways like a patchwork quilt that, no matter how it changes, always makes sense when it’s done.
“Shall we?” I ask my companions, gesturing to a yawning black gap between two pines where I sense movement.
“Looks dangerous,” Jax mutters, raising his sword and grinning. “Why not?”
Simeon looks less thrilled, but follows close behind me as we step into the deeper darkness. “There had better be a talkative spirit waiting on the other side of this murder forest,” he grumbles resentfully, pushing a branch out of his face.
Once our eyes have adjusted, we can at least see the shadows of tree trunks to avoid bumping into them, though it’s strange being deprived of both smell and most of my sight. It reminds me of how Lyda left me for dead here, bleeding and blinded. Suddenly freezing, I wish I could reach for Simeon’s hands, but I can’t let go of Nipper’s lead for even a moment after what happened last time.
As if to confirm my worst suspicions, Nipper barks, a sharp sound almost as high-pitched as the wailing Meredy and I have been hearing at night—though without the beautiful melody to accompany the ear pain.
“I really want a dragon of my own now,” Simeon remarks. “Think your friends in Sarral would send me—?”
He stops talking as I’m thrown forward onto my knees. Nipper bounds through the trees, barking again, and this time I decide to let go of the lead rather than being dragged over fallen branches and probably getting some new scars.
Jax and Simeon help me to my feet, and we take off running after her through the dark, silent forest that looks and smells like nothing from our world.
Cold air stings my nose and eyes as I chase after the sound of Nipper’s lead rustling among a bed of dry pine needles on the forest floor. My lungs and throat are burning by the time the dragon leads us to a break in the trees, to a glen where spirits sit on either side of a small stream, but I don’t stop until my eyes are back on my dragon. I can’t lose her. She’s one of the best things about Karthia changing.
Nipper coos at me and charges toward the stream where a few spirits are standing knee-deep, letting the current wash over them.
As we make our noisy arrival, a shadow darker than the trees themselves flees into the blackness of the forest on the other side of the glen. It looks vaguely human.
“Did you see that?” I gasp.
Jax shakes his head but takes a step toward the spot where
I’m pointing. Simeon grabs his shirt, holding him back before he can break into a run.
“Could be a Shade. You’re so not going after it,” Simeon declares, staring disbelievingly at Jax. “We’ll just keep an eye out from here, where we can actually see what’s creeping up on us, all right?”
Jax and I both nod as I finally grab Nipper’s lead.
“Sorry if we startled you, by the way,” I tell the spirits, pleased to finally find some that aren’t running away from us on sight. Spirits might not be able to speak, but there’s nothing wrong with their hearing, so it’s strange when none of them turn to acknowledge me.
Simeon pokes the nearest spirit in the shoulder. It’s a young boy, the dark stains around his mouth suggesting he died from the black fever.
Nothing happens. The boy doesn’t run away or even blink. I don’t think he can.
Gazing around at the ten or so spirits gathered here, I don’t think any of them can move. They’re frozen, just like the one I found before. Even the ones standing in the stream, already stripped of most of their memories, usually sway slightly with the current. But now, they stand as rigid as the metal soldiers.
“This is just like what I saw last time,” I whisper. I don’t know why, but whispering feels like the thing to do here. Gooseflesh runs along my arms, and it isn’t from the cold. Whatever this is, I don’t like it. I don’t even understand it.
Jax starts pacing, scowling at nothing, as Simeon and I sink to our knees on the stream bank between a few of the spirits.
“Did Master Cymbre ever teach you about anything like this?” Simeon asks, gesturing to the immobile spirits.
I shake my head. “I take it Master Nicanor didn’t, either.”
“Maybe something is wrong with the Deadlands itself,” Simeon muses in an unsteady voice. “Maybe now that we’re not raising the dead—”
Song of the Dead Page 25
