Blinking tears from my eyes as I gasp for air, the identity of my attacker finally registers: Karston.
“I told you to quit singing that damn song,” he hisses, a malicious gleam in his eyes. “It makes me sound like such an idiot.”
“What? Why?” I cough, scrabbling at the hands digging harder at my throat. Gazing into his face, I see no hint of the boy I’ve come to call a friend. There’s a hard glint to his eyes, a mean curve to his lips that I’ve seen before, only not on him. I can’t quite place it. It’s hard to think with the air being squeezed out of me.
“Oh, come on, Sparrow.” Karston scoffs, his voice calm and cold as he continues choking me. “You were never this stupid.”
I know that expression. I know that tone. I know who Karston reminds me of just now.
This must be the spirit Firiel warned us about. The spirit I most feared was free.
“H-Hadrien?” My vision goes fuzzy at the edges. Not a good sign. I try to reach for my sword, but it’s not there. My fingers close uselessly over the cloth belt of my robe, and Karston—Hadrien—shoves me hard against the wall at my back.
“No blade to stick me with this time, I see.” He smirks.
“How?” I wheeze. I don’t want to believe it—I’d call it a fever dream, except I’m in too much pain to be asleep. Somehow, I’m talking to Hadrien’s spirit inside Karston’s body. As I pry desperately at his fingers, he tightens his grip.
Hadrien tried to choke me to death once before. It makes sense, in some twisted way, that he’d want to do it again. Of course, last time I had a dagger, and his hands weren’t Karston’s broader, stronger, work-hardened ones.
My only hope of surviving this time is that Meredy somehow hears us struggling from down the hall and comes running.
“Surprised to see me?” he asks, his breath washing over me and making me shudder as I fight for air. He leans closer, pressing his whole body against me and forcing my robe open in the process, like choking me is some kind of lover’s act. “And to think . . .” He laughs lightly, his gaze roaming slowly over the gap in my robe as his eyes slowly darken from violet to deep brown. “I used to fear you were smarter than me. Too smart for your own good. But you’ve gotten soft while I was away. You’re making this too easy.” His grip tightens.
Much as I’d love to spit in his face, all I can do is wheeze.
There’s no sign of Meredy, and I can’t hold on to what little air is left in my lungs for much longer.
“I’m sure you’d like to know how I got inside this pathetic boy’s body,” he continues calmly, as though we’re talking over tea. “But I’m afraid that has to remain my secret for now.” He smiles, and although he’s using Karston’s mouth, the shape it takes on—just like the shade of his eyes—is unmistakably Hadrien’s. “How lucky that I returned to this world in time to lead my army against these invaders. They won’t stand a chance. I thought you might like to know that before you die.”
Thinking of Meredy, holding her light in my mind, I claw back against the edges of the darkness that’s beginning to cover everything.
I can’t go like this. I have to get back to her, but my arms don’t seem to understand. My efforts to break Karston’s fingers are becoming weaker. More than ever, I want to live. I just need one breath . . . then I can fight . . .
Down the hallway, a door opens, a sound as distant as the sea far below the palace.
Something with claws gives a deafening roar as it bounds down the hallway, forcing Karston—Hadrien, I remind my foggy brain—to release me and flee.
I crumple to the ground, too light-headed to stand.
Coughing and rubbing my throat, I glance up through streaming eyes in time to see the blurry shape of Lysander tearing after Karston, and Meredy running toward me.
“No, no, no,” Meredy sobs, dropping to her knees beside me. “We’ll get you a healer, just hang on—”
“I’m all right,” I insist, though the words don’t come out too clearly. “But Karston isn’t. Hadrien’s spirit is inside him somehow.”
“What? How is that possible?” Meredy demands.
I shake my head, unable to explain. I know nothing of whatever magic let Hadrien’s spirit inhabit a living person’s skin. When necromancers bring back a spirit from the Deadlands, we return them to their own shrouded bodies. Always. I don’t understand how a spirit could inhabit a living body with another soul already inside it.
Still, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before, now that so many things make sense: the time Karston snapped at me for singing his favorite song, the brief moments at night when his eyes would turn a deep brown instead of their usual violet, how out of it he seemed when I met him in the hallway earlier with Nipper. What if the poisoning at the wedding wasn’t the work of unhappy citizens, but Hadrien, acting through Karston somehow?
Meredy wraps her arms around me and helps me sit up, drawing me from my thoughts.
Together, we gently inspect my throat. I’m sure I’ll have a garden of bruises blooming there within hours, but I don’t care. I’m just glad to be drawing breath after greedy breath, filling my lungs so the burning in my chest will subside.
“I don’t know. A living person with another spirit inside them—it’s never happened before, but I’m sure it was him,” I say, my voice rough, but stronger. “Karston might still be in there, too, though.” If he is, I have to try to save him. “We have to go after him before he hurts someone else—or himself.”
Climbing to my feet is harder than I anticipated when I’m still light-headed, but I manage with Meredy’s help.
“Wait.” Meredy tightens her grip on my hand, as if afraid I’ll rush off without her.
I squeeze hers to let her know I won’t do any such thing.
“Let me check on Lysander first. He should have caught him for us by now.” As she frowns in concentration, her eyes flash a brighter, iridescent shade of green that means she’s magically joined her mind with the grizzly’s. She’s seeing through his eyes now. “He got away. Lysander’s coming back,” she says in the dreamy voice that seems to come with looking into another’s mind.
She blinks, and the ethereal green light fades from her eyes.
“We’d better hurry then. I don’t want Karston—Hadrien,” I correct myself yet again, “going anywhere near Valoria. He said something about an army, too,” I add, shaking off another wave of dread as we run back to our rooms for proper clothes and weapons.
My necromancer’s uniform and belt donned, my sword and daggers at my side, I’m about to rush out the door when I spot the double sapphire pin that’s been sitting on a table since we returned to Karthia.
Meredy smiles softly in approval as I pause just long enough to fasten it on my tunic.
It finally feels like it belongs there, not weighing me down in the slightest as it clings to the fabric over my heart. Maybe that’s because Hadrien somehow found his way back to our world, and while I can’t explain it, there’s one thing I’m sure of when it comes to spirits: I’m Odessa of Grenwyr, and the dead answer to me.
XXIX
A commotion echoes sharply from some other part of the palace, drawing my gaze.
Hadrien, I can’t help but think right away.
It sounds like someone banging pots and pans together in the kitchen, only the noise is coming from much farther away—the dungeons, I realize as we race toward the sound. We’re joined on one of the lower staircases by Lysander.
“Where’s Nipper?” Meredy asks as we run.
“With Simeon,” I pant. I’m glad I left him and the students with some scaly protection after what we’ve just discovered.
The three of us dash into the dark, windowless part of the palace belowground to find the doors of the metal soldiers’ prison unchained and flung wide open. Valoria and several guards, Danial and Jax among them, stand with their weapons dr
awn, gazing disbelievingly at something inside the open chamber.
The metal soldiers may not have their spears anymore, but that isn’t stopping them from fighting each other. Having somehow broken free of their bindings, they use the chains formerly wrapped around their hands and feet as a means to choke one another. Some don’t have chains, but that doesn’t stop them from trying to rip off one another’s heads and limbs. None of the humans in the room make a move to intervene while the soldiers pummel a few of their kin into useless, dented scraps of iron.
Valoria watches with one hand over her mouth, the other flung out as a barrier between Jax and the soldiers, as if that could keep him from charging forward to aid in the soldiers’ self-destruction.
Lysander seems particularly terrified of the soldiers. It’s the first time I’ve seen him show fear at anything, and he’s fought Shades and gnawed on the bones of vicious rogue mages. He hides his bulk behind Meredy and me, keeping to the shadows as if he wants to be sure he can make a quick exit.
Neither Karston nor Hadrien—whichever has control of Karston’s body right now—is anywhere to be seen, and we just ran down the only staircase leading to the dungeons. Yet somehow, the soldiers continue to fight as we all look on, until ten of the iron figures are completely out of commission.
The rest toss their broken companions into a heap in a corner of their cell.
How they could be moving without the aid of Karston’s magic, I have no idea.
“I—I must be dreaming,” Valoria murmurs, apparently sharing my thoughts. “The soldiers—do they have minds of their own?” Her brow furrows. “I don’t understand. I took two of them apart and found nothing but the gears Noranna and I put there . . .”
“That’s because your weak Sight doesn’t let you see the spirits inside.” Hadrien’s voice issues from Karston’s mouth somewhere behind us.
There’s a clanking sound as the hundred or so remaining metal soldiers turn to face him as well, standing at attention as if awaiting orders. Whirling around, I watch Karston bound partway down the staircase. I draw my sword, not the least bit worried about the short sword in his hand, and start to rush toward him.
Hurrying after me, Meredy quickly grabs the back of my tunic, holding me in place as she whispers, “Remember, you said Karston might be in there, too!” That said, she releases me.
After all, I have no idea how Hadrien’s spirit got in there, but I’m willing to bet that putting a blade through Karston would force the mad king out. That’s how we cast spirits out of their bodies and send them back to the Deadlands.
“Oh, no,” Hadrien murmurs as I watch him warily for any sign of movement. I’ll fight to save Karston, but I’m not letting Hadrien leave my sights again. “I see a few of my subjects got cold feet and decided not to stand with me after all. Shame.” I follow his gaze to the handful of crumpled metal soldiers now piled in a corner of the dungeon, the ones that the larger group turned on. The spirits must still be trapped inside the mangled metal bodies, but now those few who might have been persuaded to help us will be of no use. Their bodies aren’t in any shape to fight, let alone stand.
“Subjects? Explain,” I demand, my heart thudding madly as I gesture to the metal soldiers standing at attention.
“Sparrow.” Hadrien’s gaze locks with mine. “Still alive, I see. Another shame.” He smiles, his eyes turning a darker shade of brown, shifting further away from violet. He’s taking over Karston more completely the longer his spirit is inside him. He looks to Valoria next. “And you, dear sister. You pathetic, wretched little thing. I used to think you had so much potential, yet here you are, letting an orphan from the Ashes fight your battles for you. But no matter,” he adds cheerfully. “You’ll both be dead soon, anyway. You all will. Just like this silly boy whose body I took.”
That’s it. He may be wearing Karston’s face, but if Karston isn’t in there anymore, I’m going to beat Hadrien to within an inch of his life before I kill him for a second time. But what if Hadrien’s spirit just leaps into another body once Karston’s is dead? After all, we’re dealing with strange, unknown magic here. But I still have to try.
I charge forward, growling a challenge as Hadrien raises his weapon. He’s not fleeing up the stairs. Good. Time to remind him once again that I’m the better swordsperson. My blade sings as it clashes against his.
“Last time I fought you, you didn’t even bother picking up your sword.” I push against his weapon with all my strength, letting my anger at his casual mention of Karston’s death fuel my movements. Though I have far more training than him, Hadrien is a more formidable opponent in Karston’s muscular body. “Looks like you’re learning.”
Behind me come the sounds of Danial and the other guards moving closer, ready to assist me at a moment’s notice.
The metal soldiers, I see briefly out of the corner of my eye, watch us with their blank faces, seemingly awaiting Hadrien’s orders.
Suddenly, Hadrien’s eyes roll back in his head. He sinks onto the stairs, and I lower my sword, breathing hard.
“Odessa,” Karston grits out, sounding like he’s in pain. His eyes are pure violet again and wide with shock. “Your Majesty,” he adds to Valoria, trying to bow while slumped over and almost toppling off the stairs. “Please, forgive me. All I wanted to do was help Karthia.”
His eyes start to roll again. Keeping my blade safely out of his reach, I lean forward to grip his shoulder, giving him a sharp shake. We need to keep him talking while he’s still in there. We need answers.
“Stay with us, Karston,” I urge him. “It’s good to see you again.” I hope the warmth in my voice tells him that I mean it.
“Hadrien said there are spirits inside the soldiers,” Valoria says quickly, gesturing to the line of iron figures still standing at attention, still waiting for their master to command them. “How is that possible?”
Pain twists Karston’s handsome features. “I— It started when we went to look for Jax in the Deadlands,” he says quickly, as though he knows he’s running out of time. “Odessa and I got separated, and I met him. Hadrien. I didn’t know who he was—how would I recognize a prince I’d never seen? I’d never even been to Grenwyr City until the school opened, and besides, he used another name.” He gives a short, bitter laugh. “He asked me to come back to see him again. He said he’d keep me safe in the Deadlands—so I kept visiting. He was funny and kind, and he made me feel special. He understood me. And even though you all welcomed me into the pack, Hadrien made more time for me than anyone else. He’s—he was—a good friend, I thought.”
I dab my damp face with the bottom of my tunic and nod for him to continue as waves of nausea roll through me. The thought of someone feeling anything but revulsion toward Hadrien after what he did makes me sick, even if the mad king was hiding his true identity.
“He helped me figure out what my gift really is—raising the dead in a different way,” Karston says softly. “See, I can take spirits and carry them inside myself from the Deadlands to our world. I can put them in anything I choose,” he continues, a faint sheen of sweat coating his brow. “I told Hadrien about training with our volunteers, and how we didn’t stand a chance against a real army yet. So when Noranna started making those metal soldiers, Hadrien and I came up with a plan. He found me spirit volunteers who didn’t mind the idea of iron bodies, and I put them in the soldiers.”
“Did you ever see any frozen spirits while you were in the spirit world? Is that part of your magic, too?” I can’t help but ask, though it hardly matters now that all the danger is here, in our world.
Karston shakes his head, looking as confused as I feel when I think of the temporarily immobile spirits.
As we fall silent, Valoria steps forward, her gaze trained on Karston. She studies him for a moment before speaking.
“Why didn’t you tell me this on any of my visits to the temple? You couldn’t have
told Odessa, or Simeon, or anyone?” Valoria asks, her voice thick with a mixture of pain and shock. “I trusted you, Karston. My friends and I, we accepted you as one of us. Welcomed you into the pack, as you said. And still, you lied to us about your gift. You’re no better than Ha—”
“You think I don’t know that?” he bursts out, cutting her off. “But you needed an army, Majesty, and you’d forbidden raising the dead. I wanted to be invaluable to you, so I could stay in Grenwyr for good—the one place where I finally fit in. The only way I knew how to give you what you needed was by lying about my gift. I didn’t think it could do any harm. Hadrien promised me he’d be one of the first into the soldiers, and that the other spirits would listen to him. I . . .” He raises his chin a fraction, but he struggles to meet Valoria’s piercing gaze. “I was going to tell you, once I was sure it worked. But every time I tried, every time the soldiers did something strange, he took over. I guess he doesn’t mind me telling you now—now that he’s shown himself. I started losing hours here and there. Anything he didn’t want me to know, he’d try to wipe from my mind.” He bows his head, clearly ashamed.
“Spirits being able to take over your body—that must be the cost of your magic,” Valoria says shrilly. I think she’s in shock. “After pulling a spirit from the Deadlands, your body is open to other spirits as a vessel they can occupy—just like the ones you put them in. I could have helped you figure that out, if you’d just come to me and been honest! I also could have told you that my brother never cared for you. He’s never cared for anyone but himself.”
“Why would I have come to you, Majesty?” Karston’s voice breaks in his anguish. “I didn’t know what was happening! I thought something was off after the soldiers attacked you at the demonstration, but I wasn’t entirely sure. Hadrien kept messing with my memory, leaving me in the dark with fragments to piece together. But I finally figured it out after he used me to kill Noranna and everyone else at the wedding.” He shakes his head, his shoulders quaking under waves of grief. “I was on my way to put a stop to this—to end things for good—when he took over and used me to strangle Odessa and free his army. I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again. I don’t—I can’t take the pain. Mine, theirs—it’s too much.”
Song of the Dead Page 31
