Reign of the Fallen

by Sarah Glenn Marsh

  “Prince Hadrien,” I say in the warmest voice I can muster when someone’s touching me without my permission and I have no authority to snap their fingers like kindling. “Happy festival day to you.”

  “If you really want to make it a happy one,” Hadrien says, smiling in a way that shows off all his perfect teeth and makes his dark brown eyes shine brighter than the opals in his silver crown, “you’ll come dance with me, Sparrow.”

  “She’s fine right here,” Evander growls, then quickly shoots me an apologetic look. He knows I can speak for myself, but he can never stay quiet when Hadrien is around. I’d thought that after three years of the prince’s shameless flirting, Evander would learn to ignore it, but Hadrien has a way of getting under people’s skin.

  I sidestep Hadrien’s touch, positioning myself beside Valoria. “If I try to bend and twist in this dress, it’ll rip. And that would give King Wylding quite a shock.” My gaze darts between the golden-haired prince and Evander, who’s gripping his sword hilt. I’m glad at least one of us came to this party armed. “Maybe some other time, Highness.”

  “One must always hold on to hope,” Hadrien says good-naturedly. He gives me a sweeping bow, the kind people usually reserve for King Wylding. The mischievous gleam in his eyes softens as he straightens. “My condolences to you both”—he pauses to glance at Evander—“for Master Nicanor. Such a terrible loss. Though I suppose that’s the risk of walking where only the dead should dwell.”

  “That’s why we normally travel there in pairs,” Evander murmurs darkly. “But there are some suspicious circumstances around Master Nicanor’s death, which we intend to investigate. I’m sure you’ll help with that.”

  “I had no idea . . . I was told it was an accident!” Hadrien’s dark eyes are round with sincerity. “Of course I’ll help. Anything and anyone within these walls”—he gestures to the palace around us, suddenly more somber than I’ve ever seen him—“is at your disposal, day or night. Simply say the word.”

  Evander looks at Hadrien a long moment, then grits out, “Thank you.”

  “We appreciate it, Highness,” I add, giving Hadrien a gracious smile I hope will take his mind off Evander’s surliness.

  In the distance, someone calls Hadrien’s name, and he turns toward the sound. “Ah, I’ve just spotted a lovely lady in dire need of a glass of wine. Can’t leave anyone empty-handed on festival night, or I’m a rotten host. See you around, Sparrow.” With a wink, he disappears into a sea of black-shrouded figures and ladies in flowing silks of every autumn hue.

  “I think he actually likes you.” Valoria gives me a bewildered glance, seeming torn between amusement and revulsion at her brother’s behavior. “And—Evander, isn’t that your mother he’s talking to now?”

  Hadrien reappears near the bonfire, where he’s already managed to find a glass of wine. He presses it into Lyda Crowther’s delicate hand, drawing her away from the group of Dead nobles with whom she was chatting. Even from a distance, her smile is unmistakable. I’m sure she has the good sense not to utter any of what she told us over our midnight supper.

  Evander says nothing, but kicks a chipped piece of cobblestone toward the fire.

  “Careful with that!” a gruff voice says. “You trying to blind me, Crowther?” Jax pushes through the crowd, the jagged rock Evander kicked grasped in his large fist. He’s wearing his customary black, though he’s swapped his necromancer’s uniform for a set of silk robes that make him look so uncomfortable, he’d probably rather be naked. He glances from Evander to Prince Hadrien and Lyda. “Or are your knickers in a bunch because the prince is moving in on your mother?”

  “Guilty.” Evander holds up his hands, his anger fading at the sight of our friend. “Just trying to thin out the competition. Like there aren’t enough dead people to raise in Grenwyr.”

  “Lucky for you both,” Simeon’s voice bursts from behind Jax’s tall figure, “I’ve brought a healer with me.”

  Using his bony elbow to clear a path through the crowd, Simeon appears with a raven-haired young man on his arm. They’re both dressed in tailored pants and long-sleeved tunics, far more sensible than Jax’s ridiculous formal robes.

  “Who remembers this handsome rogue?” Simeon’s smile broadens as he adds, “Danial’s just told me he’s moving here from Oslea! Finally!”

  “And just in time, too.” Danial smiles at us all, his kohl-lined hazel eyes sparkling despite a shadow of worry lingering behind them. “Who knows what trouble Si was getting into without me around?”

  “All kinds,” Jax deadpans. “All the time.” He glances toward the banquet tables. “Think the Dead left any of the undercooked meat for the rest of us?”

  Valoria raises her brows at that, and I lay my hand on her shoulder. “Princess Valoria, I’d like you to meet my friends. This is my almost-brother, Simeon of Grenwyr.” Simeon winks as I say his name. “His boyfriend, the healer mage Danial Swancott.” When his name is mentioned, Danial makes a deep bow that’s less flashy and somehow more sincere than Prince Hadrien’s. “And the brute who prefers his meat still bleeding is Jax of Lorness.”

  Taking that as his cue to go fill up his plate, Jax nods to the princess before stalking toward the feast.

  “Sparrow!” Danial exclaims, taking my hands. Everything he says has a musical lilt that always draws smiles from his listeners. I swear he should’ve been a bard. “Let me get a good look at you. It’s always a treat.”

  I can’t help but grin. Danial’s a treat to look at himself, with powder perfectly applied over his creamy alabaster skin and kohl around his eyes painted on with an artist’s skill. It compliments his shoulder-length hair that’s as black as Idrany ink, and draws attention to his wide eyes.

  “I think I’ve already heard what happened here.” Danial’s brows knit in concern as he rubs a thumb over the long gash on my forearm. It was healed enough for me to leave the bandage off for the festival, but it’s scabbed and puckered and far from pretty. “May I?”

  When I nod, Danial lays a hand over the cut and narrows his eyes, no doubt using his hazel Sight to check the extent of the damage beneath my skin. Evander and Simeon talk among themselves, having seen Danial at work so many times the novelty’s worn off. But Valoria peers over his shoulder with interest.

  Heat rushes up my arm, and when Danial drops his hand, my skin is soft and whole again, with no evidence of the cut that would have otherwise left a scar.

  “You’re the best.” I give Danial a warm smile of thanks.

  He returns to Simeon’s side, clutching his right hand to his chest, his fingers looking as frozen and twisted as the dried birds’ feet kept in glass jars on apothecary shelves.

  “Temporary paralysis,” Valoria says to herself. “The price of a healer’s magic.”

  “What’d I miss?” Jax reappears with what looks like an entire serving platter, comically enormous compared to the plates intended for guests. As he dangles a scrap of boar meat above his lips, he spots Valoria, and a thoughtful expression crosses his face. He holds the meat out to her. “The best piece, Highness. It’s yours if you want it.”

  Valoria blinks at the bloody scrap, then at Jax as he holds it out to her. “Oh. I—yes, thank you.” Her face turns redder than the meat as she takes it from him and swallows it in one unladylike bite.

  Evander makes his way to my side and offers me his hand. “Would you care for a dance?” He keeps his voice carefully neutral, saving the tenderness for the moment our eyes meet. There are few things Evander likes better than dancing.

  I grab his hand in answer. Let Lyda think what she will, if she’s looking on with the rest. She can’t keep us from having fun tonight, when it could well be our last.

  “I understand your dress might rip if you spin around too much.” Evander grins, which makes his eyes shine. “But I’m willing to risk it if you are.”

  We hurry to an
empty space on the flagstones, well away from the bonfire, but close enough to feel an occasional burst of heat when the wind blows. Danial practically sweeps Simeon off his feet in their haste to join us.

  I tip my head back to the night sky. The moon and stars become a baffling whorl of lights as Evander spins me around and pulls me back to his arms again and again.

  For the first time in days, the weight on my shoulders is starting to ease. Dancing with Evander is like walking on air, but with the certainty of knowing he’ll be waiting to catch me when I’m ready to come back down.

  “I couldn’t find Duke Bevan.” Master Cymbre breaks the spell, and Danial, Simeon, Evander, and I all stop dancing and turn to face her. I expected to feel braver, ready to take on anything when Master Cymbre returned. But our former teacher looks as defeated as she sounds, with circles under her eyes and strands coming loose from her waist-length braid. It’s only been a week since I saw her last, yet there seems to be more gray than red in her hair now.

  “If he doesn’t reappear within the month,” she continues as we leave the dance floor and close in around her, joined almost at once by Jax, “his living heir will inherit his fortune, home, and title.”

  “Not the duchess?” I ask, surprised.

  Master Cymbre shakes her head. “She’d rather not be raised again, now that her husband’s gone. I don’t understand it.” Her steel-blue eyes look faded, like whatever she’s seen lately has leeched the color from them. “She finally has a chance to live the way she never could, without that brute breathing down her neck and controlling her every move, and now she’d rather stay in the Deadlands. I suppose that’s one way to have peace, but—”

  “What about Master Nicanor?” Simeon interrupts. “Do you know why he was in the Deadlands when he’s supposed to be retired? Or why his cottage was wrecked?”

  “No. That’s why I wanted to talk to you all. To gather what you know.” Cymbre bows her head, a familiar gesture. She doesn’t want us to see her expression. “And I think it’s better that I look into his death alone. It may not be my job to keep you all safe anymore, but I intend to try.”

  “Not a chance,” Jax growls, his crystal eyes flashing. “That Shade is mine. I’m coming to the Deadlands with you.”

  “Me too.” Simeon crosses his arms. “As soon as the festival ends, we hunt.”

  I glance at Evander, who shares my frown. Master Cymbre’s always had the answers to our problems. A book, a potion, a sharp but well-intentioned word of advice. Something about knowing she feels as lost as we do unsettles me worse than the memory of Nicanor’s death. I wonder if we were ready for the title of master. Or if anyone ever is.

  “Evander?” Jax locks eyes with his friend, then turns to me. “Sparrow? What do you say? Five master necromancers against one Shade? I know it won’t bring Master Nicanor back or help us find our missing duke, but . . .” He grins darkly. “It’ll feel damn good.”

  “We’re in,” Evander and I agree at the same time. The red, pink, and white flowers spelling out a warning in Cymbre’s cottage flash to mind, but I don’t mention them. No one needs another reminder of the danger.

  Master Cymbre twists the end of her braid around her fingers, a habit that’s probably far older than me. “I still don’t know.” If anything, she looks more troubled than she did before we promised to help. “None of you are allowed to die before me, understand, unless I’m killing you myself for disobeying orders. That said . . .” She gazes at each of us in turn. “We can hunt together tomorrow, at dusk. That gives you each time to change your minds and back out if you should come to your senses. Agreed?”

  I exchange a glance with Simeon, and we both nod. Then Evander does, too. Jax makes a grunting noise, his way of accepting terms he doesn’t like.

  As if also in answer, a scream tears through the courtyard from somewhere behind us.

  “Hear that?” Jax cocks his head, grinning at Evander and elbowing him in the ribs. “That’s the sound of your mother and Prince Hadrien making sweet love, Master Crowther.”

  Master Cymbre shakes her head, scowling at Jax, and turns toward the sound. Her expression quickly changes, her eyes widening.

  Evander and I whirl around in unison. Stumbling into the courtyard by way of the garden archway is a Shade, one the size and height of an average man—or it would be, if it wasn’t hunched over, its bony knuckles dragging the ground as it shambles toward the party.

  Drawing his sword, Evander charges toward a group of young nobles cowering on the far side of the bonfire in the courtyard’s center. They’re pressed against one of the palace walls, too stunned and full of wine to flee the Shade that’s alternately shuffling around and gazing off into the night, no doubt seeking a gate to the Deadlands.

  Jax, Simeon, and I spring into action, guiding confused and frightened people toward the palace doors as the monster begins its hunt.

  It’s a new Shade, judging by the way it still looks and smells like a hunched, rotting corpse: its face, only vaguely human, is sunken and skeletal, with black holes where its eyes should be. Its skin is ashen, dangling in tatters, its limbs in various states of decay. I have to fight not to gag as it turns toward me and seems to meet my gaze with its empty eye sockets. Then it shrieks, its jaw unhinging as it reveals a mouth full of sharp yellow teeth that devour bodies and spirits alike.

  The creature bounds toward me, passing Evander and the frightened nobles, giving the bonfire a wide berth. Then the wind shifts and the Shade pauses, sniffing the air in the young nobles’ direction. Its cracked lips curl with what can only be thirst. Releasing a snarl, the monster changes course and stalks back toward them.

  The more corpses and spirits Shades devour, the taller and stronger they become. This party will be like a buffet for the hungry creature, and then we’ll have an even bigger, harder-to-kill problem on our hands.

  Heart hammering, I feel instinctively for my blade, but my hand closes over layers of soft skirt in place of my weapon. I don’t have time for this. Evander needs backup now. Glancing hurriedly around for something sharp, my gaze lands on the feast tables. I grab a knife from an empty platter just as Jax and Simeon run to Evander’s side, their blades drawn.

  “Get the Wyldings into the palace!” Master Cymbre shouts over the din. “We need fire!”

  Someone cries out. Then, on the ground near the snarling creature, a figure crumples in the grass. Some poor soul is dead.

  Raising his sword, Evander attempts to create a barrier between the stunned Wylding relatives and the Shade. It releases a low growl, like a hound relishing the moment before a kill. Its skin, cracked and oozing, reeks of decay so strongly that the stench assaults me from halfway across the courtyard.

  The nobles scatter at last, momentarily confusing the Shade as they run around the roaring bonfire like a bunch of startled geese. A few trip over their own skirts while others kick spilled goblets out of their paths. A frightened boy in a gray servant’s vest, running hard on their heels, collides face-first with a painting of the Face of Cloud. Leaping, the Shade snaps his neck with a quick twist, making a gleeful, gurgling sound as the boy drops to the ground.

  Sometimes they like to eat corpses. And sometimes they just like killing.

  A girl near my side heaves a sob, snapping me out of a daze. I throw the knife back down. Blades will slow the monster, but even hacking it into bite-sized pieces of flesh won’t kill it. It’ll pull itself back together and keep eating corpses until someone sets it ablaze.

  As the palace guards stream into the courtyard, taking aim with crossbows, and as my friends and I struggle to keep the panicked partygoers away from the Shade, I realize that someone will have to be me.

  I sprint toward the open door on one end of the courtyard, where Master Cymbre and Danial are shepherding nobles inside to safety. I’m about to grab a torch from the brackets beside the doorway when a sound freezes my bl
ood: Valoria’s scream.

  Snatching up a torch, I turn around, dashing toward the princess.

  The Shade has backed her into a corner on the opposite side of the courtyard. Valoria scratches vainly at the stone walls behind her, grinding her nails to bloody stubs as she tries to climb to safety. But there’s nothing to hold on to, and the Shade is giving a telltale growl that means it’s about to pounce.

  Evander, reaching Valoria first, plunges his blade into the Shade’s side. Simeon and Jax follow, charging it as it strikes Evander down, barely managing to nick its flesh before it casts them aside. I dodge terrified stragglers as they run for the safety of the palace walls, determined to reach that distant corner in time to help.

  A gust of autumn wind whips the warmth of the festival bonfire onto my face as I bolt toward my friends. The Shade flicks its blackened tongue over dry lips, seemingly enjoying the way the princess raises her bloodied fists like she’s prepared to fight to the death. It’s distracted. Good. Time to make my move.

  Darting between the Shade and Valoria, I brandish my torch as close to the monster’s face as I dare, startling it into taking a step back, toward the bonfire. I lunge again, sparks from my torch kissing the Shade’s putrid skin, and it takes another clumsy step backward.

  The Shade snarls, a bony fist curled at its side. It seems to want to grab the torch from me, but it’s too new and stupid to be confident in its own speed and strength. I snarl back as I shove the torch closer, sending smoke up the monster’s decaying nose.

  With a deafening screech, the Shade stumbles into the fire. I quickly step back, but as the monster falls, it manages to grab my free arm. I twist away, but its grip is too tight. It pulls me into the flames with the strength of several men.

  Sparks fly as we roll into the heart of the blaze.

  We land on top of each other, and as the Shade burns, so do I. Pain consumes me as my flesh sizzles, searing up my hands, my arms, my face. Searing everything. I wish to Death that I could float up out of my body, just leave this burnt shell behind.