He and Jax disappear through the gate, leaving Evander and me alone on the hill. I sense something staring at us from the berry bushes and catch sight of a creature’s liquid brown eyes. They blink once, then vanish. Reminded of the way the Shade watched us from the shadows not long ago, I grab Evander’s hand and pull him back before he steps into the gate.
Evander stops and follows my gaze. A mother deer and her two fawns prance out of the bushes.
His lips quirk as he studies me. “Hey. Sparrow.” He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me tighter than last night’s laced-up party dress. “I know you’re not afraid of deer. What’s really bothering you?”
I shake my head, unable to put my unease into words. Instead, I force a smile. “Just thinking about facing another Shade so soon. Especially since it’s probably grown stronger while we were worrying about Duke Bevan and the festival yesterday. But . . . we’ve got this, right?”
After last night, I’m all the more eager to move into those palace rooms.
“We’ve got this.” Evander presses his lips hard against mine, stealing my breath and sending heat through me. He draws back, grinning like he did the time we hiked to the top of a mountain just outside the city to catch the sunrise. “Now come on,” he says, giving my hair a playful tug. “We’ve got to find the Shade before Jax.”
I give him a look. “Did you two—?”
“Make a bet?” Evander winks, then draws his sword. “Absolutely.”
We march through the gate’s intense glow and emerge into a field of poppies bordered by distant mountains. The blossoms’ lurid red color reminds me once again of Master Nicanor. I shake my head to clear it, then touch the whistle around my neck as I search the shadows. The liquid fire potion sits on my belt beside the usual vials of blood, milk, and honey, its presence giving me confidence in the near darkness.
Out of the corner of my eye, something white flits across the field. I tense and grab my sword, Evander’s name on my lips. But it’s only a woman’s spirit trailed by several little ones in flowing dresses. I don’t see any death wounds, which means they were probably victims of a fever. The little ones stick close to their mother, gathering flowers to pass the time.
As Evander gazes around the field, I close my eyes, feeling for malice or unrest, any stain on our otherwise calm surroundings. The pathways in the Deadlands call to me with a restlessness deep in my bones that somehow pulls me toward the spot where I’ll find the spirit my client needs. And when it’s time to leave, the gates reel me in with a faint tugging around my navel that guides my steps until I see the familiar glow.
But I’ve never been able to sense a Shade, contrary to what Jax seems to think. And tonight is no different.
A long, shrill whistle blast cuts across the field, and my pulse quickens.
Evander and I sprint toward the sound, keeping to the footpath between the poppies where there aren’t any holes to fall in or tangled roots to trip over. The whistle seems to have come from the east, but I don’t feel the Deadlands pulling me in any particular direction, so we slow our pace to a jog as we wait for another sound, another sign.
The mountains loom ahead of us, their rough peaks blue-black and ringed with mist in the permanent twilight. As we draw nearer, a narrow ravine takes shape, cast entirely in shadow by two high slopes. It appears to be the only way forward, unless the landscape shifts or we find some grappling hooks for climbing the sheer mountain faces.
“What do we do now?” I pant, resting with my hands on my knees in the mountains’ shadow. “I wouldn’t go in there”—I point to the ravine—“for all the gold in Karthia.”
Evander opens his mouth to answer just as the whistle blares again, so close it’s almost on top of us.
“Master Cymbre? Simeon? Jax?” I shout into the ravine. They should be able to hear my call, given how close the whistle sounded.
But no one answers.
Maybe the landscape on the other side of the mountain has shifted from one valley to another, and our friends are suddenly miles away.
“I don’t like this,” Evander murmurs. But his nerves don’t show. His hands are steady on his blade as he peers into the ravine. “I hate to say it, but I don’t see any way around this. If they’re in trouble and we don’t hurry, we’ll never forgive ourselves.”
“Right.” I nod, even though gazing into the ravine makes my stomach flip. I hate not being able to see where I’m going. “You’re right, of course.” I clutch the liquid fire potion in one hand, and my sword in the other.
Evander starts toward the ravine, but I gently push my shoulder into his chest to hold him back. “Wait. Sparrows first.” I give him the best smile I can manage. There’s no way I’m letting him head into the uncertain darkness and danger before me when I’m the stronger pathfinder.
Slowly, I begin the descent, keeping a hand on the nearest cold rock wall for support. Tiny bits of stone tumble down ahead of me, jarred loose by my first tentative step. I try to listen for the moment the stones stop skittering, to gauge the distance to the bottom, but the darkness swallows up the sound of their fall much too quickly for my liking.
I count my steps, ten total, before Evander’s voice reaches me.
“Try to feel your way along the walls,” he calls as the blackness presses closer around me. “And remember to breathe, Sparrow. I’m right behind—”
His words are cut short by a jagged, guttural scream.
I whirl around, gazing upward to the ravine’s entrance.
Silhouetted against the twilight, Evander dangles in the air, a large, bony hand plunged right through his middle. Scarlet seeps from the wound, and as my head spins, as I fight not to fall to my knees at the sight, something makes the shrill whistle we heard before.
Now I understand. The giant Shade was baiting us. Hunting us, when we thought we were hunting it.
Somehow, I cram my whistle into my mouth with a shaking hand and blow into it with as much breath as I can muster. My stomach drops to the ravine floor far below as Evander’s eyes turn glassy and the creature pulls its hand free, carelessly dropping him and then picking him up again as if he’s a toy that doesn’t quite hold its interest.
He’s so still, I’m afraid he’s not breathing.
Please, by Vaia’s grace, let him be breathing.
I force my shaking legs to run back up the short stretch of rocky path I descended, closing the distance between the Shade and me. The monster lifts Evander’s limp arm to tear it off, and I take aim, throwing my vial of liquid fire right at its chest. But it easily swats the potion away like a bug. A cloud of blue flames explodes in a patch of white flowers.
The Shade is momentarily distracted, so I try again. Drawing my blade, gazing into the pitch-dark holes where its eyes should be, I slice clean through one of the monster’s arms, freeing Evander from its grip. Black liquid spatters my face and chest. It reeks like spoiled fish and burns my skin.
The Shade’s growl echoes through the mountains as it picks me up with its remaining arm and squeezes me so hard my sword drops from my limp hand. I twist in the monster’s grasp, trying to get a look at Evander, but the Shade’s strength is overpowering, squashing what little air is left in my lungs. It easily stands twice my height—the largest Shade I’ve ever seen.
The monster carries me toward a field, angling me so I’m able to turn my head and see him. Evander. Or what was Evander. My heart rattles sickly in my chest as his broken body shimmers beneath my gaze. His open, staring eyes reflect the twilight, and it’s then I realize there’s nothing of the one I love left in there. No hope for a healer’s magic. Nothing I can say, no one I can bribe, or punch, or kill to get him back.
The monster flexes its bony hands, tearing into my skin. White-hot lightning flashes behind my eyes, and blood—my blood—sprays a crimson arc on a bed of lilies. They shouldn’t be here. They mean beauty, in a w
orld where nothing will ever be beautiful again.
I collapse, watching my blood pool around me as the Shade crouches near my face. The few tendrils of greasy black hair still clinging to its skull brush my cheek as it sniffs my head. I don’t struggle. I don’t care. My life, it doesn’t matter anymore. Not now. Not without Evander.
The Shade unhinges its jaw wide enough to fit my head in its mouth, revealing its pointed teeth and blackened tongue. But before those teeth can snap my head from my neck, the monster snarls almost reluctantly at something in the distance, and bounds off into the darkness.
IX
Voices circle above me. Beside me. Over and under and around again, a baffling current of sound I can’t trace.
“Danial’s on his way!” Simeon declares breathlessly.
Footsteps pound down a corridor.
“She’s dying. We should’ve stayed together!” Jax roars, followed by a sound like wood splintering. I don’t have to open my eyes to know he’s put his fist through a wall.
A door bangs open, and suddenly someone’s touching my head, my waist. Their fingers are sticky. Warmth rushes over me like someone’s dunked me in a bucket of hot water.
“She’s going to make it,” Danial says, his voice taut as a bowstring.
“How do you know?” Simeon sniffles and draws a shaky, wet breath.
Another wave of heat crashes into me.
Then comes pain all over, like a thousand knives being plunged into my skin at once without mercy.
Finally comes surrender. Welcome nothingness.
* * *
“I can’t do it. I’m not going.”
I’m ten years old again, and Evander and Master Cymbre watch with mingled surprise and worry as I flop down in the cool summer grass, bathed in the bluish light of a gate to the Deadlands. This will be our first time entering the spirit world, and I’m more afraid than I’ve ever been. I don’t want to let go of the firm ground that cradles me, the wind that combs my hair, or the stars that make silver freckles on Evander’s cheeks as he kneels beside me. I don’t know what the Deadlands hold, and I don’t care, because this is the world I love.
“Come on. I’ll race you.” Evander shoots me a grin, then nods to the gate. “Loser buys the winner sweets for a month.” When I don’t move, he adds in a whisper, “You’re faster than me. I’d take the wager.”
I shake my head and look away, not wanting him to see my tears.
“All right, then.”
Evander springs to his feet. He dashes toward the gate, his face pinched with concentration, his unruly dark bangs obscuring his jewel-blue eyes. I can’t help but watch, holding my breath as he sticks one foot through the low gate. Master Cymbre hides her expression behind her hand, but I spot a flicker of a smile.
Evander’s leg disappears up to the ankle, then the knee. “It doesn’t hurt! I’m all right!” he shouts, grinning.
He starts to pull back, to return to us, but leaning into the gate threw him off-balance. He flails his arms as he disappears into the blue light completely, stealing my breath.
I leap up. Three swift bounds and I’m through the gate, landing right on top of Evander on the other side. We’re in a damp tunnel that’s not so different from the tunnels in our world.
“Did it hurt?” he whispers through the dark. “Is this place as awful as you imagined?”
I shrug. All I knew in the moment Evander disappeared was that I had to go after him, no matter the cost.
Not even the Deadlands could be awful with him by my side. My partner.
* * *
“Evander?” I mumble, surprising myself with how groggy I sound.
“No, sweet sister,” Simeon answers, a hitch in his voice, as I open my eyes and blink the grit from them. His face becomes clearer, from his messy hair to his waxy skin and his eyes rimmed with red.
There’s an open book in his lap, its pages crumpled, the ink running in places.
“You look like shit,” I blurt, putting a hand to my aching head without bothering to try sitting up. My whole body aches, and I don’t think it’s up for the challenge. “Rough night?” My mouth is dry, and I have to pause to lick my lips. “Where are we?”
I gaze around the plain but soothing room. The afternoon sun streams through the window, bathing bland portraits of lemon blossoms and cypress trees on all four walls and a wilting vase of flowers on the table opposite the bed in warm light.
We’re in the palace, in the healers’ wing.
“Where is he? Where’s Evander?”
I grip Simeon by his tunic and shake him so hard, his book slips to the floor. He gently pries away my shaking fingers. “I’m so sorry, Sparrow,” he says, his voice hoarse. “We couldn’t save him.”
The noise that escapes me is like the last breath of the dying. Pain burns through me, swallowing me up, like the yawning blackness of the Deadlands ravine.
Evander’s dying scream rings in my ears as the healer’s room shimmers before my eyes, becoming darker, sunless as the place where I last saw Evander’s body. The stink of the Shade’s flesh fills my nostrils. Its breath washes over me, ready to devour me as I lie helpless, watching the shell that was Evander, foolishly begging it to move.
My scream startles a bird from the windowsill.
“Shhhh, Sparrow.” Simeon touches my shoulder, and I fight to stop screaming. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He stretches out beside me, the way we used to sleep in our shared bed at the convent, and repeats the words until my scream becomes a whimper.
Danial sweeps into the room carrying a tray. His eyes are more bloodshot than Simeon’s. “We’re going to make you better,” he says, “which is what Evander would want.” He sounds defeated. “That’s all we can do.”
“Don’t talk about him like he’s dead!” I shout, my voice breaking over the words.
Danial bows his head. “Of course. My mistake.” He sets his tray down on a high table and begins pouring a dazzling blue liquid into a glass.
Simeon holds me against him, and I put my hands over his, clinging to them.
“I hurt, Si.” I sound like a child, but I can’t make myself stop any more than I can stop my body from shaking. “I can’t take it. I can’t.”
Danial strides to my bedside, smoothing back my hair and holding the glass of blue drink to my lips. “I’ve healed all your wounds, Sparrow. The only pain you feel is in here.” He taps his head, his kohl-lined eyes glistening. “I can’t heal the mind—no mage can. But this should help. Drink up.”
“What is it?” I manage.
“A tonic to soothe the nerves.”
Even through the haze of pain, I remember that the usual calming tonic is gray and smokes at the surface. “Are you sure?”
Danial almost smiles at that. “This one is stronger than those we normally give. It’ll help. Trust me.”
Somehow, between sobbing breaths, I drain the glass. It tastes like the small, hard green apples the Sisters of Death sometimes use in their pies. I close my eyes when Danial takes away the glass, suddenly exhausted.
I don’t want to scream anymore. I don’t want to do much of anything. I can only think of Evander, the Deadlands, and the Shade, but almost like an outsider. I know I should be hurting, but the pain can’t sink its hooks as deep into me as it did moments before I drank the potion.
“How is she?” someone asks from out of sight.
My head is too muddled to place her voice right away, but I recognize her long red braid when it swishes past the door. Master Cymbre doesn’t come in. Instead, she draws Danial into the hallway, and I don’t have the strength to wonder why.
With Simeon’s arms around me, I lie back and listen to his heartbeat, to the vibrant rhythm of life, until I slide into the nothingness of a dreamless sleep.
* * *
The sun still rises an
d sets, like it always has. It seems cruel that it wouldn’t stop, just for a little while, to show how much darker the world is without Evander in it.
I stop looking at the sun.
Without it, one day blurs into the next, until two or three or five have gone by.
* * *
Walking alone down the palace corridor that leads to Jax’s room, to my room, and a few doors beyond that, to Evander’s former room, I have no destination in mind. Nothing to fill my days.
I’m always alone now, even when someone is right beside me.
Footsteps jar me out of my drug-induced daze long enough to recognize Danial striding toward me, wearing his sturdy cotton healer’s whites and the gold pin with double turquoise gems that signifies his master status. He opens his mouth to say something, but my head spins violently and the polished marble corridor becomes a blur as I sink to my knees.
The sixth dizzy spell in as many days.
Cool, gentle hands smooth my hair back from my forehead.
“Evander?” My heart skips as I gaze into the bluest eyes in all of Karthia.
“No,” he says, frowning, but I’d know that voice, that face, those eyes anywhere. He kneels beside me, his forehead lined with concern, trying to get a better look at me. But I fling my arms around him, frantic, knocking the breath from him.
“How is this possible?” I laugh. “It’s you . . .”
“Odessa.” Evander frowns harder still, leaning away from me.
I pull him near, surprised by his resistance. “I thought you were dead!” I whisper fiercely into his neck.
“Odessa!”
Evander gives my shoulders a sharp shake, and suddenly in his place is Danial. He’s kneeling on the floor beside me, gazing into my face with so much worry. “I’m not him, Odessa. You’re having delusions.”
I cross my arms and shake my head. I know he’s right, but I don’t want to believe him. If delusions are the only way to see Evander, then so be it. I’ll take what I can get.
“I can heal your body again and again,” Danial says distantly, like he’s talking to someone else even though he’s looking right at me, “but I don’t know what else to try for your mind—you look dead on your feet, Sparrow!”
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