Tears slide down my face, seeping onto Danial’s fingers. The look he’s giving me shifts from one of worry to something worse: pity.
Lost girl, his eyes say. Broken girl.
He bows his head like everyone else does when they see me lately. It’s like they’re scared that if they hold my gaze too long, if they look too deep, they’ll lose something that matters to them, too.
“Danial.” I don’t recognize the cracked voice coming out of my mouth as I tug on his shirtsleeve. “I need more of that calming potion. To keep the nightmares at bay.” They aren’t just happening at night, but Danial doesn’t need to know that. He also doesn’t need to know how much they dull my mind, or he might take them away, and then I can’t say what I’ll do with myself.
Danial nods reluctantly. “I’m glad it’s helping.” He hauls me to my feet, keeping an arm securely around my waist. “But if you have any more of these . . . delusions . . . let me know, will you, and we’ll find you a different tonic.”
“Right. Sure.” I shrug him off. “I can still stand on my own, see?” There’s that stranger’s voice again.
“Okay,” Danial says softly. He gazes down the hall, like he was headed somewhere, then looks at me again. “Let me help you back to your room, at least.”
I shake my head. “I’m actually going for a walk.”
“Sparrow, please tell me how you’re really—”
Turning my back on him, I continue down the hall, slower than normal but moving just fine without anyone’s help. I pass my room, taking my time as I head toward Evander’s, until I hear Danial’s boots clicking down the hall in the opposite direction.
One twist of the cold doorknob and I’m inside Evander’s empty palace quarters. There’s a wardrobe, a desk and chair, a tall painted vase full of fake and very dusty black poplar branches—their flowers are his favorite, a symbol of courage—and a bed with a basic blue quilt on it. There’s not even a hint of his sandalwood, cut-grass, and leather smell in here. None of his silly drawings or maps scrawled on the bare walls. In all our years together, I think we’ve used this room maybe a handful of times, including after the recent festival.
As my fingers touch the quilt, a memory springs to mind: Me, sitting on this very bed. Evander, facing me, armed with what seemed like an entire closet full of bandages. Patching me up after sparring practice, mending a small cut beneath my eye as I tried to rub ointment on his bruises. We were both too proud to see a healer after Master Cymbre showed us how a real warrior fights.
Shaking my head to clear it, I stagger to the desk and pull open the single drawer there, searching for a distraction.
There’s nothing inside but a dead fly. I don’t know what I thought I’d find. Letters, maybe, which Evander had written to help me through this difficult time. But no one expected this, least of all him.
I sink into the rough wooden chair by the desk. I shouldn’t have come here. This room is as Evander-less as the rest of the world, a world I’m stuck in without him.
So when I turn to face the bed, a tremor of cold runs through me as I meet the midnight-blue eyes of the young man sitting on it. He looks more polished than the Evander I knew, not one dark hair out of place or a hint of stubble on his jaw. He doesn’t say anything, but he appears real enough.
Real or not, I need him.
“Since you’ve been gone, I don’t even feel right in my own skin anymore,” I tell him, breaking the silence. I wonder if he can speak. After a long silence, I go on, “It’s like I’m missing a part, a lung or a kidney, and the rest of me can’t figure out how to work together without that one piece.”
My throat tightens, but I force more words out somehow. “I finally spent the whole night lying beside you, without having to run back to some other bed before sunup so your mother wouldn’t know. It wasn’t like I imagined it would be, though. You were just a cold shell, but I guarded you until it was time to prepare for . . .”
The fist of grief wrapping around my neck silences me for a moment, and the shadow of Evander on the bed flickers beneath my gaze.
“They’re having your funeral tomorrow,” I continue shakily, “and I’m sorry, but I’ll have to close my eyes when they put your coffin in the ground. It’s too much like saying goodbye. And I can’t do that. I won’t.”
Evander was a necromancer, a cruel little voice in the back of my mind points out. He’s gone, no matter what you think you’re seeing.
I wonder if it’s like Master Cymbre says—that our spirits travel on to whatever comes next, the place beyond the Deadlands where all spirits eventually go. But for all I know, Evander blinked out of existence when the Shade sliced through him.
The shadow Evander on the bed flickers again and disappears.
A low groan escapes my throat.
“You know what else isn’t fair about all this?” I say, my voice hollow in the empty room. “You left Karthia without me, right after you’d decided to stay.”
And I can never follow, on foot or by ship.
I run my hands through my hair, clawing at my scalp, trying to silence the wretched voice in my mind that keeps getting louder.
For the rest of my life, I could journey into the unknown world, small or vast or whatever it may be, and not find a trace of Evander anywhere but in my head.
But the only place I want to go now is the Deadlands, where I like walking the paths. Where I have unfinished business.
“And here’s what hurts worst of all,” I whisper to the empty bed where just nights ago, Evander kissed me until our lips were warm and swollen. “You’ll never hear any of this, because you’ve vanished and I have to carry on alone.”
Without my best friend. Without half of my heart.
“I wish you could tell me where to go from here, Evander.” I slump in the chair. My head feels too heavy to be supported by my body any longer. “Or how to get my heart to stop repeating your name.”
I touch the two gold pins on my worn black tunic, two sets of Vaia’s blue eyes, the eyes of Death immortalized in sapphires. My own necromancer’s pin and Evander’s. I can’t remember who gave it to me, but I’m never taking his pin off so long as I wear mine.
Everything I do is for both of us now.
X
The night of Evander’s funeral, as those finished paying their respects are leaving the graveyard for Lyda’s manor, I climb to the highest point in Grenwyr City. Partly because I can’t stand the thought of ever setting foot in the Crowthers’ home again, even to collect the few belongings from my drawer, and partly because the steep walk reminds me of how much Evander loved to hike. Besides, I can’t go back to my palace room to sleep. Not until Danial delivers more of the bittersweet potions that lull me into a dreamless haze where I float for hours, high above the nightmares’ grasping fingers, sometimes watched over by that silent shadow of Evander that only seems to appear when there’s potion in my veins.
Fastening my cloak tighter to guard against the bitter night’s wind, I sweep left out of the graveyard’s main gate, away from the fading murmurs and sobs of the mourners. There’s a single hill that peeks up above the palace and offers a bird’s-eye view of the sea and the entire city, and that’s where I’m headed.
King Wylding hates the unnamed hill, because he doesn’t believe anything should be taller or more imposing than his family’s ruling seat. I’m not sure I like it either. It makes me think nature wanted to remind the king that there will always be some things outside his control, just as some things are maddeningly outside mine.
Jax and Simeon follow me up the hill at a distance, trailed by Danial, who’s still in his healer’s whites and who gasps for breath like he’s never hiked before. He comes from the flattest part of Oslea, where there aren’t many hills to speak of.
Behind Danial, so far down the path that the babble of their voices is barely noticeable, Kasmira and her cre
w make a slow ascent to join us. I was surprised to see them at the funeral, as I never got the impression any of them were close with Evander. But Kasmira, who sat right beside me despite a lot of grumbling and muttering from the nobles, tugged a lock of my hair and whispered, “It’s not the dead we came for, lovey.”
The moment I reach the top of the hill, I sink down on the flat, worn boulder Evander used to claim as a seat whenever we came up here, and stare at the starry sky. Jax sits far apart from the rest of us, his back rigid and his expression unreadable. He’d known Evander even longer than I did.
I roll onto my side, the boulder digging into my ribs, to watch Kasmira and her crew make a bonfire on the middle of the hilltop. A tall, stately woman named Dvora drops an armful of kindling in the space the men have cleared, and Kasmira pulls out a piece of flint and a dagger to create the first spark of flame.
“Master Cymbre should be here.” Simeon watches the kindling catch fire, his face as lean and hollow as an elf’s in a children’s tale.
Danial puts an arm around Simeon’s shoulders and draws his sandy-haired lover against his side. “I’m sure she’s remembering Evander in her own way tonight,” he murmurs. “I went to give her something for her headache earlier, and . . .” His voice grows so soft, I have to strain my ears to catch the last words. “She feels like his death is her fault.”
“It’s no one’s fault.” Simeon hides his face in his hands, a gesture that makes my heart ache even more.
I understand how Master Cymbre is feeling. I keep thinking, if I’d just let him go into the ravine first, the Shade would have grabbed me instead. Evander would’ve had time to flee, or maybe even fight—after all, he’s the better swordsman. Or was.
I wipe the wetness from my cheeks and lick the salt from my lips, surprised I haven’t cried my eyes dry in the last several days. The potion must be wearing off.
“Guess this means you all won’t be returning to the Deadlands anytime soon.” One of Kasmira’s crew, a burly mate whose name I can’t remember, draws my attention as he plunks himself down opposite Simeon and Danial.
“Maybe,” Jax grunts without looking toward the fire. He still hasn’t moved from his spot on the far side of the hill, where he’s no more than a solid outline in the dark.
Simeon glances toward his partner, his brows raised, but Jax says nothing more. “There’s still the matter of hunting the giant Shade.” His face is barely recognizable without his usual good-natured grin. “It’ll have to be stopped, and I expect King Wylding will order Jax and me to take care of it, since he knows us best. I won’t agree if he expects us to go at it alone, though.” He twists one of the gold rings on his fingers, seeming lost in thought. A few moments later, he adds, “Twenty of his best archers and several vials of liquid fire potion to light their arrows ought to be enough.”
Danial presses his lips together and shakes his head. Though he doesn’t say anything, there’s a storm brewing in his kohl-rimmed eyes. Simeon is definitely in for a long night of arguing.
I wish I could save them the trouble and heartache. But if they knew about my plans to go into the Deadlands and kill the Shade myself or die trying, they’d probably lock me in a room for all eternity and say it was for my own good.
So I’ll keep my silence until I leave. Just as soon as I stop taking these calming potions and have my wits about me. Because when I return to the Deadlands, I need to make sure I stay alive long enough to watch the monster die.
“Sparrow?” Kasmira’s voice cuts into my thoughts, making me wince. Her lips are pursed. When I meet her eyes, she gestures to the fire and asks, “Why don’t you say a few words?”
I stagger to my feet and take an unsteady step toward the fire. My throat is too tight to allow any words to come out, but I pull a crumpled piece of parchment from my back pocket. A map of Grenwyr Province, one Evander had been working on practically since we met, detailing all our favorite places. I clench my hand around the parchment until it’s little more than a tiny wrinkled ball and toss it into the flames, then fall to my knees in the grass as Evander’s dreams rise into the night sky on puffs of smoke, vanishing like the rest of him.
No one speaks again for a long while. Kasmira passes around a flask, but it’s too much effort to raise my hand to take it.
Eventually, she and the crew make their way back to the Paradise, and Simeon douses the fire before he and Danial stumble down the hill to bed. I sit in the cold grass, watching smoke from the fire’s ashes curl into the velvet black sky, until Jax climbs to his feet and offers me a hand. “Coming?”
I nod but push myself to my feet without his help. We trudge back to the palace as the sky lightens to a misty gray. And when faced with the choice of returning to my dark, empty room or following Jax into his, it doesn’t take long to decide.
“Sorry about the, uh, mess.” Jax kicks his spare cloak out of the narrow entryway. There’s another pile of clothes on his bed—unwashed, by the sharp, spicy scent of them—that he shoves aside to make a place for me to sit. Two lanterns flicker to life, then Jax grabs the wooden chair from his desk and sinks into it, facing the bed.
Hugging my knees to my chest and pushing my back against the wall, I try to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress. The lanterns don’t shine bright enough to illuminate the far corners of the room, which is just as well because it looks like Jax keeps his life’s belongings stashed in careless heaps.
I blink, realizing I can’t remember the last time I was in here.
Feeling Jax’s gaze on me, I clear my throat and point to the wardrobe at the back of the room. “You know, they gave you that so you could put your things inside it.”
He runs a hand through his raven hair, then shrugs. “Sorry.” Reaching out with his foot, he kicks a dagger under the bed. “It’s not usually this bad. I . . .” He swallows, and I brace myself for the sting of hearing Evander’s name. “Well, you know.”
My shoulders slump in relief. I follow Jax’s gaze to the stretch of wall beside the desk and suck in a breath at the number of holes punched there. Sure enough, when I peer at his right fist, his knuckles are raw.
Shivering, I climb to my feet. I shouldn’t be here, intruding on his grief. There’s nothing I can offer Jax, even though he’s been my friend almost my whole life. I’m all out of sympathy, and the last thing he needs is the added weight of someone else’s sorrow.
As I stride to the door, Jax hurries after me and puts a hand on my arm, gazing down at me from barely an inch away. His breath is hot on my chilled face. “You just got here.”
“That’s right. And now I’m going.” I tug my arm from his grasp. “Goodnight, Jax.”
My hand is on the door when he says roughly, “Odessa. Wait.”
I turn, and he drops his arms to his sides. I’ve never seen him like this, standing with his head bowed, his whole body shivering slightly as he struggles to raise his eyes to mine. Looking like I could wound him with a single word.
After a long and heavy moment of silence, he murmurs, “I miss him, too.”
“I know.” I have a strange urge to brush his hair out of his face. And maybe it’s the soothing potion wearing off, but I’m shaking as I reach up. My hand gets lost on the way to his hair, sliding over the roughness of his cheek and cupping the back of his neck.
We stare at each other, frozen like that until I find my voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with—”
“The same thing that’s wrong with me,” he growls as he grabs me by the waist and pulls me against him.
Together, we fall onto the bed. He searches for my lips for a hopeful moment, nuzzling my neck, but I shake my head even as I cling to him. He wraps his arms around me, clutching me against his chest as he clumsily strokes my hair with his bloodied hand.
We douse the torchlight, and Jax groans a little as I turn and press my back against his chest. “No,” I whi
sper as his straying fingers curl around the hem of my snug tunic. He returns his hands to holding me.
This isn’t love. I know this. But in Jax’s arms, I don’t feel completely alone. I can breathe better with his weight pressing against my back, with my legs twined around his, our hot skin separated only by the thin layer of our necromancer’s uniforms. I wrap my body in his copper skin stretched over hard muscle, wearing him like a shield against the rest of the world, and it makes the thought of living bearable again.
This isn’t love. This is just two people, shaking and sobbing together in the semidark, breathing hard in each other’s ears as we try to forget our worst nightmares.
This is survival.
* * *
I’m not sure how I got back to my room last night. All I know is that the noon sun hurts my eyes, and Princess Valoria looks like a fiery spirit silhouetted against the merciless blaze.
“Get up,” she says cheerily, like she’s talking to a child or a puppy. She pulls back my blankets and wrinkles her nose. “What’s that awful smell? Oh, Sparrow. That’s it. You’re coming with me.” She gives my hand a firm tug.
I bolt upright, suck in a breath, and wrap the sheets around me like a cloak to hide my nakedness before I realize I’m still wearing my uniform.
“What’re you doing here?” I demand groggily, running a hand through my tangled hair and getting my fingers stuck halfway down.
Valoria frowns, her doe-brown eyes shining behind her glasses. “I came to see how you were faring. And as it seems you’re in dire need of a bath, I’m here to escort you to the bathing house. You can use my private chamber, even.”
“Thanks.” I flop back down on the bed and pull the quilt over my head. “But no.”
“You can’t stay in here forever, Odessa,” Valoria says gently. “When my father died, I thought I’d hide away for good. But everyone needs to eat and sleep and”—she pauses to cough—“bathe once in a while. It gets easier as the days pass. You’ll see. One morning after he was gone, I realized the sun was still shining without him. And since I was still here, I figured I’d make myself useful to other Karthians who were missing a leg like he was. That’s how I started working on my first invention.”
Reign of the Fallen Page 10
