Shadow Evander aims a kick at the door in response.
“I need you, and you’re not here,” I whisper as he flickers and disappears beneath my bleary gaze. “I miss you. We all miss you.”
I think of Jax with a guilty pang. Shadow Evander’s look of betrayal would be far worse if he ever appeared in Jax’s darkened room to find us in the bed we now share out of desperation. “I love you. And I’m sorry.”
Tonight, I’ll put on the blue silk dress that drove Evander mad when we were in public and all he could do was hold my hand. And I’ll dance, and drink, and fake a smile for everyone who smiles at me.
Tonight, I’m going to live. One last time.
XII
A pounding on my door nearly causes me to drop my latest dose of potion.
“Sparrow, let’s go,” Jax calls. “I don’t want to miss the first batch of party food. We’ll be lucky if the Dead leave us scraps.”
I swallow the contents of the vial in one huge gulp, then try to tug my dress up to cover more of my chest even though I know it’s pointless. I shake my dark brown waves loose from the butterfly pin holding them up and let my hair fall over my shoulders. I grab a second vial from my stash and splash more blue liquid down my throat. I want to make sure Evander is within reach tonight.
As if reading my thoughts, he appears from behind my wardrobe, smiling appraisingly at my dress.
When I open the door to the hall, Jax is standing off to one side, staring at a painting of King Wylding in his shroud. If not for the crown, it could be a portrait of any of the Dead.
As usual, Jax has put on his finest for the royal celebration: black silk robes, his only adornments a longsword in a golden scabbard and his master necromancer’s sapphire pin.
I prop a hand on my hip. “What are you doing out here, anyway?” I assumed I’d see him at the party, hovering near the banquet tables or trying to outdrink the Dead.
Jax’s copper skin gleams in the torchlight of the hall as he turns to me, his eyes uncertain. “I thought we’d go together.” He shrugs. “If you’d rather go alone, I’ll give you five minutes’ head start.” He points to the left, down the hallway. “The party’s that way.”
“This isn’t . . .” I pause and lick my lips, struggling for words. I need Jax in a way I’ve never needed anyone before, but he can’t fill Evander’s place at my side. “This isn’t like that. We’re not like that.”
Jax scowls. “Like what? You mean we’re not friends anymore?”
I shake my head, relieved, and twine my arm around his. “Of course we are. Lead the way.”
The palace courtyard looks much as it did on the night of the Festival of Cloud, only there are no nuns in charcoal-gray habits or any roaring bonfires. Instead, glass jars filled with water and tiny candles perched on every ledge overhead give the impression of floating lights. There’s a large space for dancing, and the musicians who aren’t currently performing roam among the crowd, their chests thrown out to show off the gleaming silver harp pins bestowed upon them by King Wylding, eating their fill before they take the stage.
Gathered around a magnificent display of tarts, the queen and her ladies-in-waiting are deep in conversation. The gold bangles and other gems on their shrouded figures chime softly with each gesture, the air around them thick with citrus and spice, as though they’ve all doused themselves in bergamot perfume.
There’s no sign of King Wylding yet. He’s surely busy writing out a long, rambling speech about Hadrien’s accomplishments, which he’ll give before he cuts the cake—honey and lavender, the same as it’s been the last seven years I’ve attended the royal birthday parties. Jax makes a beeline for the banquet tables, leaving me adrift in a sea of flowing silks and bodies warm and cold.
“Thanks, friend,” I mutter after him.
A servant bearing a large and heavy-looking silver tray passes by, and I swipe a glass of pale liquid and sniff it. Honeysuckle wine, I think, but there’s only one way to be sure.
Two glasses of sweet wine later, I’m no longer bothered that everyone seems to be sneaking curious glances at me instead of talking to me or asking how I’ve been. I’m swaying slightly to the lively tunes of the evening’s main band. I’m singing along, making up my own lyrics. I’m laughing as Jax bumps into Princess Valoria, knocking her glasses into a bowl of cranberry sauce and then frantically trying to clean them on his tunic. The redness of the sauce is nothing compared to the fire in Valoria’s cheeks as she snatches her glasses back and adjusts them, stealing glances at Jax after putting them back on.
I don’t have any time to dwell on what those glances mean, or how I feel about it, because someone shouts my name as I reach for my third or fourth glass of wine from a tray that’s moving alarmingly fast.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Prince Hadrien says as he squeezes between two dancing couples to reach me. “And I’m not the only one.”
The prince’s messy blond hair seems paler than usual, especially where the longest strands brush the shoulders of his midnight-blue tunic. He scans the crowd around us before focusing the full intensity of his gaze on me and spreads his hands in a helpless gesture. “I swear she was just over by the cake, talking to Mother . . .”
I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Valoria?” I guess, cringing at the way I slur the name. I’ve had three glasses of wine before, but maybe it’s not mixing well with the calming potion.
“No, my sister is always easy to pick out of a crowd.” Hadrien smiles, the kind that lights his eyes from within, the kind he always gives to me in particular. “I’m afraid I don’t know the young woman’s name.” He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it even though the breeze was already doing that for him. Maybe he knows how perfectly imperfect he looks with pale strands falling across his eyes. “I’ve never seen her before, which is strange, because she seemed to be about our age. But she’s very insistent on speaking with you.”
I run through a list of names in my head, though it pounds with the beginnings of a headache. Master Cymbre? No, Hadrien knows her. Elibeth? But Hadrien knows her, too. One of Kasmira’s crew, perhaps?
“Here, join me.” Hadrien presses a glass of dark elderflower wine into my hands, chasing away the mystery of who would be asking for me tonight. “A little something to raise our spirits in these troubled times.” His hands are on my waist, keeping me steady. I hadn’t realized how much I was swaying.
I clink my glass against his and drain it quickly, drowning my thoughts of how Evander would’ve snarled to see Hadrien holding me like this. “Happy birthday, Highness.” I lift my glass again, but it’s nearly empty. A lone drop splashes my cheek.
“Hadrien,” he corrects me again. He pulls a white handkerchief from the pocket of his leather trousers and dabs my cheek dry. “And if you really want to make it a happy one, you’ll—”
“Yes.” My heart’s hammering a staccato beat, at odds with the gentle waltz the fiddlers have just begun to play. “I’d love to dance with you, Hadrien.”
The prince blinks, closes his open mouth, and takes my hands.
I’m not sure how we wind up in the middle of the dance floor, or how I let Hadrien pull me so close that I’m forced to gaze deep into his eyes. They’re the darkest brown I’ve ever seen, like Evander’s were the darkest blue.
I want to ask him if he’s ever seen his sister’s inventions. Or if he creates things in secret, too. But I’ve never asked for secrets from a prince, and if I move my lips too much just now, they might catch on Hadrien’s, and that would create a whole new mess I’m in no state to clean up.
“How have you been, Sparrow?” Hadrien whispers, his mouth near my ear.
Now I can see the many stares I expected. Even the Dead have turned their masked faces our way, and their silence is palpable, leaving only the music.
“No different than I was when you asked this
afternoon in my chamber,” I answer at last. Hadrien pushes me away so I can twirl in time with the chorus, then pulls me in with a force that makes my head spin. “You’re the only one who’s asked lately, though.” I try to take a deep breath, but it’s not easy with the prince’s arms hugging my waist like the corsets the noblewomen wear. “Thank you—for caring.”
Hadrien shakes his head, looking solemn. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I care for every living person in this rich and beautiful land, Sparrow.”
I twirl away from him again, meeting his eyes from the distance created by our outstretched arms. His face is the only thing I see clearly amidst a swirl of colors and shapes. “You say my name a lot.”
He pulls me back to his arms, stumbling a bit on the impact of our collision. Quickly recovering his footing, he flashes a dazzling grin. “Maybe that’s because I like the sound of it.”
We dance for a few more minutes until someone—Hadrien, I think—presses another glass of wine into my hands. I’m losing track of how much I’ve had, and my stomach is churning, but the wine warms me all over, and the fiddlers’ music sings through my blood.
This is it. Living.
If only Evander were here to do it all with me.
I blink back the sudden tears pricking my eyes and look around for another servant bearing wine.
Hadrien’s hands are on my waist again. Now they’re cupping my face, pulling me in for a kiss, and I clumsily take a step back.
But before I can object to his apparent habit of kissing people without their permission, Hadrien’s face melts away, replaced by Jax’s in a single confusing blink. The sight makes me shiver. “Is that really you?” I demand, remembering the potion’s tricks even through the haze I’m in.
“You’ve either had too much to drink, or not enough.” Jax’s gruff voice and rough but steady hands assure me it’s him. “So the question is, do you need me to fetch you some water? Or something stronger?”
I rest my head on his chest, inhaling the now-familiar scent of his sweat. This is my last night before I enter the Deadlands. My last night to feel truly alive. I can’t stop now and head inside when the moon is paper white and young and full.
“Neither,” I say finally. “Let’s dance.”
We take it slow, though the music’s pounding beat is fast. As I catch sight of Her Majesty by the cake again, something Hadrien said comes back to me. “Jax?” I have to shout to be heard over the fiddles and pipes. “Did you notice someone looking for me earlier—a girl?”
Jax thinks for a moment, then grunts, “Dark red hair. Nice ass. I remember.”
“Did you get a name? What does she want?” The thought that someone I don’t know is looking for me sends a spike of cold into my chest. It must be someone with news from Kasmira, though she’s never sent a messenger to me before.
“Sorry, Sparrow.” Jax shrugs. “I was talking to Princess Valoria when she came by, and keeping up with her requires my full attention. I’ll be damned if I understood half the things she was saying—something about flying.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I lean against Jax, letting him support most of my weight through the next dance. My legs feel like anchors, and even dragging my feet across the flagstones takes great effort. “If someone’s that determined to find me, they will.”
I’d keep wondering who it might be, if not for my blasted headache. Instead, all I can think to say is, “What was Valoria talking about?” More importantly, “You’re not going to breathe a word about her . . . projects, are you?”
Jax’s lips twitch, but instead of answering, he twirls me around.
As one song blends seamlessly into the next, Jax shrinks down several inches, his curly dark hair turning long and sandy blond. “Simeon!” I blink several times, and from what I can tell, it’s really my almost-brother guiding me through a complicated dance step.
“I’ve been really worried about you,” he says in a somber voice unlike his own. “Danial says you’ve been having night terrors. If you are, you know you can talk to me about them. I’ll understand.”
Of course he would. Simeon was found by one of the Sisters of Death, wandering the Ashes alone at only three years old, wearing a ring on a tarnished chain around his neck that must have belonged to a wealthy family. He’s held on to that ring all these years. And though he claims he doesn’t remember any of his life before the convent, he used to wake me in the night with his screams at least once a week. I don’t know what they were about, only that the nightmares still plague him sometimes.
But the potion I’ve been taking keeps most of my dreams away. “Everything’s fine,” I assure him. “I’ve got it all under—”
“Control,” Simeon finishes for me, flashing a tight grin. “That’s my Sparrow.”
He spins me around, and somehow, Simeon becomes Danial when I turn back to him. Then Danial turns into Evander, who turns into Jax again, faces and colors flashing too quickly for my eyes to keep up. My head throbs with a sharp pain like someone’s bashed me on the temple. Someone else reaches for my hands, but I jerk away. There’s an archway at the back of the courtyard that leads to the palace citrus and floral gardens, the one through which Duke Bevan so recently appeared as a Shade, and I stagger toward it until I can’t hear any voices calling me or see any shadows in pursuit of mine.
I gulp a greedy breath of cool air and sink to my knees beside some rosebushes, stars bursting behind my eyes. Suddenly, my stomach gives a painful lurch, but I manage to swallow the mouthful of bile before it leaves my lips. It burns all the way down.
The second time, I’m not as lucky. I just hope Prince Hadrien and the others can’t hear my sweet noises over the music.
Movement in the bushes deeper in the garden draws my attention. My heart beats a little faster as I slick back my sweaty hair and narrow my eyes at the spot where I think the soft rustling of branches came from.
“Death be damned,” I groan under my breath.
A rotting hand feels its way around a trellis, loose bits of mottled flesh washed with moonlight. The Shade is here. It must’ve crawled out of the Deadlands, though such a thing has only happened maybe once in all my years. Still, this can’t be another hallucination, because its stench overpowers the roses.
I reach for my sword, but just like at the Festival of Cloud, I couldn’t wear my scabbard over my dress. But I’m not completely unprepared this time. From inside my boot, I grab one of Jax’s knives and push myself off the ground, charging toward the Shade.
The hunched monster screeches, unfurling itself to its full height as I lunge with the knife and slice its flesh. It’s not moving at its usual lightning speed. It must not be doing so well with one of its arms missing.
Something sharp knocks the knife from my hand. I grope in the dirt, feeling for the hilt. The sharp thing sears my hand as it cuts deeper. It feels like the monster’s trying to peck me to death, but I didn’t think Shades had razor-sharp beaks.
I lash out at the Shade with both hands, one good and one bloodied, tearing at its flesh the way it tore Evander open and spilled his blood before my eyes.
The Shade squeaks piteously.
“Odessa!” a girl’s voice gasps. “What the blazes are you doing?”
I shake my head to clear it, growling, “Saving the palace from this monster.”
“That’s my aunt’s favorite peacock!” Valoria cries.
I blink, and the monster changes shape beneath my hands. Rotting flesh becomes a rich cape of blue and green feathers, bright as jewels. Beady eyes stare up at me, shining with a plea for mercy. I release the poor bird, backing away with a shudder. One of its wings is mangled, and its right side is scratched and bleeding. Still, it manages to hop to its long yellow feet and disappear into the garden, its trailing tail shedding a few feathers in its wake.
I hold up my shaking, bloody hands and turn to find
Valoria staring at me with a mixture of shock and disgust, her glasses reflecting the distant glimmering party lights.
“I came to find you because I thought you could help,” she stammers in a voice that’s slightly off-key. “My mother’s missing. Along with several other Dead who never turned up for the party. I’ve been looking all night, and Hadrien’s too busy to . . .”
I lose the thread of Valoria’s words as I sway again. This time there’s no Hadrien or Jax to catch me, and when I fall to my knees, something slices through my dress. And my skin. It seems I’ve found my knife.
“Oh, Sparrow.” Valoria wraps her arms around my waist, trying to haul me to my feet, but I shake my head in protest. “I’m taking you inside. You need rest. And quite possibly a healer.”
The image of the maimed peacock feels like a gut punch. How did I get here, where I can’t tell the difference between a defenseless creature and a monster? Me, the girl who once tried to put the wings back on a trampled butterfly. The girl who coaxed reluctant plants to blossom in the convent garden. The girl so in love with life, she couldn’t harm a living thing.
I should be helping Valoria find the missing Dead right now, but instead, I’m shoving my head into a bush so she won’t see me heave up the contents of my stomach. I should be protecting the country I love and the Dead I’ve always guarded. I should console the worried princess who’s holding back my hair while I vomit all over the violets and marigolds.
Through the bewildering haze of too much potion and wine, the question nags at me: How did I get here?
For the first time, I’m glad Evander’s gone. Glad he can’t see how far I’ve fallen.
XIII
I open my eyes to a room blazing with torchlight and wide windows showing a sky as black as pitch. Pain rips through my head when I try to sit up, and someone presses a hand to the center of my chest, shoving me back down against the pillows.
“Drink this.” Valoria touches a glass of water to my lips and gently tips it until I’ve sipped about half the contents. “It’s only been a few hours. I’m surprised you’re awake already.” As she pulls a chair up to the bed—her bed—she opens her mouth like there’s something more she wants to say.
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