XIV
I wake drenched in sweat, Evander’s dying screams echoing in my mind. Sunlight glares through my window, and every part of my body aches. Groaning, I bury my face in my pillow to hide from the sun a little longer.
This is all Meredy’s fault. I don’t know how, but her presence has to be the reason I’m hearing Evander’s screams again. This is the first night in weeks I’ve relived those gut-wrenching sounds, so vivid even the potion couldn’t dull them.
Tossing off the blankets, I throw on the first tunic and pair of trousers I find. Blood pounds in my ears as the events of last night come rushing back. The mangled bird. Valoria’s Dream City. The missing Dead nobles. The bear named Lysander.
I secure my sword and pull back my long hair, then reach for two vials of potion to get me through the morning. I’ll need its calming influence to help me keep both my promises today: First to Valoria, to help find her mother and the rest of the missing Dead. And then, to Evander.
The palace is strangely quiet as I step into the hall. I pause outside Jax’s door, trailing my fingers across the wood. My breath echoes in the emptiness.
I press my ear to the door and smile at the faint snoring coming from the other side. There’s no point waking him to help with the search. After all, the king’s guards have probably combed the palace from top to bottom while I slept off the potion and wine. Even if the guards have already found the missing Dead, I need Valoria to know that I tried. I’m not even sure why I care, only that I do.
Hurrying in the direction of her tower, I don’t take notice of the figure striding toward me from the base of the nearest stairwell until he’s practically touching me.
I gasp, inhaling the scents of rosemary and rue.
“Sparrow,” King Wylding says, gripping my shoulder with a gloved hand, “just the mage I was looking for. How are you faring?”
Though I can’t see his face, the way he squeezes my shoulder and tilts his head seems almost paternal.
I stand taller, putting my hand over his gloved one. “I’ll be all right.”
“Good. That’s good. I can always count on you, Sparrow, and that makes me the luckiest man in the kingdom.” He clears his throat and asks, “Did you see anything strange last night? Anyone who doesn’t belong here?”
I’m tempted to name Meredy and her pet grizzly. But the entire Crowther family has a permanent invitation to all palace festivities. And after meeting her, I doubt Meredy’s capable of the abduction of several nobles. I shake my head.
“Most of my kin, living and Dead, are keeping to their rooms today at my request. I’ve stationed extra guards outside their chambers, just as I’ve done for yours.” King Wylding was a bear of a man in life, one whose first death happened in battle too young, and his massive form is intimidating as he towers over me. Yet the rapid rattle of breath in his chest suggests that, for the first time in memory, he’s afraid. “Several of my relatives never made it to the celebration, and the guards can’t find a trace of any intruders.”
“I’ll search the Deadlands for you in case they’ve been killed,” I say. “Master Cymbre will accompany me.” I imagine a troubled look behind the king’s dark mask and wish I could better reassure him. “It might help if we could figure out why anyone would do this—for a hefty ransom?”
There are certainly a number of people in the Ashes desperate enough to attempt a kidnapping, but coming to the palace is a bolder move than any of them have attempted before. And then there’s what happened to Duke Bevan, though I’m not sure how the two events are related. The duke had plenty of enemies, as Jax pointed out, while I don’t think anyone had a grudge against Valoria’s mother or the rest of the Wyldings.
“Perhaps it is gold they want,” King Wylding says at last. “But all these madmen will get is the noose, once we find them.” He squeezes my shoulders. “I know you’ll help the guards bring them to justice and return my family. You’re a treasure to the Dead, my Sparrow.”
“Thank you, Majesty.” I bow, and heat creeps into my face. My head feels clearer than it has in days as I mull over what might have happened to the nobles. And a clear head is what I’ve been waiting for, which means it’s time.
Time for one last trip to the Deadlands.
“I shouldn’t delay any longer. I’m off to find Master Cymbre and begin the search.” I give the king another bow, this one of farewell, though he doesn’t know it. Now if I’m killed in the Deadlands, I’ll have the perfect cover. And even though I have no intention of knocking on Master Cymbre’s cottage door before I jump through the nearest gateway, I can’t be punished for the transgression if I’m dead.
Since when do you care about what’s forbidden by anyone? Evander teased me on the palace’s windswept hillside mere weeks ago. If only he could see me now, shattering rules at every turn for the sake of revenge.
“If you would, please tell Princess Valoria where I’ve gone and what I’m doing,” I say before continuing on.
“Sparrow!” the king calls, jarring me from my thoughts. When I turn back, he rasps, “Give Master Cymbre my best. Tell her to stay strong.”
I hurry away, marveling at how much the king cares for each of his necromancers, wondering how many more losses he and I will have to endure. How many more losses it would take to push him toward madness or the sort of carelessness that leads to becoming a Shade. I shiver as an autumn breeze hugs my shoulders.
Things are changing all around me, whether the king realizes it or not, and I’m afraid neither he nor anyone else seems to have the power to stop it.
The only thing I can prevent is any more death at the hands of the powerful Shade, so I quicken my pace on the brisk jog to the apothecary. After peeking through the windows and seeing no trace of Lyda, I buy enough liquid fire to light up the night sky over Grenwyr City, then stride back into the brisk afternoon in search of a gate.
Today, the city’s usually vibrant colors are muted—the pink flowering vines spilling over a shop window, the blue domed roofs of Death’s temple and convent, the yellow and orange sun-washed walls of craftsmen’s houses, the occasional tree full of white autumn blossoms bearing symbols of beauty and peace—they’re all paler than I remember, as if I’m seeing them through a foggy window.
Gateways to the Deadlands are nearly impossible to spot in daylight, even to a trained eye. But as I walk deeper into the warren of houses and shops, away from the sea, a telltale pull around my middle draws me toward an alleyway between a tavern and a boarded-up bakery just a few blocks from the Ashes.
Not exactly where I’d hoped to end up. Especially when I peek down the alleyway and the tugging sensation grows stronger, guiding me to the faintest blue haze that I can only see when I squint and tilt my head back.
Of course the gate has to be right on top of the tavern’s stinking trash heap. Pinching my nose, I place a foot on the soft, warm pile of discarded vegetables, rotting meat, and moldy black lumps that remain a mystery. The ooze at the center of the trash heap sucks at my knees as I climb higher. I’m going to sink through the middle if I’m not careful. Gripping the wall for balance, I put one foot in the gate and hoist myself up as the rubbish wobbles and rotten food rolls down the pile.
Breathing hard, I crawl into the solid tunnel opening.
There was no time to take a last look at the sky. No time to think up words of goodbye I could have said to Jax. Simeon. Valoria. Kasmira. Danial. Master Cymbre. Even Hadrien. To wonder why I feel so sick when I realize the list of names I’m leaving behind is so much longer than the list of ones I’m going to avenge.
But I made a promise. Evander’s and Master Nicanor’s lives will be the last this monster ever takes. Jax, Simeon, Cymbre, and all the other necromancers will be able to raise the dead again without the fear of losing the only life they get.
I can’t think of any greater cause worth dying for.
Still, thinking of my promis
e to Evander reminds me that I made another promise, to bring back the missing Dead, and I imagine the disappointment in Valoria’s eyes when she hears I didn’t find her mother. That I’m never coming back.
Brushing dirt from the tunnel floor off my trousers, I let my eyes adjust to the dimness, grateful none of my fire potions exploded in the jump. I’m carrying them in a sack the apothecary gave me because they wouldn’t all fit in my cloak pockets. Then I make sure the vials of blood and honey on my belt are still intact. Just in case.
Potions secure, I march on through the shadows. I still have the whistle Master Cymbre gave me the last time we came here, and I fish it out from underneath my tunic as I near the tunnel’s end, running my thumb over the smooth ivory of the mouthpiece.
The Shade mimicked this whistle before. Hopefully it remembers the sound and comes straight for me.
When the tunnel leads me out into the Deadlands’ twilit landscape, I wade into a knee-high field of roses as big as my fist and check for any Dead who might be lurking nearby. I don’t want the spirits here getting killed, their souls destroyed just because they happened to be in the way of my battle.
A flash of white hovers at the corner of my gaze, but when I turn, all I see are the heavy heads of flowers nodding in a slow breeze.
Someone giggles, a high girlish sound.
“If anyone’s out here,” I call into the field, “you’d better leave now. I’m hunting the foulest Shade that’s ever walked the Deadlands, and you don’t want to be here when I find it. Or it finds me.”
A small pale figure peeks out of the tall flowers, grinning despite the massive pox scars on her face and arms. She seems to be an ordinary spirit, not one of my hallucinations, but something about her stirs a memory and makes me take a second glance.
“I recognize you.” While the spirits have no voices, she can hear mine. “We met in the Ashes. You had a doll. You’d lost your mother, is that right?” When the girl nods, I add, “I hope you’ve found each other again. Now please, go hide somewhere and tell any others you meet to stay hidden, too.”
She nods, her expression determined. As she dashes through the field, grass whipping at her legs, my thoughts wander to Valoria’s Dream City of wide roads and flowing canals that would wash away sickness even from places like the Ashes. I hope King Wylding will find the strength to listen to her ideas someday, even if most of them are unsettling at first. I know he’s happiest seeing Karthians at work, healthy and strong.
Raising the whistle, I make the first shrill blast.
All is silent. This particular Shade seems to like toying with its victims, which means when it finally arrives, it’ll try to take me by surprise. I’ll only have a few heartbeats to light it up in a glorious blaze.
I curl my fingers around one of the fire potions and wait, scanning the horizon. The landscape is gently shifting, bringing the distant mountains closer, and the tunnel I came through has disappeared.
I wait for what feels like hours, until my legs start to ache. I blow the whistle again, my hands shaking slightly in the absence of the calming potion. I didn’t think to bring any with me, but then, I didn’t expect to have to wait this long. Pulling the vial of blood from my belt, I drizzle all the contents on the ground at my feet. Yet still, nothing stirs.
“I’m right here!” I shout into the quiet, to the mountains and the trees, their bare branches stretching toward the sky like grasping fingers. “Come get me! Can’t you smell this nice fresh blood?”
That gives me an idea.
Drawing my sword, I cut a horizontal slash across my arm, gritting my teeth to hold back an embarrassing groan. My head swirls as I shake drops of red onto the roses, fresher blood than what was in my vial.
If the Shade doesn’t come now, I’ll have to wander the Deadlands searching for it. I use my blade to cut a piece of cloth from my cloak, and I’m so focused on tying a tight bandage that the sound of flowers being ripped and trampled steals my breath.
The Shade seems to soar across the field on all fours, the few dark hairs clinging to its skull flying in its wake. I see myself reflected in the smooth expanse of its bony forehead, a shimmering speck in a vast dark sky. Abandoning my sword, I grab a handful of fire potions and hurl them at the oncoming Shade. This is what I’ve been waiting for.
Yet every part of me is screaming run. Flee, and don’t look back.
A billowing cloud of flame erupts in front of the monster, but it only slows for a moment. It hisses and snaps as the fire crackles across its skin. Fighting the urge to run, I have just enough time to grab another handful of potions and throw them at the struggling Shade.
Fire eats away the stump of its missing arm, and the monster howls until my ears ache.
I reach for another potion. Hot breath on my neck makes me spin around, smacking into the grasping bony hands of another Shade. I break a glass vial on its skin, falling into the flowers to escape the blaze that follows.
Crawling backward, I realize with a shudder that the molten pain on my arm isn’t from my sword. I’m burning like the Shades.
I didn’t count on there being two of them.
Beating out the flames with my cloak, I stagger toward the edge of the field. Panic fills my head, a buzzing like a cloud of angry bees, making it hard to think. I could run for the mountains, but the part of me that wants to watch them burn to ash wins out. I freeze in my tracks and turn back toward the two smoldering figures.
Wreathed in fire, struggling for their lives, they look almost human.
Their hissing and spitting drowns out the sound of the third Shade until it’s too close. But I manage to grasp a vial and throw it at the monster whose rotten breath blows my hair back from my face. My shaking hand ruins my aim, and the potion explodes at the monster’s feet. The Shade leaps sideways, and I throw another potion that again smashes near its feet. Every time it darts sideways, I try to hit it with another potion, but my hands aren’t obeying and I continue to miss until there are no vials left.
I could surrender now, a little voice in my head whispers. I could stop fighting and join Evander. Maybe I’d see his face again.
The third Shade snarls at me, rolling on the ground to snuff out a lick of flame. I frantically gaze past it, checking for an escape route, and realize we’re trapped, this monster and I, inside a circle of flames as high as my head and leaping higher with each passing breath. It’s just a matter of which fate will come first: burning alive or being torn apart and eaten.
The Shade lunges, and I stumble backward into the flames. A strong hand yanks me through the fire, then forces me to the ground.
Dimly, like I’m underwater, I hear the Shades’ howls as someone smothers the flames that prick my skin like thousands of needles.
“Foolish girl! What in Vaia’s name possessed you?” Master Cymbre’s voice is harsher than I’ve ever heard it, but the familiar sound still floods me with relief. “When I drag you back to the palace, you’re not leaving it again until I’m dead and can’t watch you throw your life away!”
I raise my head as she finishes beating out the flames. My teacher’s fiery hair is plastered to her face, and her eyes, hard as gemstones, reflect the monsters burning nearby. Her gaze doesn’t soften, even when I mouth, “Thank you.”
She’s more than just my mentor, I realize as she hauls me to my feet. She’s more of a mother to me than the Sisters of Death ever were. More than Lyda pretended to be. Cymbre’s the one who always comes when I need someone most, the one who came just in time today.
My death would’ve been a poor repayment for all the years she put into keeping me, her replacement—the closest thing she has to a daughter—alive.
I deserve her anger.
“Those three Shades are as good as dead, but more could be coming as we speak. We have to go!” Master Cymbre puts a hand beneath one of my aching arms, supporting me.
“How’d you know where to find me?” I lean against her to stay standing.
Master Cymbre purses her lips. “Call it a guardian’s intuition.” She points to a blue glow near the foothills of the mountains. “I heard about the missing nobles and went to see you.” She begins a brisk walk, the fastest pace she can manage with me stumbling alongside her. “When you weren’t in your room and your sword was gone, I made a guess. Lucky for you, I heard your whistle, but the landscape kept changing as I tried to reach you.”
“But I did it . . .” I manage. “I killed the Shade that murdered Evander!”
The thought should make me giddy, yet all I feel is sore and tired and shaken.
“Yes, and you nearly lost your life in the process!” Master Cymbre’s voice cracks. “Does that mean nothing to you? Do I mean nothing? Did you ever stop to think about everything you risked leaving behind?”
“Of course! I—”
“Tell me this,” Master Cymbre cuts in sharply. “Now that it’s dead, do you feel any better? Do you miss him any less?”
As we hurry into the tunnel, I search past the agony of my charred skin, seeking the hole left by Evander’s absence. It’s still there, gaping like the Shades’ hungry mouths, a darkness that threatens to devour me.
“No,” I answer as the tunnel takes us home. “I don’t think I ever will.”
XV
Healing all my burns makes Danial’s entire arm and half his face go completely numb. After I’ve locked myself in Valoria’s private bath and scrubbed my new skin raw with fig soap, I head to the palace kitchens and convince the cooks to whip up an amazing lemon-and-rosemary cake that I deliver to Danial’s chambers myself.
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” he says, gazing down at his favorite cake with no enthusiasm. The kohl around his eyes is blurred at the corners, smudged into his alabaster skin like bruises. Or like he wiped away tears with a careless hand. “Simeon and I had a fight.”
“About what?” I probably shouldn’t pry, but those two hardly ever exchange an unkind word.
Reign of the Fallen Page 14
