“Oh? Who else?” I make a grab for the notebook. I know it’s not nice, and I know she only locked me in here for the past six days for my own good, but I can’t resist the urge. I want to see her squirm a little. “Come on,” I beg as Valoria clutches the notebook to her chest. “We’re friends. You can show me!”
The princess purses her lips and grips the notebook tighter than ever. “Try to touch this book again, and I’ll feed it to Lysander. I swear I will.”
“Fine. Fine.” I hold up my hands, wincing as something tightens in my chest. “But when it comes to Jax, there are a few things you’ll want to know. Ask him what his tattoos mean. All twelve of them.” Valoria opens her mouth to say something, but I continue softly, “Ask him about how he believes he’s going to die, all because of some dream about ice. Ask him why he’s afraid of the sea. Cook him the spiciest dish you can find, and when he starts to panic that you’re getting under his skin, be patient with him.”
“Odessa,” Valoria says slowly, the color fading from her cheeks, “how close are you and Jax, exactly?”
“He’s like a brother to me,” I say firmly as Meredy bursts into the room, bringing the scents of wood smoke, crisp leaves, and cider.
“Morning, all,” she says coolly.
“Meredy,” Valoria murmurs, trying to recover herself. “You’re just in time. I was about to see if Sparrow wanted a bath. Why don’t you accompany her—?”
The princess doesn’t even get her last words out as Meredy and I both say, “No!”
Valoria arches her brows, looking between us.
My face burns, though I’ve no idea why. Meredy gazes out the window, avoiding us both.
“Sparrow?” A call through the door breaks the heavy silence. The speaker sounds far away, like someone doesn’t want to get too close to Lysander. “Prince Hadrien requests your presence in the throne room.”
Meredy turns her intense eyes to the door. “Tell him she’ll come find him tomorrow, when she’s feeling completely better!” she shouts in answer.
“It’s an order,” the speaker says sternly. “All the necromancers are being summoned.” There’s a pause, a sigh, and then, “King Wylding is missing.”
XX
The guard who delivered Hadrien’s summons accompanies me down the hall to the throne room at the heart of the palace. He has a round, young face I don’t recognize, and perhaps his youth and inexperience are to blame for the way he keeps a hand on my forearm like I’m some common criminal being brought for sentencing.
Still, I’m not in the mood for this. Not after the past six days.
I twist out of his grasp. Startled, he mutters an apology that I ignore.
Valoria, Meredy, and Lysander follow a short distance behind us. I’m sure they’re wondering, like I am, how the king could vanish with all the extra guards stationed outside the palace’s every door. Even if he left on his own—which is about as unlikely as the Dead wanting to fly in an air balloon—someone would’ve seen him.
Unless someone inside the palace is to blame for his disappearance. King Wylding loves his sprawling family almost as much as he loves Karthia, but Vaia knows the living and the Dead alike can hold on to the smallest of grudges.
As we trudge onward, Lysander’s claws clicking against the bright tiled floor, guards press themselves against the wall to get out of his way. I turn the final corner to find the throne room doors besieged by a dark and restless sea of shrouded figures. It looks like a hundred nobles or more, every Dead person in the palace. They step to either side of the hall, clearing a path for me. Some say hello or wave, but one woman growls over the greetings, “We want you gone! Find a new home!”
“That’s incredibly short-sighted of you, isn’t it?” Meredy says coolly from somewhere behind me. “How do you think you’ll keep coming back to your jewels and power and titles without her magic?”
Stunned, I turn to thank her, but she isn’t looking my way.
“The necromancers can’t be trusted!” the angry Dead woman shouts. Despite the other Dead trying to silence her, she raises her scratchy voice to add, “They bring us back to life, but they make us weak. Why can’t they learn to raise us with our magic so we can defend ourselves from these attacks?”
Swallowing hard, I shout back, “That’s not how our magic works! You’ll have to take that up with Vaia!”
It’s only one unhappy woman out of a huge crowd, but her words cut me to the core.
In the past seven years, I’ve speared many of these nobles on the end of my blade to save them from becoming monsters and losing their souls. I’ve anointed their bodies with milk, held their loved ones’ hands as I guided them through the Deadlands, offered their hungry spirits my blood, and brought them back to Karthia. To life. As an orphan, I’ve never had a spirit waiting in the Deadlands for me, unless I count the very nobles now surrounding me.
Not for the first time, I see why so few blue-eyed Karthians want my job.
“You’re not going anywhere.” The angry Dead woman steps in front of the closed throne room doors and spreads her arms, blocking my way forward. “If you want what’s best for us, as you always say you do, you should leave now and never return.”
“Move!” Some of the other Dead shout at her, but no one dares attempt to touch her. One wrong motion, one accidental tug on her shroud or gloves, and we’ll have a Shade loose in the palace for a second time.
“What’s going on?” The princess sounds slightly out of breath as she catches up to me, having paused a ways back to say something to a guard Lysander startled. She pulls her glasses off, polishes them on her gown, then takes a fresh look at the gathering like she can’t believe her eyes. “Why is that woman blocking the door? Uncle Ty?” She turns to one of the shrouded figures for an explanation. “Aunt Arossa?”
“She wants us gone from the palace. By us, I mean all the necromancers,” I explain as the guard who brought us here tries to reason with the Dead protester. He pats the sword at his side, but green as he is, even he should know better than to draw it. “The rest of the Dead are waiting for answers, I think, just like us. But how we’re going to get them with her in the way . . .”
“Stand back,” Meredy says to the crowd of worried Dead, calmly surveying the woman. “We’ll clear the way.”
She gazes deep into Lysander’s eyes, and something unspoken passes between them. The bear’s eyes glow emerald green as he walks steadily toward the throne room doors, careful not to step too near any of the other Dead.
I wince and reach instinctively for the blade that’s usually at my side, thinking he’s going to collide with the Dead woman at the doors, but she darts away from him at the last moment like a startled crow.
Meredy and I almost exchange a smile.
Then Valoria grabs our hands and pulls us in Lysander’s wake, leaving the young guard to address the angry Dead woman now shouting at him.
As soon as we’re in the throne room, two heavily armored guards bar the doors behind us, muffling the noise outside. Meredy and Lysander hang back, but Valoria runs straight to Hadrien, who sits on the polished steps leading up to the massive throne piled high with bronze and blue velvet cushions.
“Oh, Hadrien.” The princess kneels beside him, throwing her arms around his neck. “This is a nightmare. I know Eldest Grandfather isn’t perfect, but he’s our king! And we don’t have a chance of finding him. We couldn’t even find our own mother.”
As Hadrien embraces his sister, I drag my feet toward them, trying to give them a moment alone despite my burning questions.
A shadow stirs behind the throne. The queen, recognizable only by the delicate crown of gold perched atop her shroud, surveys the cavernous room. Aside from Her Majesty, Hadrien, and several guards, we’re alone in here.
Jax and Simeon must be away, hunting that Shade-baiter Vane, or they’d have answered Hadrien’s summo
ns. I wonder where Master Cymbre is. Hopefully with them and not still hiding from the world in her cottage.
“At least one of the Dead is angry already,” I say softly, climbing the steps to where Hadrien and Valoria sit. “She wants the necromancers to leave the palace, and while I hope she’ll be the last to suggest it, I somehow doubt that.” Pausing a few steps below Hadrien, I face the queen and bow my head. “Forgive me, Majesty.”
Her voice is bone-dry and little more than a whisper. “Whatever for, Sparrow?”
“King Wylding.” Heat rushes to my face as everyone looks my way. “I haven’t been feeling like myself lately. I should have done something more to find those missing people. As a guardian to the Dead, I should have stayed by His Majesty at all—”
“That’s not your job!” Valoria says, her eyes flashing. “You’re not a soldier, and you’re not a shepherd to the king. You can’t blame yourself for any of this!” She leaps to her feet and stands beside me, linking her arm through mine. “It’s out of your control, Sparrow.”
I swallow hard. The shouts of the Dead woman still ring in my ears.
“There has to be something I can do.” I clench my hands at my sides, gazing up at the queen. “Please tell me how I can help, Majesty.”
Her feeble voice is even harder to hear this time. “I don’t know, Sparrow. It’s difficult to say who’s to blame, and until we know that, search parties are our only course of action.”
“I might know of someone, actually.” Vane and his pet Shade flash to mind. Careful to leave Meredy’s name out of it, I describe my encounter with the Shade-baiter as Her Majesty, Valoria, and Hadrien listen raptly. “I think he’s been creating Shades on purpose, which means he could be the one stealing our Dead. Jax and Simeon are out looking for him. Of course, someone probably would’ve noticed him sneaking around the palace, so . . .”
I shrug, letting the words die. The idea sounded better in my head.
“If this Vane person is behind the kidnappings, he has no idea what’s coming for him.” Hadrien rises, scrubbing a hand over his face. There’s a shadow along his jaw, dark gold stubble that suggests he hasn’t had time for his usual grooming routine. “Believe me, when we find whoever’s behind this, we’ll cut our problem off at the head. Quite literally.”
He strides down the few steps between us, and for the first time I notice a small red gash and a slight bruise beneath his eye.
Reaching out with my free hand, I trace his swollen skin around the cut. “What happened there?” I murmur.
Hadrien gently takes my hand and folds his fingers over mine. “It’s nothing. I fell out of bed.” He bites his lip. “Rather embarrassing, isn’t it? But Valoria is right, Sparrow. You can’t blame yourself for what’s happened to His Majesty. And rest assured, our best guards are scouring the area for him even as we speak. I’ll have them search at once for the man you described, too, in case Jax and Simeon have yet to find him.” He nods to one of the guards at the back of the room, who hurries away.
Glancing from Hadrien to the queen, I search carefully for words. I can’t just sit by while Karthia crumbles without its leader. “I should join the search right away, too. I wasn’t . . .” I pause, as it pains me to admit it. “I wasn’t well enough before, but I’m up to it now. Where would I be most useful, Majesty?”
“Actually, I need your help with another equally important matter.” Hadrien squeezes my hand, drawing my attention back to him. “It’s the reason I called you here, and while I regret that Jax and Simeon haven’t arrived yet, we really can’t delay any further.”
My palm is slick with sweat in the prince’s firm grip. I try to pull away, but he holds fast, refocusing his intense gaze on me. To my surprise—and everyone else’s, judging by Valoria’s soft intake of breath—Hadrien kneels before me.
“Odessa of Grenwyr, I ask you now: Will you be my Serpent?”
I barely hear him over the sound of my racing heart. “Your . . . what?”
With his free hand, Hadrien pulls something from his pocket. A tiny gold pin shaped like a sword with two hissing snakes wrapped around the blade, facing each other. “Every king declares a Serpent. A special soldier who answers only to him, who carries out matters of the greatest importance for the Crown—even if following orders sometimes means doing things outside the law. King Wylding’s Serpent was Duke Nevet, but he went missing with my mother and the rest.” He bows his head, dropping his gaze to the floor in his grief and taking a breath before raising his shining eyes to mine. “In the absence of Duke Nevet, I’m asking if you’ll take on the role. It’s the highest honor I can bestow, but I’ll understand completely if, after all you’ve endured lately, you aren’t up to the task.”
“My husband would approve,” the queen adds softly. “Young as you are, you’re the best at what you do. You’ve been his favorite mage for some time, Sparrow.”
With Valoria looking expectantly at me and the queen’s mask turned my way, I can hardly refuse. I wish I could peek over my shoulder for a glance at Meredy, but she’s probably wearing her usual look of indifference.
My mouth is so dry, all I can do is nod. As Hadrien fixes the gold pin to my tunic, just beneath my two necromancer’s pins, my stomach churns. I haven’t done anything to earn this honor, and no matter what the queen says, I doubt King Wylding would approve. Given how I’ve failed to protect him and Karthia, he’d probably rip the pin off my chest for pretending to be a hero I’m not.
I look down at the pin and remind myself it’s only temporary. Just until we find Duke Nevet. And we will.
“Now that that’s settled,” Hadrien says, stepping back to admire my decorated tunic, “I need your help, as I mentioned. The last time I saw His Majesty, very early this morning, we had received a raven from a baroness in Elsinor Province.” He pulls a piece of parchment from the pocket of his gold-trimmed doublet and hands it to me. “There are reports of Shade attacks in the area, and for some reason, the monsters aren’t retreating to the Deadlands as they usually would. With all my men currently committed to the search for King Wylding, I need you to go to Elsinor and put the Shade to rest before any more Karthians lose their lives.”
“What?” As the word leaves my lips, Hadrien frowns. I cross my arms. “Forgive me. But by my count, there are more necromancers in Elsinor than there are in Grenwyr. Why can’t they handle their own Shades? I’m needed here. I have to help Jax and Simeon search for the Shade-baiter and His Majesty.”
Even as I speak, my thoughts circle around the idea of a Shade coming out of the Deadlands to attack a province. They hate daylight. They wouldn’t have a reason, except . . . Vane once again creeps into my thoughts.
“If the Shade-baiter I mentioned can control the monsters, he might be responsible for the attacks in Elsinor, too,” I say slowly, thinking aloud. “Whether he’s the one who took the king or not, he has to be stopped.”
“I agree,” Hadrien says at last. “And the guards will find him, eventually. But helping the people of Elsinor must come first, as they have no more necromancers of their own. They need someone with training to slay the monsters before they get any stronger.”
“No more necromancers?” I blurt. “What are you—?”
“They’re dead.” The queen’s chill voice raises gooseflesh on my arms. Valoria shivers beside me. “All eight of Elsinor’s necromancers were slain by a Shade. I wish we’d known sooner—not that we’ve been in much position to help—but it seems to have happened as quickly as the raven flies.”
“And so, my Serpent, please say you’ll do this for me.” Hadrien’s voice simmers with barely controlled sorrow. “Don’t make me beg. My Eldest Grandfather is missing. I can’t worry about the people of Elsinor dying on my watch, too, and they have no one to deal with Shades now.” He lowers his voice, leaning toward me. “I’ll feel so much better if you see to it. Please, Sparrow. You’re the best, as His Ma
jesty knew, and you’re the only one I trust.”
He draws back, his eyes glistening, and takes both my hands in his.
I open my mouth. But as I look from Valoria’s pale face to the queen clutching the arm of the throne for support, the words get stuck in my throat. Something doesn’t feel right. King Wylding never once ordered me away from his side no matter what was happening in the other provinces, and leaving Grenwyr City with him missing seems wrong. Maybe Elsinor does need me, but Grenwyr needs me more than ever, too.
Her Majesty echoes my thoughts. “Find my husband for me, Sparrow,” the queen pleads, sinking onto the throne. “I trust you more than any of the guards. I know you can do it. Then, of course, head to Elsinor afterward, by all means.”
I bow to her. “Yes, Majesty.” After all, with King Wylding gone, the queen is the one in charge, not Hadrien.
“Overruled,” Hadrien says, frowning apologetically. “Sparrow, please pack your things and head to Elsinor at once, to Abethell Castle. Since Baroness Abethell is the one who wrote to us, she should direct you to where you’re needed most. And hurry.” His expression is grim. “When word of the king’s disappearance gets out, we’ll have panic in the streets, and it could cost you precious hours.”
“Didn’t you hear what Eldest Grandmother said?” Valoria demands.
Hadrien nods, still frowning. “I did. And as acting regent, I’m overruling Eldest Grandmother’s wishes, with all due respect.” He runs a hand through his blond hair. “I’m sorry. I’m just doing what I think is right.” Looking pleadingly at me, he adds, “Tell me, Sparrow: If it came to saving him or his people, which would His Majesty have you choose?”
I don’t need to think about the answer. “His people.” He’s always sacrificing himself for us, after all.
“Then you understand why I think he’d want you to go to Elsinor.”
I nod, resigned to the task, but something is still bothering me. I ask in a whisper, “Why did Her Majesty appoint you regent, Highness? Is she unwell?”
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