Reign of the Fallen

by Sarah Glenn Marsh

  “It’s the law,” Valoria says quickly, like she’s just remembered. “The laws of inheritance haven’t changed in Karthia in well over two hundred years. Like everything else. And the law in place before his reign said that if the current ruler could no longer sit on the throne for any reason, the crown would pass to the next living heir who’d come of age.” She blinks at Hadrien, her voice getting softer as she continues. “And since our father is dead, and Mother’s Dead, and Hadrien’s just turned eighteen . . .”

  “The burden of the crown will pass to me if King Wylding isn’t found in the next thirty days,” Hadrien finishes.

  He seems to have aged several years since I saw him last, at his birthday. If he had been born just a few weeks later, the queen would be the one giving orders now.

  But it seems I have no choice other than to follow Hadrien’s command.

  “I spoke too rashly before. Forgive me. I’ll leave it to you to decide,” he adds softly, as though reading my thoughts. “I trust Jax and Simeon will do a fine job leading the search for the king, but if you really think you should stay, I’ll respect your choice.”

  “I’m glad to hear you aren’t letting all that power go to your head, big brother.” Valoria chews on her lower lip as she studies the prince. “If it ever does, I’ll have to put you in your place, understand?” Her tone is light, but her eyes are somber.

  Hadrien gives her a deep bow. “You have my word, Your Highness.” He straightens, grinning. “And should I fail, I shall throw myself upon the mercy of your blade.”

  Shaking my head at their banter, I think of King Wylding’s shrouded figure lying prone in the grass, waiting for me to fetch his spirit. I think of the peace of the Deadlands he never gets for long, all for the sake of his people.

  “I’ll go to Elsinor,” I announce. “He’d want that, as you said.” Twisting the newest pin on my tunic, I add, “I’ll need a partner for the journey. A fellow necromancer, in case I need to enter the Deadlands while I’m away.”

  “Name your choice,” Hadrien says at once, his face relaxing somewhat now that I’ve agreed to his plan. “And Sparrow—” A note of longing breaks his voice, surprising me. “Choose wisely. It would kill me if anything happened to you.”

  I don’t have to think long. “Master Cymbre.”

  Now, more than ever, I need her guidance.

  “Miss Crowther,” Hadrien calls. “You asked His Majesty about security jobs at the palace yesterday. You’re still in need of work?”

  Meredy nods, a hint of pink appearing beneath her freckles. She marches to the bottom of the steps to face Hadrien, Lysander prowling alongside her.

  I look a question at her, but she ignores me. I thought she’d be returning to Lorness any day now, once she’d convinced herself I wasn’t going to touch another drop of potion.

  “I’ll pay you and your beast twice what you’d make as guards if you’ll accompany my Serpent to Elsinor,” Hadrien says evenly. “Will you protect her as she defends my people?”

  “I don’t need any—” I protest, but Meredy interrupts.

  “Accepted.” She props a hand on her hip, taking a long look at Hadrien. “But—forgive me, Highness—weren’t you one of the last people to see King Wylding before he went missing? I saw you two wandering the corridors this morning. You waved to me, remember?”

  “Of course.” Hadrien’s expression doesn’t change. “But His Majesty and I parted ways just moments after we passed you. King Wylding was hungry, as the Dead often are, and headed for the kitchen to get a honey cake. I’ve no idea what happened after that . . . though I’m sure you weren’t trying to accuse me of anything.” He smiles a little stiffly as Meredy gazes placidly back at him, her feelings and thoughts well-hidden.

  “I was simply suggesting that there may be some detail in your memory that’s been overlooked. Something that could help explain who took the king,” she says coolly. “A shadowy figure down the hall, an odd sound . . .”

  “Rest assured, I take no offense,” Hadrien says swiftly. “We’re all on edge in the king’s absence.” He leans forward, the steps allowing him to tower over Meredy when there normally wouldn’t be much difference in height. “Still, I’m sure you’ll take excellent care of my Serpent. I have every confidence.”

  The doors to the throne room rattle.

  “For Vaia’s sake, let us in!” Simeon yells.

  Hadrien nods, and the guards pull up the bar, allowing Jax and Simeon to rush inside. Before the guards slam the doors again, I get a brief glimpse of the Dead still gathered in the hall, likely awaiting an audience with Her Majesty.

  “Any luck with the Shade-baiter?” Hadrien asks as Jax and Simeon approach. “Sparrow has just finished filling us in.”

  “Afraid not.” Jax’s eyes find me as he answers, and I’m struck by how much I’ve missed his gruff voice and roguish grin. I run down the steps without another thought and crash into his open arms. Suddenly thinking of Valoria’s drawing of him, I break away quickly.

  “What’s this?” He touches the new pin on my chest and frowns.

  “Ooh.” Simeon grins as he realizes what the pin means. “Can you really be a Sparrow and a Serpent? What if you get the urge to eat yourself for breakfast?”

  Hadrien clears his throat, and Simeon falls silent as the prince begins to repeat much of what he’s just told me.

  The news from Elsinor quickly wipes the smile from Simeon’s face, and I wonder how much longer he’ll be able to keep making jokes when so much is going wrong. Always, I hope. Everyone in the palace could use a bit of laughter.

  Meredy blinks at me with an unreadable expression, then strides to the doors. Now that my head is clear and I can think without the potion’s influence, I still don’t want her in the palace, or anywhere else I happen to be. What if she accidentally says or does something that reminds me of Evander, something that sends me right back to the calming potion?

  Yet I’m stuck with her. Hadrien is relying on me, and I won’t let the people of Elsinor down, or King Wylding by association. The last thing I need are more dead Karthians on my conscience.

  And the longer I stand here, more people might be dying.

  “Look after Valoria for me,” I whisper to my friends. I know she’d protest if she could hear me. They nod solemnly, and Jax looks thoughtfully at the princess just a beat longer than normal.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve killed the Shades in Elsinor. And you,” I add to Simeon, “be good to Jax while I’m away. Don’t tease him too much. I don’t want to return from one massacre to find another.”

  I ruffle Simeon’s hair as he makes a face, and try to ignore the twinge in my chest as his eyes search mine like he’s looking for any lingering traces of potion addiction. The sadness in his gaze when he looks at me—which the blue tonic never let me see—is just one more reason I’ll fight to never touch another drop.

  “Be safe.” Jax presses his lips into a hard line, like he’s holding back so much more.

  “You too,” I mutter, shoving my hands in my pockets. He and Simeon are the ones who’ll need to be on their guard, staying this close to the deaths and disappearances. I just hope Valoria and Danial will stand by them while I can’t.

  I take a last look at my friends before following Meredy and Lysander back through the crowd of masked figures, knowing at least a few of the Dead will be relieved or even glad to see me gone.

  XXI

  There’s an old saying that sparrows always find their way home. I hope my tattoos or my name make me truly one of them, as this is the farthest I’ve ever been from everything I know. The moment our wagon wheels touch the base of the mountain pass marking the border of Grenwyr and Elsinor Provinces, my stomach does a flip.

  Maybe because the land here is unfamiliar and wild, the ancient pines taller and fuller than those in Grenwyr, the air a touch colder, the few
houses we pass made of drab wood or dark gray stone, no jewel-bright roofs or potted citrus gardens to speak of. Or maybe it’s because no matter where I go, I’m afraid I have no chance of living up to the new serpent pin on my tunic.

  It’s Evander who should be taking jobs like this, not me. He’d have been thrilled to climb these wild, lonely mountains, would’ve gazed around with wide eyes and explored off the trail with an adventurer’s heart, much like Lysander does as he follows our wagon east and upward.

  I drink in every new sight for Evander, aided by the fading light of a blood-red sky seeping through the opening in the canvas-covered wagon. I know he’d be proud I’ve come this far.

  I clutch the pin tighter, closing my fist over it, and suck in a breath as the gold needle pricks my palm. I hold on through the pain, hoping somehow the little pin will infect me with the courage and strength of one worthy of wearing it—as opposed to the addict and poor friend I’ve been since Evander died.

  “Odessa.” Meredy waves a hand near my face, drawing my gaze. “You look ill. What’s on your mind?”

  I blink at her in the dimness of the wagon hold for a moment before turning away, toward the front of the wagon where Master Cymbre commands a team of sleek brown horses.

  Cymbre had jumped at the chance to leave Grenwyr when we knocked on her cottage door, even as tears were drying on her weathered face. She couldn’t protect her prodigy, Evander, and she couldn’t protect her king. Escaping to Elsinor on a dangerous and potentially deadly mission probably seemed like the only option left to her, the way the potion seemed like my only choice to distance myself from my nightmares.

  I see so much of myself in her, she might as well be my mother.

  Meredy shifts her weight, pulling me back to the present again as the wagon boards creak beneath her. “Thinking about that rogue necromancer again? Vane?” she guesses.

  It’s a safe bet. He’s all I can think of since we left the throne room many hours ago. “Have you ever heard of anyone like him?”

  “Maybe,” she answers thoughtfully. “I’m willing to bet he has a different Sight than we do. Which would mean he has a different power.”

  I blink at her. “But Vaia only has five faces. So there are only five Sights, five powers—”

  “That we know of,” Meredy interrupts. “But when I was in Lorness, in one of the smallest villages buying supplies, I heard a rumor about a wild man with amber eyes, who could change his shape at will. It was terribly painful for him, they said, and his cries in the forest near their village were often mistaken for a Shade’s.” She pauses, fixing me with a thoughtful look. “I don’t know if it was true. I stayed near that village for weeks, camping and foraging with Lysander, and I never heard any sort of screaming. Still, there are many things we can’t explain, aren’t there?”

  Her face falls into shadow as she bows her head, searching through her bag for something. “Things that perhaps no one can.”

  I rub my gooseflesh-covered arms, hoping she’s wrong about that last part.

  A loud, familiar crack rings in my ears as Meredy bites into a handful of coffee beans. “You’re on to something with these,” she mutters thickly. “Kasmira could make a fortune selling them at harbors all over Karthia. I’ll have to tell her.”

  With the heat of annoyance prickling the back of my neck, I snatch the bag of coffee beans from her grasp. “She already does.”

  I toss a handful in my mouth, settling the bag on my lap. Casually, like we’ve been friends forever, Meredy leans over and reaches into the bag.

  She gasps as my fingers close over her wrist and I say through gritted teeth, “Quit taking things that aren’t yours.”

  “I bought these!” Meredy snarls, tugging herself free with none of her usual composure.

  “Well, you can’t buy Kasmira’s friendship. Or Valoria’s. Or mine.” I throw the bag back at Meredy, who doesn’t even attempt to catch it. She’s too busy trying to keep a scowl off her face.

  I close my eyes and lean against the wagon boards, thinking of the carefully folded drawing I found in my cloak pocket as we pulled away from Grenwyr. Three ink girls smiled up at me from the parchment, three perfect likenesses of me, Valoria, and Meredy. I don’t know what the princess was thinking when she drew it, but had it been a gift from anyone else, I’d have fed it to Lysander instead of shoving it back in my pocket.

  “Do you know why I agreed to this job?” Meredy says suddenly, cutting into my thoughts once again. “I certainly don’t need the money.” She waits until I’ve cracked open one eye, giving her a reluctant stare, before continuing, “Lysander likes you.”

  I look past her, through the canvas opening, to see the grizzly lumbering in the wagon’s wake. “Good. I like him, too.”

  Meredy gives me an expectant gaze, like I’m supposed to say something more. She tilts her head in the silence. “You really don’t understand the depth of the bond between beast and master, do you?”

  I shrug.

  She leans toward me, and I instinctively draw back. “Lysander doesn’t like most people,” she murmurs. “But when he looks at you, he practically glows. I suppose you’d have to see it to really picture it, but the feelings he shows when you’re around are the brightest shades of yellow and pink that tint the air around his fur.”

  I smile, trying to imagine it. “What about when he’s unhappy?”

  “If he’s sad, I see a lot of dark blues and greens. And if he’s angry, reds. Or if he notices someone he really doesn’t like, I see black all around him, like a stain or a silhouette of a second bear blurring with his . . .” Meredy pauses, frowning. “Like today in the throne room, for instance.”

  I sit taller, gooseflesh rising on my arms. “Someone there was upsetting him?”

  She nods. “Could’ve been anyone, for any reason. It happens often, and it would be impossible to know who unless we tested each person alone with him. I’ve just seen that he likes you. And he thinks Valoria is a bear cub.”

  I can’t help it. I smile. Meredy nudges my side a moment later, and I glance back. She’s put the bag of coffee beans on the floor between us. When we both reach in at the same time, the back of my hand brushes hers, and a shiver runs up my arm. It startles my heart into beating double.

  Her fingers curl around mine for a moment, warm and steady, before she jerks her hand away as though she’s been stung. Shaking her head as though to clear it, she seems to recover herself.

  “Here.” Meredy’s lips twitch as she holds up a coffee bean. “Catch!”

  I open my mouth, but the bean hits me on the nose and skitters out of sight. Meredy tries to disguise her derisive snort as a cough, making me hot all over. “Oh, like you can do better,” I growl, reaching into the bag.

  I throw three beans at once, and the last one lands on her outstretched tongue.

  “You’ve probably been practicing,” I mutter, trying not to look impressed. “Let me try again.”

  “Certainly.” Meredy’s eyes gleam. “I’ll go easy on you. One at a time.”

  The first one hits my forehead. The second lands in my hair. The third sails over my head. Meredy’s tosses are terrible. After the fifth attempt, she stops.

  “Try again! The wagon keeps hitting bumps.” I frown. “It’s throwing off your aim.”

  “The wagon was rattling when I caught mine, too,” Meredy says evenly, with no hint of a smirk in her voice or otherwise. “Some things are out of your control. Like the path of the wagon and who’s riding in it with you. Find a way to accept it, or give up.”

  “You’re one to talk.” I lean toward her, wincing as the wagon wheels bang against a loose rock. “You act like you have everything under control, but you don’t, and it drives you mad.”

  She purses her lips, then folds her hands neatly in her lap. Every small action she makes seems so carefully planned.

 
“You drive me mad,” she says quietly. Blushing, she adds quickly, louder, “At least I’m in control of my own actions. At least I’m not so caught up in my own problems that I fail to see what’s going on around me.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my eyes, thanks. Now toss me another coffee bean.”

  Meredy tilts her head, frowning as she grabs the coffee bag. “Are you always this stubborn?”

  “Since the day I was born.” I cross my arms. “So get used to it or go back to Grenwyr.”

  Her eyes shining like hard stones, she says, “Evander must’ve really loved you to put up with this every day.”

  My fist seems to have a mind of its own as it crashes into the wagon siding near Meredy’s perfect face. She’s breathing hard, her eyes closed in the aftermath of the blow. Maybe she thought I was actually aiming to hit her.

  “Don’t talk to me about him,” I growl.

  “Is everything all right back there?” Master Cymbre shouts.

  “Fine!” Meredy and I answer at the same time, gazing steadily at one another. Our breathing is hot and rapid and almost stifling in the confines of the wagon’s hold. The dampness of her breath collects on my lips, and I impatiently lick it away.

  Glaring at her, I wish she’d take a swing back at me. “Look, we might as well be honest. For some strange, twisted reason, you don’t like me because I loved your brother.”

  “That’s not it.” Meredy scowls back, but her hands remain folded in her lap. “What I don’t like is that you’re so selfish you don’t notice anyone’s pain but your own.” When she speaks again, her voice is softer, more controlled. “But because it’s what my brother would’ve wanted, I’m going to stay with you and guard you until the danger has passed. Then we can go our separate ways.”

  “What are you talking about, anyone’s pain but mine?”

  “Valoria really likes your necromancer friend Jax, but she’s afraid you do, too. So she doesn’t say anything to him, because she’s more afraid of making you unhappy than she is of forever being unhappy herself.” Meredy shakes her head, and a sudden wave of shame pummels me. “Or Master Cymbre. I bet you have no idea she’s been drinking from a flask whenever she thinks no one’s looking. You two aren’t that different. And you certainly haven’t bothered to notice—” She pauses, biting her lip. “Forget it. Really. I’m raving.”