Reign of the Fallen

by Sarah Glenn Marsh

  I take a long look at her. Unshed tears cling to the corners of her eyes like dewdrops. If I’m barely keeping a grip on my sanity, it’s a wonder she has any wits left about her after losing both Evander and Firiel. I should probably ask how she’s holding up.

  Before I can get the words out, her long, cold fingers touch my shoulder. “There’s something else I need to tell you. It’s about Prince Hadrien. Something he said in the throne room has been bothering me.” I still don’t say anything, but she’s got my attention. “He said King Wylding went to the kitchen for a honey cake just after we passed each other. But I was in the kitchen for well over an hour, eating and making breakfast for Lysander, and the king never arrived. There was some sort of commotion in the hall, though.”

  “You didn’t go see what it was?”

  Meredy frowns. “I had my hands in a bowl of fish guts, and the cooks were busy preparing breakfast for the rest of the palace, but I definitely heard shouting.”

  “Maybe a server burned themselves while carrying a hot dish.” I shrug.

  “Or the prince was lying for some reason.” Meredy’s eyes search my face, so I drop my gaze. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know what to think anymore.” I rub my temples.

  I only knew Meredy for one brief year before she disappeared to Lorness and came back as someone else entirely. But I’ve known Hadrien since I started my necromancer training seven years ago. Seven years of attending parties together and raising his relatives. In all that time, he’s never given me a reason to doubt him.

  “Even if you’re right,” I say slowly, “and Hadrien was lying, that doesn’t mean he would ever hurt King Wylding any more than he’d hurt me.” Remembering how close those two have always been, I add, “Maybe Hadrien was covering something up for the king. Maybe His Majesty was on some secret errand, and he was attacked on his way to . . . wherever.”

  Meredy arches her brows. They’re dark brown, not red like her long hair. I wonder why I hadn’t noticed before, and why in Vaia’s name I’m noticing now.

  “Seeing as you know more about the Wyldings than I do,” she murmurs, “I’ll leave the worrying to you.”

  Taking a deep breath, I try to silence the new, nagging unease in the pit of my stomach. Whether or not Meredy’s right about Hadrien, she’s raised a frightening point: Given the events of the last few weeks, I can’t trust anyone anymore. I lean back against the wagon, the night falling softly around me, complete with chirping crickets and a steady autumn breeze.

  Meredy sighs. “I bet we couldn’t go a full day without arguing.”

  After the coffee bean trick, the idea of beating her at something sounds rather appealing. “I’ll take that bet. If we argue, you win. And if we don’t, I win. But what should we declare as the prize?”

  She taps the scar on her cheek as she thinks. “If I win, you have to promise never to insult me again. And if you win . . .”

  “I get enough coffee to last a lifetime. Paid for by you.”

  Meredy’s eyes flash with excitement. “Deal.”

  We shake on it. Her hesitant smile reminds me of Evander, but for the first time in a long while, remembering him doesn’t make me feel like crumbling.

  “Evander didn’t like coffee. He said it tasted like burnt pan scrapings.”

  Meredy arches her brows. Slowly, a grin appears. “He didn’t like hills either, after the time he ran down that big one at Grenwyr Pond—”

  “The one with the sign at the top that said ‘Danger. Don’t run’?” I grin back.

  “The very same!” Her laugh is like the rustle of bird’s wings, soft and sweet, and I realize this is the first time I’ve heard it. “He broke his arm, and Mother told him it was a good lesson in reading before running.”

  “How about the time he broke his ankle playing some ball game with Simeon? I never understood how that happened, but you were there, weren’t you?”

  I wish I’d known sooner how easy it would be, talking about Evander together. Dredging up these memories doesn’t sting nearly as much when sharing them with someone who knows exactly what I’ve been through. Someone who lost their love, too. Jax and I spent most of our time in bed trying not to mention Evander, but it feels right here, now, with Meredy.

  “Oh! His ankle? That’s a funny story.” Meredy’s voice draws me back to her. “The healers mended the break, but he woke up thinking he was still in the field with the ball, and tried to—”

  Meredy’s words are cut off when a shriek splits the night air. Sharp. Unrestrained. Eager.

  Meredy and I exchange a glance. I’d recognize that sound anywhere.

  A Shade is on the hunt, and we’re the prey.

  XXII

  As the wagon comes to a sudden halt, I reach for my sword and strain my ears to detect what’s happening over the horses’ frightened whinnies and Lysander’s hair-raising roar. Master Cymbre yells something I can’t quite make out. Her cry is abruptly cut short, and a cold weight settles in my chest as I imagine why.

  Something crashes into the wagon hold, making Meredy and me jump as the wagon rocks violently from side to side.

  I dive toward the crate where we’ve carefully nestled several glass vials of liquid fire potion for the journey to Elsinor. Without those precious vials, we can’t kill any Shades. The crate’s lid is ajar, and I hurry to push it back into place. Meredy puts a hand on the crate’s side to steady it as the wagon continues to shake.

  Another shriek nearly deafens me. The monster must be right on top of us.

  I draw my sword and stagger to my feet as a long, bony arm shreds the wagon’s canvas covering and smashes the crate of fire potions. The wood splinters under Meredy’s hands, and she cries out. The vials scatter everywhere, some shattering, others rolling across the floor. The ones that break erupt into flames, and just like that, the wagon is done for.

  I drop my blade, trying to save as many of the potions as I can before the blaze in the wagon forces me out. The Shade knocks the few vials I managed to gather out of my hands; its sharp, bare-boned fingers tangle in my hair as the vials hit the ground and burst into flames. Quick as lightning, the Shade pulls me toward the huge hole it’s created in the canvas. I dig my nails into its flesh, hoping it’ll drop me. Instead, its grip tightens, its free hand closing around my neck.

  I can’t breathe. My body shakes, and I start to panic as my vision blurs.

  “Let her go!” Meredy shrieks, jabbing my sword into the fleshiest part of the monster’s rotting arm, looking pale but not the least bit afraid despite the flames licking at her feet and the shimmering curtain of smoke filling the wagon.

  The Shade’s howl deafens me as it drops me. I push myself upright in time to see Lysander attack the monster from behind in a fury of claws and teeth.

  Quickly, I scan the mess of glass and tar-like potion burning on the wagon floor. All the vials are shattered, but we can still stop this Shade. I’ve pushed one into a bonfire before, which means I can do it again—this time, with the aid of bigger, rapidly spreading flames.

  “Cymbre?” I shout over the monster’s screeches and Lysander’s roars. “Cymbre!”

  There’s no answer. She must be hurt somewhere, at the mercy of the monster and the blaze. Before I deal with the Shade, I need to get her away from the fire.

  Meredy and I jump from the burning wagon together, our boots crunching as they touch down on the rocky mountainside. She offers me my sword, and I give her a nod of thanks.

  “You have to run. Find a cave or somewhere you can hide, just in case . . .” My words are lost to a fit of coughing.

  “What about you?” she demands, eyes narrowed against the smoke. “It’s my job to protect you, remember?”

  “I have to find Cymbre. Then I’m going to stop this Shade.”

  “Odessa—”

  A burst
of noise from the wagon cuts her off as the last of its canvas top collapses, sending up a shower of sparks that fleck our hair and arms, sharp as bee stings.

  “There’s no time to argue,” I growl, edging farther away from the blaze. “Just go!”

  Meredy calls out to Lysander—who’s still in battle from the sound of things—as I dash to the front of the wagon, sweat already beading on my brow. The horses have fled, their tethers torn and trampled. Master Cymbre slumps across the driver’s seat, firelight dancing along a deep gash down the side of her face.

  At least her pulse is still strong.

  “Master Cymbre.” I gently shake her shoulders. “You have to hide. Our potions are gone, and I’ve got one nasty Shade to shove into a fire.” I shake her harder, and when that does nothing, I realize I’m going to have to carry her out of harm’s way. I hang my sword at my side and slide my hands carefully under Cymbre’s back.

  With any luck, Lysander will force the Shade into the flames while I’m struggling to lift a woman who weighs more than me.

  But the Shade must have tired of the bear—or worse. The monster plucks me off the ground, forcing me to drop Master Cymbre. An arm, skeletal but strong, snaps off my belt as I reach for my sword, then lifts me toward its mouth as it unhinges its jaw. Even with my heart sticking in my throat, I manage to kick the Shade in the spot where its eye should be, hoping to make it stagger backward toward the fire. But all my kick does is make the monster gnash its teeth in what appears to be excitement.

  Icy breath blasts against my legs.

  The last time I came face to face with a Shade, I remember my blood spilling out like buckets of paint. I remember that, after the initial gut-wrenching agony, I didn’t feel much at all. Only this time, there’s no Danial to heal my wounds.

  The first scream tears from my throat as the Shade sinks its teeth into my leg.

  And drops me with a piercing wail.

  I land facedown, spitting out a mouthful of dirt and fallen leaves. I guess I taste worse than I look. As I scramble away from the monster, dragging myself toward my blade along the rocky ground by my elbows, a bright-orange glow washes over me.

  The Shade claws at itself, tugging on a burning arrow lodged in the softest part of its chest. But it’s too late. It’s already engulfed in flames.

  Several paces back from the wagon, looking immensely pleased with herself, is Meredy. She drops her bow at Lysander’s feet and rushes to my side. “You’re lucky I had Lysander carrying my things instead of storing them in the wagon. Are you hurt?”

  “No. Not bad, anyway.” But my head spins when I touch my aching lower leg, and my hand comes away slick with blood. “Check on Master Cymbre.”

  Frowning, Meredy hurries to where Cymbre fell. I catch my breath, watching the Shade melt into ash.

  There’s something odd about the way it appeared on this particular mountain, when there are dozens of trails like this one leading into Elsinor, and the only people who know our chosen path to Abethell Castle are back in Grenwyr.

  It’s as if the monster knew exactly where we’d be tonight.

  I peer into the shadowy forest surrounding the wagon trail. But other than the lonely call of an owl, I don’t see or hear anything. There’s no sign of Vane or anyone else.

  The Shade’s skeletal body hisses and pops. Or maybe that’s the wagon, blazing with all our spare clothes and rations inside. Rubbing the pin on my tunic, I stare into the fire and wonder if I did my duty as Serpent when I didn’t make the kill. I didn’t even help.

  “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?” I ask as Meredy drags an unconscious Master Cymbre off the trail. I try to stand, but the stabbing pain in my leg forces me to stay down, and I crawl toward the woods until I can no longer feel waves of heat on my back. Lysander joins me, grumbling deep in his chest.

  “In Lorness,” Meredy says at last. She props Master Cymbre against a tree, then rests with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “I learned from my teacher, so I could survive in the wild if Lysander was ever too sick or hurt to hunt for us.”

  “I’m surprised, is all.”

  Meredy’s smile is bright like the moon. “The world’s full of surprises. You’d know that if you just looked around once in a while. Like Valoria. Did you even know she’s an artist? She drew me the best picture I’ve ever seen.”

  Somehow, she still manages to irritate me moments after saving my life. “I’m aware of her talents, seeing as she was my friend first. What’s the picture of?”

  “We need to get out of these woods soon,” she mutters, apparently ignoring my question.

  She’s right, though. The blaze is spreading, catching on dry leaves and twigs and blackening the ground between us and the charred wagon.

  There’s no sign that a Shade was ever here, thanks to this Serpent and her questionably loyal protector.

  “Can you walk if you lean on me?” Meredy extends a hand and I take hold of her. “Have you ever considered that . . . maybe raising the dead isn’t worth the risk?” she asks quietly. “That it causes more suffering than healing?”

  All the time, I want to say. Ever since Evander died. Since she asked me to raise Firiel.

  Before I can reply, I hear a faint voice drifting on the night wind. “Anyone out there?” It sounds like a man’s deep tone.

  I put a finger to my lips, looking around, then point to a lone torch bobbing up the mountainside from slightly east of the direction we were headed in before the attack.

  Lysander growls as the torch bobs nearer. Meredy puts a hand between his furry shoulders, calming him within a few heartbeats. We wait in silence until the light of the wagon fire lifts the cloak of darkness from the haggard face of a man some years our senior. He has a bow strapped to his back and an axe hanging from his belt, but his eyes are kind.

  Meredy and I exchange a glance, and she nods. If we’re wrong, I can take him, even with my leg a bloody mess.

  “Over here!” I shout, revealing our location.

  Meredy waves a hand, echoing my call.

  It takes only a moment for him to navigate around the spreading fire. When he sees the condition we’re in, he says, “Don’t worry. I’m here to help,” and hurries to check Master Cymbre’s pulse. He passes me his torch so he can lift Cymbre into his arms.

  “Is the bear friendly?” he grunts, eyeing Lysander. Not even Meredy’s calming influence keeps Lysander completely quiet with a stranger so close, and I think back to what she said about him not liking most people.

  Meredy gives a terse smile. “Mostly.”

  “I saw the fire from my cabin,” he adds. “Not many folk pass through these parts, so I thought I’d better come check . . .” His voice dies away as he gets a look at the gold pin on my chest. He offers me a crude bow. “Can’t remember the last time there was a necromancer in my woods.” Shifting his gaze to Meredy, he adds, “Or a beast master. Now let’s get your friend here to a healer. Abethell Castle’s the place you’ll want, just down that hill. And there’s plenty of time to tell me what happened here along the way.”

  We hurry past the fire into the black night while I describe the Shade attack as quickly as I can. It’s too fresh in my mind for me to want to dwell on it for longer than is necessary.

  The hunter merely grunts in response.

  “What?” Meredy snaps.

  “There were footprints in the woods near here. All from the same set of boots, by the look of it,” the man says thoughtfully. “I figured whoever attacked you fled the scene after they set your wagon ablaze. Thought I might have to use this.” He taps his axe hilt.

  Meredy’s eyes meet mine, searching.

  It’s Vane. It has to be. Somehow, he knew our path, and he brought his pet Shade with him to stop us.

  XXIII

  Abethell Castle is really more of a squat fortress built into the stone of t
he mountain on which it rests, overlooking a valley far below.

  By night, it appeared crouched like a wary beast guarding against our approach. I shivered as we were ushered through a dark side entrance. But by morning, waking in a guest chamber filled with sunlight, it doesn’t seem much different from the palace in Grenwyr. And it has a better view.

  Throwing off the blankets, I use the washbasin on the far wall to scrub off the blood, dirt, and soot I was too tired to deal with last night. Baroness Abethell was determined to attend to our every comfort, summoning a healer who deserved to be paid his weight in gold for making my leg good as new, and offering us three rooms on the top floor of the castle.

  I wish I had fresh clothes to change into, but since everything from the wagon burned, I throw on last night’s mud-and-blood-stained uniform of black trousers and a tunic. At least I still have my cloak with Valoria’s drawing tucked in the pocket. I take a quick look at it before heading into the hallway, my stomach rumbling. The baroness seems like the type to put out a lavish breakfast spread, and I plan to eat my fill before we journey deeper into Elsinor.

  I stride down the corridor, turn a corner, and walk right into Meredy, her forehead banging against mine. We break apart, rubbing our heads, and I hastily look away to hide a grin.

  Meredy clears her throat. “You should’ve asked me for a change of clothes. I brought a few extras. They’re not much, but at least they’re clean.”

  “Oh.” I take in her simple tunic, the color of Lysander’s fur, and her deerskin trousers, which are a damn sight nicer than last night’s battle clothes. She’s lucky she has a bear to carry all her things like a giant pack mule. I wonder if they managed to house him in the stables and how they kept him from eating the horses.