by Mary Taranta
We exit near the gardens at the edge of the front veranda. Snow is falling, dusting the ground and freezing our breath as we huddle in the shadows, out of sight of the line of soldiers standing on the drive. Out here in the cold, Bryn’s spell feels like more of a dull ache, and I welcome the temporary relief.
The palace gate is a hundred yards away, guarded by a lone soldier—for now. But there are dozens of soldiers marching back from the dock, their movements eerily synchronized. More golems.
“One isn’t so bad,” Tobek says, peering around a hedgerow.
“But a locked gate is,” Cadence points out drily.
“Give me the poker, and stay close,” I say, holding a hand out.
“No,” she says, hugging it closer to her. “You already have a sword. Use that. This is mine.”
Inwardly growling, I say, “Don’t watch. And when you reach the gate, start climbing.”
I don’t give her a chance to argue, already breaking into a run, unsheathing the sword in a cumbersome move that mocks my lack of training. The soldier seems to look right through me as I approach, but when I’m only a few feet away, he draws a pistol from a holster and aims it, completely expressionless.
I call his bluff. Perrote won’t kill me, not until he knows my mother’s spell is gone.
“I’m so sorry,” I say as I swing.
The flat blade of the sword hits him in the ribs, and he goes down; from there, a simple choke hold the way Chadwick taught me until his body goes slack. Throwing a glance behind me, I abandon the useless sword and shove his pistol into my coat pocket instead. I launch myself toward the gate, but stop when I see Cadence lingering over the soldier’s body.
She nudges him. “Is he dead?”
“Cadence! Come on,” Tobek says, already halfway over the gate.
“No,” I say. “Only unconscious. Here, I’ll give you a boost—”
“Why didn’t you kill him?”
“Why would I kill him?” I frown at her, troubled by the ferocity in her expression as she glares at the soldier in his bloodred uniform—the color of the guards who carried her out of the dungeons that night five months ago, the ones who patrolled the workhouse and never stopped the men who came to prowl. “It’s not him we’re fighting,” I say, grabbing her shoulder, forcing her to look at me. “He’s a prisoner, just like us. Just like Alistair.”
A shout from the veranda is followed by a gunshot that hits the gravel ahead of us. I flinch, pulling Cadence into my arms. A figure stands, outlined by the torchlight behind him, demanding that we stop, ordering men to give chase.
Rialdo.
Wordlessly I take Cadence’s poker and shove it through the bars of the gate. Then I brace my hands and Cadence steps into them, hoisting herself up as I scramble to follow. Several more shots are fired, but they go wild. It’s a small relief. Perrote may have hoarded weapons for twenty years, but his men are ill-trained with them.
Not that I would test that theory in close proximity.
I land on all fours in the gravel on the other side of the gate. Cadence grabs her poker and we break into a run, angling for the lights of the city. We don’t slow until we reach Saint Ergoet’s and the vine-laden archway that frames the courtyard. Tobek dashes forward to claim the horses from the stable, only to stop. Two horses are already saddled and waiting, guarded over by a familiar figure. Silver beaded skirts, long red hair, and a pocket watch dangling from one slender hand.
“Thirty-four minutes and nine seconds,” Bryn says, snapping the watch closed. “Faris, that is appalling.”
Twenty-Four
MY SHOCK TURNS TO DEFENSE, and I brace my weight as I edge between Bryn and my sister. “Let them go,” I say.
“Where?” asks Bryn, looking around the courtyard sardonically. “Back to the palace, maybe? To my father? Is that really what you want? I have not kept Cadence protected all this time so that you could sacrifice her now.”
I stare at Bryn. “What are you talking about?”
“Where is he?” she asks, moving closer. Soft prayers come from the monks’ rooms on the second floor of the monastery, where doors are propped open to the courtyard. Voices rise and fall in a symphony of gratitude and blessing.
When I don’t answer, Bryn exhales loudly, hands on her hips. “Of course. Why would he tell you?” She shakes her head, disgusted. “Noble Corbin has thrown us both to the wolves.”
Snow begins to collect in the collar of my coat and melts against my neck. My voice is hollow. “You are the wolf, your majesty.”
Bryn’s face tightens; I have half a heartbeat to brace myself before she slaps me. “What trespass have I ever committed against your beloved North but the audacity of holding a man to his word? He swore an alliance with me and would have rescinded on that agreement, but no. I’m the villain.”
She paces away from me, only to turn back on her heel, her anger renewed. “I am not your enemy and I never have been. Yet despite my every offer of friendship, you vilify me again and again. And now his arrogance—his selfishness—has just destroyed everything!”
I refuse to raise my hand to my cheek, to give her the satisfaction. “What are you talking about?”
She half-laughs, breathless and harried. “Do you really think I want to share my crown with a man?!” When I open my mouth to respond, she rolls her eyes and begins pacing again. “I don’t want magic,” she says. “I don’t want this godforsaken kingdom with its disgusting people and its filthy plague. Corbin can have it. All of it!”
“You want Brindaigel,” I say, stunned.
She raises her chin, narrows her eyes. “Did I not make that clear to you the first day we met?”
“And you think North would agree to that?”
“I think I have exactly what he wants in return,” she says, with a pointed look at me.
My stomach somersaults. My freedom in exchange for Brindaigel? Would he do that?
Of course he would.
“Then why didn’t you come with us?!” I explode. “We needed magic out there! We needed an amplifier! We could have defeated Merlock with you!” If she had come, Chadwick might still be alive, and North wouldn’t be facing the Burn all over again.
“My father can’t inherit without my link to Merlock,” she says, “and if I had gone traipsing into the Burn to support my wayward husband, my father would have followed with an army. I don’t care how magical Corbin would become. He can’t fight a bullet through his head, and neither can I. It was far safer to stay separated, even if it meant allowing my father to play the concerned ally who would safeguard this kingdom on my behalf should my husband fail. But there’s nothing stopping my father now that Corbin appears to have given up. Avinea will cheer when he kills my husband. But before he can do that, he needs my blood and your spell, and if we don’t leave now, we’ll both be dead by the end of this. As much as it might break your little heart, we need each other now.”
“The alarm at the palace,” I say slowly. “He’s looking for you.”
“He’s looking for both of us,” Bryn says darkly. “Don’t act so surprised. My father has already tried to kill me once. His opinion has not changed now that I’m an heir to Avinea.” Turning, she mounts one of the horses in a smooth, graceful motion. When none of us moves, she rolls her eyes. “By all means, stay and think it over. Wait all night if you want. My father will never think to look for us at the monastery my husband grew up in.”
Her sarcasm is a cruel reminder that this is the only place in New Prevast where North ever felt at home. And lingering here is a guarantee that Perrote will retaliate against the monks still caught in evening prayer, implicating them in treason for no other fault than being in the same place at the same time as us.
“What’s your plan?” I ask.
“You tell me.”
I look to Tobek, who stares at the ground, and then to my sister, clutching his arm. The safe choice would be to run, to seek out Lord Inichi, and to wait for North to return, triumphant.
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But with Bryn’s amplification abilities, North would be better prepared to face his father.
“Ticktock,” Bryn says.
The sound of the soldiers carries in the cold night air, drawing closer. There’s only one way out of the monastery, and if we wait too long, we’ll be trapped.
Tobek growls, mounting the second horse. He holds the reins and stares ahead, expression tight. He’s no happier than I am, and yet, what choice do we have? Defying Bryn would be a worthless sacrifice. We need to put distance between ourselves and Perrote to give us time to formulate any kind of plan.
She’s not my enemy tonight.
Cadence takes Bryn’s offered arm, leaving Tobek and me to eye each other in mutual misery. Reluctantly, I pull myself into the saddle behind him. Monks have begun emerging from their chambers to locate the commotion, and they stare down at us with shadowed faces. Two dozen men—two dozen accomplices, if Perrote spins his lies right.
“Revnik,” I finally say. “Lord Inichi. That’s where we were going.”
Bryn raises an eyebrow. “Then that’s the plan.”
She takes the lead, and we leave the monastery, crashing through cobblestone streets, forsaking stealth for speed and the most direct route out of the city. People stand back and watch us pass with wide eyes and shouted rebukes, but I keep my eyes locked on Bryn as she expertly maneuvers her horse, urging it faster. Shadow golems materialize ahead of us, not the well-dressed soldiers that Perrote needed to win over a crowd, but misshapen, poorly formed monsters—a spell cast from desperation with no finesse.
Bryn drives straight through them. A flash of heat passes over us before the cold returns, more bitter in comparison. Even with all his stolen magic, Perrote still has no real idea how to use it.
Beyond the city, we ride past herds of sheep and startled goats, bearing west. By the time day breaks, I’m beginning to recognize the uneven scenery and the gold-red ribbon of the Burn that smolders ahead of us, turning the snow to water to steam to fog that banks over the landscape, shrouding everything in an eerie veil. We slow the horses to avoid the gulches and crags within easy misstep of the road.
I almost miss the wagon, its colors muted and dimmed. It remains where it was abandoned, broken wheel crushed and the back end tipped into a ditch. Tobek tenses ahead of me, and something twists painfully in my stomach as we trot past. To see it again is like reliving an old story from years ago, with characters I no longer recognize. Everything has changed since then.
I’ve changed since then.
The Burn has crept much closer than it was the last time I passed this way, nearly to the road that leads through the Kettich Mountains. Bryn angles toward the pass, but I tell Tobek to stop. After dismounting, I take several wobbly steps forward with a heady mix of fear and homecoming. A thousand second guesses crowd for attention, but there’s only time to commit. North needs help, and Bryn could be the difference between a spark or a flame in the fight against Merlock, and every inch of magic needs to count. Whether she was lying or not about only wanting Brindaigel has to wait. North’s victory is priority.
And yet, I hesitate, hugging myself against the fog. I have no protection spell to guard my heart; Bryn’s amplification abilities will poison me twice as fast as her. I’m being generous in giving myself two days to reach North in Arak, but what if he’s not there? What if he’s moved on to Kerch, or back to Pilch? What if he hasn’t even entered the Burn and is still gathering supplies? Behind me, the Kettich Pass looms, promising an easy way forward. I know Perrote will never find Merlock without help, which only leaves Baedan out there to challenge North’s victory.
The others dismount and join me in staring down the Burn. Cadence bends for loose stones and begins tossing them over the edge, where they kick up fresh embers in the ash beyond.
“What are we doing?” Bryn asks, peering through the fog behind us. “We don’t have time for inner reflection.”
I don’t know which choice to make. There’s no magic spell pulling me forward, no hidden clues to guide my decision. I watch Cadence throwing rocks, and I think, I’m tired of fighting a battle that someone else started. Two choices, neither one easy. But only one is right.
Releasing a breath, I drop my arms. “Tobek and Cadence, continue on to Revnik. Find Lord Inichi as planned. And then wait there until—”
“No!” Tobek and Cadence protest simultaneously, and I grit my teeth.
“I’m not hiding,” Tobek says.
“And I will not be left behind again,” Cadence adds, and I inwardly scream at how precariously I balance in her eyes. One wrong move, and I’m condemned again, losing any inch I might have gained since leaving the palace.
“North is somewhere out there,” I tell Bryn, pointing to the Burn. “If we have any hope of helping him find Merlock, we need to move fast. So you want Brindaigel? You fight for it.”
“You want to go into the Burn.” Bryn repeats before her expression becomes incredulous. “Good god. You want to go into the Burn. You know where he is.”
“I know where he’s going.”
“North is still out there?” Tobek straightens. “Then I’m going with you.”
“So am I,” says Cadence.
“No. This is between Bryn and me,” I say. “This is not your fight.”
“You have no power over me,” Tobek cuts in hotly. “Either of you. Because I intend to fight. First I’ll fight Merlock, but then I’m fighting you, Miss Dossel, so be warned. I am your enemy, and even if North gives you half of Avinea when all this is done, I won’t let you take it.”
“Then perhaps you should have listened when Faris tried to teach you how to throw a punch.” Bryn snorts, flicking her wrist dismissively. “A limping little boy is hardly a threat.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” Tobek says.
“Likewise,” she says, dangerously quiet.
“I can fight too,” Cadence says softly. She swallows hard, pale in the misty dawn.
Closing my eyes, I count to ten, fingers clenching into my trousers. “Cadence,” I say, but how can I articulate that everything I’ve done has been to ensure her safety, her freedom? Walking into the Burn negates all of that.
“You have to leave us a horse,” Cadence says. “So you can’t stop us from following you. You might as well let us ride with you.”
My hands are now fists, digging against my thighs. Like mother, like daughter, I think.
Like sisters.
And yet, I want to spare her in every way possible, even if it means pushing her further away from me. I hold Cadence’s eyes, ensuring she understands the seriousness, that this isn’t a game. “The Burn will be painful,” I say. “It will not be easy. You will regret every step you take, until you reach the point of no return, when you begin to crave another step forward.”
Cadence’s eyes widen with fear. Good. I want to scare her so she changes her mind about following me.
“It will feed off your deepest, darkest secrets,” I continue. “Whatever weakness you have will be amplified. Whatever fears will be inescapable. You will feel your blood thicken and your heart start to slow. And nobody out there is going to help you. We will be hunted, not just by the hellborne but by the shadows themselves.”
“Good god,” Bryn mutters, rolling her eyes.
“It takes five days in the Burn to turn hellborne,” I say, ignoring Bryn. “And there’s no going back from that. Without protection spells, you will become infected and then you will become a monster. And when North succeeds, you will become hunted again.”
“It knows my secrets?” Cadence looks at the Burn with renewed fears. “Will you know them too?”
I frown. “No. Of course not.”
A soft breath of relief. “Then I’m not scared. But you’ve already got poison in you.”
Bryn arches her eyebrow, and I tense; with her amplification ability and my binding spell, I may not even have half the time they do. Yet Bryn says nothing about it, so I fill the silence
with a lie. “I’m protected, remember?”
“Mama’s spell.”
It’s been years since Cadence referred to our mother as “Mama”; it’s been years since she referred to her at all. She was barely two when our mother died, too young to know much more than the shape of our mother’s face, the hum of her voice, the smell of her skin.
How often does Cadence think of her?
“Right,” I say with a flicker of guilt. Cadence never asked me questions, and I never volunteered my memories, selfishly burying all thoughts of our mother behind a wall of accusation and hate. I thought I was sparing her the heartache, but in truth I was robbing her of her chance to make her own conclusions. What would she say if I told her our mother tried to kill a king? And when she failed, she tried again before giving the task to me?
“Well.” Bryn flashes me a triumphant smirk. “Looks like we have a new plan.”
We return to our horses, but I hesitate before mounting again. “Last chance to go to Revnik,” I say. “There’s no shame in being scared. In wanting to be safe.”
Cadence chews her lower lip, eyebrows furrowed. She glances at the fire poker strapped to the horse’s saddle. “That sword you had at the palace gate would have been better.”
I bite back my smile and pull Chadwick’s dagger from my boot. “How about this?” I say, offering it to her. “It cuts through shadows,” I add in a mock whisper, hiding the truth behind my teasing.
Cadence makes a face. “It’s ugly,” she says.
Tobek stares at the dagger and then twists in the saddle to give me a dark, questioning look. “Where did you get that?”
I ignore him, watching my sister, waiting for her decision.
Sighing—clearly disappointed—she slides the dagger into her bag and takes Bryn’s arm, hoisting herself onto the horse. For a moment there’s nothing but silence save for the hiss and whisper of the snow hitting the edge of the Burn and turning to steam. Overhead, the sunrise colors the fog rose and ruby red. A single bird dips toward us with a blur of charcoal before it soars higher. I watch it disappear before I close my eyes.
