by Beth Revis
Instead, she looked at her sister, who, I realized, was not a monster at all.
“I’m sorry,” I said. It wasn’t enough, it would never, ever be enough, but I had to say it.
“Go,” she whispered. I hesitated, but then the reanimated corpse of her sister walked placidly down the stairs. Nedra had sent her away, not me. Nedra sank to the floor, her head resting against the clock, the minute hand ticking by. I sat down beside her, and she didn’t object.
For a long while, there was nothing between us but silence.
“I thought you wouldn’t follow me into the darkness.” She threw my words back at me, but her voice sounded tired and defeated.
“This is wrong, Nedra,” I said. “You shouldn’t be playing with life and death.”
“You know nothing of death.”
“But why?” I asked. “You can’t give them life. Not really.” Even if the other revenants hadn’t been as hollow as Nedra’s sister, it was still obvious they weren’t truly alive.
It took her a long moment to answer. “They didn’t ask for life. They asked for more time.” She paused. “‘If love will not stop for death, time should.’”
My lips twitched into a shadow of a smile. That line came from the poem I’d recited on our first day of lessons at Yūgen, in Master Ostrum’s office, for our first report of the semester. She had remembered it. I loved her for that, for the way she noticed things no one else would bother with.
The thought came quickly, unbidden, but I knew it was true. The first words lingered within me. I loved her.
I love her.
It was an emotion I no longer recognized. Love wasn’t sweet and pure. Love crept slowly, like a river rising, seeping into the earth, saturating it, spilling over the banks, drowning everything in its wake.
Nedra stood and shrugged out of her cloak. I scrambled up and helped her with the fasteners. The cloth fell away, exposing a plain beige chemise underneath. I looked at the snaking scars on what remained of her left arm, unusually long and puckered, as if the arm had been ripped from her, not cut.
I made myself look at the scars, still fresh, raw, and pink. At first to see if there was infection or any pain I could help take away. But then to make myself imagine how it had felt. I wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to her.
When I looked up from her arm, I saw Nedra watching me. Waiting for me to comment.
“You’re still beautiful,” I said.
She shook her head, disappointed. “Oh, Grey,” she replied. “How do you always know to say just the wrong thing?”
I frowned, unsure.
What was this thing between us? It didn’t feel like before, at school. It was different, deeper and darker, but perhaps more real. My eyes drifted to the chain that held her iron crucible. We needed to talk about the plague. What Lord Commander Ostrum had told me.
As soon as I spoke, I knew the spell between us would be over. We would not be able to face each other anymore; we would have to face our mutual enemy. Selfishly, I wanted to do nothing but stay here, the heavy ticking of the giant clock wrapping around us, and forget about the world and death and necromancy and everything, everything else forever.
But I couldn’t let the plague continue. I opened my mouth to speak.
Nedra sighed and leaned toward me, resting her head on my shoulder.
We had kissed—many times—before. We had come close to doing more than kissing. But that moment, with her hair falling down my back, her skin’s warmth seeping through my shirt, her weight leaned against me, was more intimate than anything we’d done before.
SIXTY-THREE
Nedra
Grey pulled back, purpose in his gaze.
I knew it from the moment he had looked at my iron crucible. He had not come back for me. He had another reason.
“Why did you come here, Grey?” I asked, my voice as tired as my body.
He took a deep breath. “Ned, there’s another necromancer.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes,” I said. “I noticed. What with all the plague victims that keep dying.”
He reached for me, to grip my arms, but there was only one for him to touch. “No,” he said, letting his other hand drop, “you don’t understand. It’s the Emperor.”
I gaped at him. “The Emperor?”
Grey nodded. “He’s hiding in the castle, not because he was afraid of catching the plague, but because that part of the castle was made by Wellebourne. It’s protected by necromantic runes.”
I held my hands up, pausing Grey, trying to process this information. The Emperor? But Grey explained it all—the revolution attempts, the plague, the conspiracies. I couldn’t hide my joy when I learned Master Ostrum was still alive—and not just cleared of charges, but vindicated and promoted to Lord Commander.
“We have to stop the Emperor,” I said.
“Master Ostrum said we have to kill him.”
I could tell Grey was uncomfortable with the idea, but it didn’t bother me. Kill the necromancer, kill the necromancy. Once a necromancer died, every necromantic action dissolves. My heart tugged, thinking of Ernesta. She only lived—with what little life she had—while I did. The same was true of all my revenants.
“But how can we reach him?” I asked. “If Wellebourne himself built that part of the castle . . .”
“Ostrum said we needed your crucible.”
My hand went unconsciously to the iron bead. Despite the fact that it rested between my breasts, the metal was ice cold. So too, I found, was my heart. The Emperor had done all this to me, to my people? He had let loose a plague that devastated the neediest on my island, simply to prove a point to some restless, spoiled, rich people who thought taxes were too high?
“I’ll bring him more than a crucible,” I said coolly.
My chin tilted up; my spine straightened. Come to me, I thought.
And they came. Twenty-seven I raised when I first came to the hospital. Fourteen more since then. And my sister. Forty-two revenants.
My revenants needed no sleep. The ones who stayed with family members left them in their rooms. I led Grey back down the steps, and as we descended, the revenants spilled into the foyer of the hospital, coming closer, huddling at the base of the stairs.
Awaiting my command.
“Let’s go,” I said.
They parted before me, allowing me to pass first. Grey raced to keep up. His nerves were apparent; he did not like my revenants.
I did not care.
Without stopping, I turned to the revenants closest to me. “Bring my ship,” I ordered. They left wordlessly. I smirked, remembering the silly captain who had been sent to arrest me.
Forty-two revenants and a ship with two cannons. And me and my crucible.
I was ready for war.
* * *
• • •
Our ship sliced through the water like a knife. As we grew closer to Blackdocks, Grey tugged at my arm. “They’ll see,” he said.
It was late, the moon high, the stars silent observers. But there would still be people awake, wandering the city. There always were.
“Let them see,” I said.
The boat bumped against an empty slip, and I led the way, careful not to lose my balance as I descended the steep gangway. My revenants moved behind me.
I took the main road.
My connection with my revenants meant that I was aware not only of my own thoughts, but also of theirs. It wasn’t all-consuming, but it was present. I felt what they felt about the church halls we passed, a mix of joy and sorrow. Their shared hatred of the factories. A memory of a kiss stolen in one pub; a fight in another. This city belonged to each of them, and that did not change just because they were dead.
The only one I couldn’t sense was Grey. His skin was pale, his eyes wide with a sort of silent terror. But he
walked beside me, and that was enough.
Dimly, I was aware of the commotion we were causing. Forty-two revenants and the girl leading them to the castle. Alarm bells clanged.
But no guards came.
I wondered what had happened to the captain of the warship after I stole his boat. Did the guards not come now because they were cowards, or because they had been instructed to give us clear passage to the castle?
Lights flared in the windows of the houses we passed as we crossed the poor district, and the cobblestones gave way to smooth pavers. Curtains shifted as people looked down at us. One door opened, and a servant let out a large dog, teeth snarling. But as my little army of revenants drew closer, the dog’s growls turned to whimpers. It scratched the bright blue paint of its owner’s door, trying to get back inside, before fleeing in terror.
* * *
• • •
The entire Emperor’s Guard stood on the steps of the castle, their red coats stark against the white stone. I knew now why they hadn’t stopped us at Blackdocks; they were waiting for us here.
“Halt!” a woman cried from the top of the stairs. Her insignia indicated she was a general; the fact that she was as far away as possible from us indicated she was a coward. She did not look down at us but instead stared straight ahead as she barked her orders. “We have been informed that you intend to harm the Emperor. Stand down.”
Beside me, I could feel Grey’s fear radiating from him.
I wondered how the Emperor’s Guard knew what we were coming for. There were about a hundred guards on the steps to the castle; perhaps a hundred more inside.
Mentally, I reached for my revenants. Protect me, I said.
I strode forward, confident. The first row of the Emperor’s Guard swung their pikes into a defensive line.
I twitched my fingers. A dozen of my revenants raced forward. It didn’t matter if they were pierced, hacked, or sliced.
Nothing could stop them.
I smiled.
Nothing could stop me.
SIXTY-FOUR
Grey
Blood sprayed over Nedra’s face. It wasn’t hers. She wiped it away and mounted another step, her small feet stepping over the bodies of the Emperor’s Guard who had not fled.
A man in a red coat screamed, sword raised, running toward Nedra. She didn’t pause or even flinch; one of her revenants just shifted in front of her, taking the blow. He plucked the sword out of his shoulder, where it stuck in the bone, and then turned it on the man who’d attacked.
Nedra strolled forward.
A body slammed into me—a revenant or an Emperor’s guard, I wasn’t sure—but before I could fall, Nedra’s sister caught me.
“Thanks,” I muttered, trying to find my footing on the stone steps slick with blood. Nedra’s sister said nothing. She had not helped me; she had merely been following Nedra’s orders to protect me.
Nedra mounted the last step. Through the open doors of the castle, more guards waited, their eyes so wide with fear that I could see the trembling whites. Nedra paused, turning to the steps and the straggling guards who remained.
She lifted her hand.
The fallen bodies of the Emperor’s guards rose in the air. Their heads sagged on their shoulders, and their limbs were floppy, as if held by puppet strings. Silence fell, broken only by the soft plops of drying blood falling onto the steps. I stared in horror. This was the kind of thing Bennum Wellebourne had done, commanding the bodies of the dead like marionettes.
Nedra twitched her hand, sending the bodies into a macabre dance.
“Nedra,” I said in a low voice, “they didn’t choose this.”
Her eyes were on the remaining Emperor’s Guard. Their fear was palpable; Nedra’s threat could not be more obvious.
Run, or become like them. Dead puppets.
They fled.
Nedra let her hand drop. The echoing thuds of bodies crashing onto the stone reverberated throughout the front of the castle.
She turned to the open doors.
“Hold!” a general in the front shouted.
Nedra walked forward as if the castle were her home. Her revenants swarmed around her. Their wounds did not bleed; their blood was not fresh enough for that. Some had limbs dangling; some staggered unevenly. But they showed no signs of pain. Nothing but obedience.
“Hold!” the general called desperately, his voice trembling.
Swords clattered as some of the guards ran in terror.
But others remained.
“Go,” Nedra said casually, flicking her fingers.
Her revenants ran to the swords, crashing against the blades without stopping.
Nedra turned to me. Her left eye stood out, bright white against the smear of blood on the side of her face. “They’re distracted enough,” she said. “Lead the way.”
My ears were full of the screams of the dying, the squelching sound of sword meeting flesh.
“To the tower, Grey,” Nedra said, an edge of command in her voice.
I nodded. My heart ricocheted around my rib cage. I turned from the battle, leading Nedra into the castle, to the tower where the Emperor hid behind the men he had sent to die.
* * *
• • •
As we broke from the main hall, there were still guardsmen to fight. Nedra had not brought her army of revenants with her—we could still hear their battle raging, no matter how deep into the palace we went—but she had brought her sister’s shell.
Ernesta moved with inhuman strength. She easily took out the straggling guards who cornered us in the ballroom, striking with machine-like precision as she snapped necks and broke arms and snatched eyeballs. Was this a reflection of the necromantic power with which Nedra had imbued her sister’s corpse, or did this emotionless killing come from some other, darker source Nedra had accidentally tapped into? I found that I did not want to know.
“This way,” I said in a shaking voice as Nedra walked over the bodies of the men her sister’s corpse had killed.
Near the throne room, I heard my name being called. I was so numb with shock I almost didn’t stop, but then Master Ostrum stepped out. Governor Adelaide trailed behind him, a ghost of her former self, so weak she seemed barely capable of standing.
“Astor?” Master Ostrum said again, his eyes wide with wonder. “And Nedra—oh, thank the gods. You have it?”
Nedra held up her crucible for a moment, then let it slide behind the material of her shirt again.
“We have to be quick,” Master Ostrum said, taking over as he led us deeper into the castle. “The Emperor’s Guard attacked soon after you left, Greggori. I was able to hide Adelaide, but . . . it’s tonight or never. I don’t know how he got the word out to his guards. He’s stronger than we thought.”
“How did he know we were coming?” Nedra asked.
“Does it matter?” Master Ostrum said. He turned a corner, and I picked up my pace, trying to keep up, but when he drew up short, I slammed into his back.
Ten red-coated guards stood in front of the stairs leading to the iron room and the turret.
“Nessie,” Nedra said in a low, easy voice.
The shell of her sister flew into action. She ran at the guards, senseless to the pain any attack against her brought. Nedra, meanwhile, looked past the fight, to the stairs and the iron door beyond.
“Can you get through?” Master Ostrum asked. Behind us, Governor Adelaide made a noise; a vocalization that meant nothing. Her hands were clasped together, her body shaking.
Nedra’s eyes skimmed the door, moving her head around so she could see past the guards who screamed as Ernesta killed them, one by one. She seemed to be reading something in the wall, but I couldn’t see whatever she could. “Yes,” she said finally. “I think I can do it.”
As more of the Emperor’s guards fell, Nedra s
trode forward. She ran her fingers along the iron door, circling the rings that looked so much like the ones Governor Adelaide had given us for the graves on Burial Day. Nedra withdrew her crucible.
Power crackled around her. Her eyes seemed both focused and unfocused at the same time, as if they were pulling apart the threads of a tapestry I couldn’t see. Her voice made a guttural noise, and then I recognized that she was chanting runes. I tried to decipher them, but they were unlike any runes I’d used before in medicinal alchemy.
“Yes.” Master Ostrum’s voice reached me through the sounds of the dying battle.
A crack echoed through the hall, so loud that the stones rattled in their mortar.
Nedra reached forward, pushing the door open.
SIXTY-FIVE
Nedra
Darkness swarmed around me.
And in the darkness, I heard a voice.
“Hello?” It was weak, pitiful.
My eyes adjusted to the dim light, then an oil lamp flared to life. I blinked away black spots.
A boy about my age crouched against a wall. He was emaciated, his skin pale, his cheeks hollow, his arms wrapped around his middle. “Hello?” he said again, straining to see.
“Emperor Auguste?” I asked.
“You’ve come to save me?” There was so much hope in his voice.
Master Ostrum shoved past me, a knife in his hand, raised over his head.
Kill the necromancer, kill the necromancy.
I felt for Nessie; she still battled against two guards. No—only one now.
Master Ostrum drew closer to the Emperor. He was so young, small and weak. He raised his bony fingers in front of the blade, as if that would stop it from plunging into his heart.
I reached for Grey. He squeezed my fingers as if he thought I was scared of the impending murder of the Emperor, but that wasn’t it.
This Emperor . . . he was nothing. He wasn’t a necromancer. He had no power, none at all.
