Nightspell

by Leah Cypess

Page 11

  Author: Leah Cypess

  “There are many things,” the Guardian said very quietly, “that I should not have done. And many things you should not have done as wel . It is your actions that place our kingdom in danger, not mine. ”

  The shadow moved then, seeping down the stairs toward them; it passed right under the lights of the wal lamps without becoming the slightest bit less black. “That is true if you count only the living as part of our kingdom. ”

  “The dead were never meant to be a part of it. ”

  “But they are. ” Halfway down the steps, the darkness reared upward, forming a vaguely humanlike shape.

  “We of al people know that just because we created them, that does not mean we control them. ”

  The Guardian took a step back, an action Varis didn’t like at al . He wondered if he should run. “I’m not a fool. You have forgot en the reason for what we did, and betrayed everything we sacrificed for. ”

  “No,” the fog hissed. “I am doing what I must, to defend my people. Do you think I don’t know why you brought the foreigners here?”

  The Guardian lifted his face and stared at the blackness above him. “Do you think I don’t know what you are after? The foreigners are under my protection. ”

  Two darker patches flashed in the fog, where human eyes would have been. They looked, Varis realized, more like rectangular eyeholes than like actual eyes. Silence stretched between the iron man and the black fog, an ominous stil ness that Varis recognized wel : the endless moment before a long-awaited bat le.

  “Are you ready, then?” the Guardian said, reaching up very slowly for the hilt of his silver sword. “Are you certain you want to do this now?”

  “Not now. ” The fog swirled and seethed, then went stil . “But soon. Soon the dead wil outnumber the living, and then I wil not need you anymore. ”

  And al at once the darkness was gone. A few smokelike tendrils curled in the air, and then they were gone too, and Varis decided to start breathing again.

  After a moment the Guardian let his ironclad arm drop to his side. He turned his head and looked at Varis through the black rectangular eyeholes of his mask.

  Varis let go of the banister, wondering if he had jumped out of a stampede and into quicksand. Wel , he wasn’t dead, so that had to be an improvement. “Thank you. ”

  After a moment the voice echoed hol owly within the mask. “You are welcome. ”

  “What was that thing?” Varis asked.

  The Guardian was silent. Varis lifted his eyebrows. “It was not exactly trying to keep its existence a secret The Guardian was silent. Varis lifted his eyebrows. “It was not exactly trying to keep its existence a secret from me. ”

  “He,” the Guardian said. “Not it. ”

  “That was a person?”

  “Yes. Or he was, once. ” The Guardian lifted his hand and laid it on the back of his neck, a gesture that seemed incongruously human. Rael ians didn’t wear armor, but Varis had heard it could itch. “He is the defender of the dead, as I am the guardian of the living. ”

  Varis leaned back against the banister. “The dead need defending?”

  The Guardian turned and started down the stairs. Varis fel into step beside him. “Even here, the living are not always comfortable with the presence of the dead. Fear of death is the most primal fear there is. There are always factions saying we would be bet er of without them, or at least with far less of them. ”

  “Those factions must be thril ed with the idea of a dead king,” Varis noted.

  The Guardian made a sound that, after a moment, Varis interpreted as laughter. “Your being here is not helping mat ers, of course. Everyone believes your sister wil never marry a dead man, which gives Cerix’s faction reason to complain more loudly about how the dead are nothing but a burden to the living, and make stirring speeches about why we must return to the way things were before Ghostdawn. ”

  “Ghostdawn,” Varis repeated.

  “When the spel was created that brings murder victims back as ghosts. ”

  They reached the bot om of the stairs just then. Ahead of them stretched a wide marble hal . The Guardian inclined his head once, then turned and strode away, his iron boots clanging against the marble floor.

  Varis watched him for a moment, then turned around and went back up the stairs. He could find Cerix another time. Right now, he had to think.

  Ghostdawn.

  Al the wrongness of this country—and al the things that made it unconquerable—were due to a spel . From the casual way the Guardian had mentioned it, the Ghostlanders al knew it; but he wondered if they had ever thought of the consequences.

  Rael ians distrusted magic, so Varis had never seen it used. But he had heard enough about spel s from travelers to know one crucial thing about them: They could be broken.

  And, he thought as he bent on the landing to retrieve his daggers, wouldn’t that make things interesting?

  Chapter Seven

  Cal ie stepped into Lord Ayad’s sit ing chamber and was immediately knocked to the side by a drunk serving girl, who shrieked as she raced toward the door and ful tilt into Cal ie. Cal ie regained her balance by grabbing the doorframe; the serving girl staggered and straightened, but not before spil ing the entire contents of her goblet down the front of Cal ie’s gown.

  Cal ie let out her breath in a hiss; the serving girl tossed her goblet to the floor and kept going without bothering to apologize. A moment later a wel -dressed man Cal ie didn’t recognize rushed past as wel , and they disappeared into the hal .

  Peeling the damp fabric of her gown away from her skin, Cal ie stepped into the room and bent to pick up the stil -intact goblet. The stem was slim and brit le between her fingers; she thought, suddenly, about let ing it drop to the floor, finding out if it would survive a second fal . She doubted it would. She thought of glass shat ering with anticipatory satisfaction, and her fingers slid closer to each other.

  She glanced up at the crowd fil ing the sit ing chamber, instinctively checking to see if anyone was watching her. Nobody was—but a head could turn at any moment, and then they would al gape at her, delightedly aghast at her uncivilized outburst. She took a deep breath and placed the goblet careful y on a dainty table, then stepped farther into the room and leaned against the wal , searching the giddy crowd.

  There were several parties tonight where Darri’s maid might have gone, but Cal ie was wil ing to bet the girl was here. This was a very particular kind of party: the men here were al noblemen, while the women were mostly servants.

  It was also a party for the living. Nobody would ever be so gauche as to say so, but everyone understood.

  Even though they al dwel ed together, there was an understanding at court that sometimes the living just wanted to be with the living, and the dead with the dead. And so they were in one of the rare rooms on the outskirts of the castle, with large arched windows that would be bright and deadly with sunlight in just a few hours.

  Not that Cal ie would be there by then. She didn’t even want to be here now. She would stay only as long as she had to in order to find out how her sister had ended up on a hunt reserved for the dead.

  Her search ended with Lord Ayad, who was leaning against the far wal surrounded by at least seven girls, al laughing very loudly at everything he said. One of those girls was Darri’s maid. Cal ie reached up to adjust her braids, then made her way over.

  When he saw her, Ayad grinned over the heads of his admirers. “Cal ie!” he said, his speech slurred. “I’m surprised to see you here. We thought you were holed up in a room with your kinsmen, discussing horse droppings and how best to cook them. ”

  The serving girls erupted into peals of laughter. Cal ie smiled tightly. “Sentha could tel you if that were true. ”

  One of the serving girls, a tal thin girl with a crooked nose, stopped mid-laugh. “I am no longer your sister’s maid. ”

  “R
eal y?” Cal ie said mildly. “I thought that was your assignment. You certainly complained about it long enough. ”

  Everyone now watched Sentha, who flushed bright red. Cal ie couldn’t tel if she was pleased or annoyed by the at ention; perhaps both. “Long and ef ectively. Someone took pity on me. ”

  “She must have been a very good friend,” Cal ie said, put ing one hand on her hip.

  It was a moment before the other girls noticed that Cal ie had said something disparaging about her sister; another moment before they giggled approvingly. Into that laughter, Cal ie added idly, “Or a very bored ghost. ”

  “The lat er,” Sentha said. Her flush had faded and her voice was merry. “Do you know Meandra? She’s one of the dead who paints—she’s spent the last year or so perfecting the shadow of a leaf on her latest creation.

  She needed a break, so she decided to have some fun scaring the foreigners. ” She lowered her voice, tilting her head conspiratorial y. “Do you know if she succeeded? I haven’t heard the story yet. ”

  “I’m sure she did,” Cal ie said, brushing a stray curl away from her face. “It wouldn’t take much ef ort. ”

  “Did you hear what Prince Kestin told Lord Sazon?” Another girl leaned in. “He said that when he saw Princess Darriniaka, he final y had a reason to thank the man who kil ed him. ”

  Cal ie bit the inside of her mouth and joined the giggles, forcing herself to wait until al the girls turned back to Lord Ayad and he to them. Then she announced that she was thirsty and left them, making her way to one of the servants in charge of drinks. He bowed and reached for a goblet.

  “I don’t want wine,” Cal ie said curtly, and the servant blinked at her. Other noblewomen were habitual y rude to servants, but not Cal ie; she had spent her time here being as unobtrusive as possible, trying to make no enemies. But what had that gained her? She glared at the servant, who glared back at her—just for a moment, but it was a moment longer than he would have dared glare at a real Ghostland noblewoman—before dropping his eyes.

  “I’m looking for Meandra,” Cal ie snapped. “Tel me where her rooms are. ”

  Cal ie was very familiar with the third floor of the castle, where the rooms were smal er, the hal ways dingier, Cal ie was very familiar with the third floor of the castle, where the rooms were smal er, the hal ways dingier, and the stones dustier than the rooms of the true nobility. Until she ventured into the servants’ quarters, though, she hadn’t realized just how low in the castle hierarchy her own section was. Here, at least the hal s were lined with tapestries, even if those tapestries were faded and out-of-date. She felt a familiar sense of resentful humiliation, and grit ed her teeth against it. That was the last thing she had time for now.

  Ten minutes after leaving the party, she final y turned a corner into a narrow hal way lined with frayed rugs, started toward a dark wooden door— And her sister sprinted past her, hair flying. Darri whirled and stood, arms crossed, in front of the door Cal ie had been headed for.

  Cal ie stopped short. “What are you doing here?”

  Darri tilted her head to the side. “The same thing you are, I expect. ”

  “You fol owed me?”

  “Of course. ” Darri smirked openly. “I was watching your room. I saw you leave. ” She took a tiny step forward. “I watched your room for hours. And not once did anyone come to see you. No wonder you don’t want to leave this place, where you have so many wonderful friends. ”

  For a moment Cal ie couldn’t speak. Guilt and gratitude and anger coiled in her stomach, forming a painful knot. “You’ve been sit ing outside my room al night?”

  “I have nothing more important to do. ” Darri uncrossed her arms and pul ed her shoulders back. “You’re the entire reason I’m here. ”

  The anger exploded out of the knot, hot and simple, and Cal ie welcomed it. She stepped forward. “I didn’t ask you to come. And this isn’t the time for this conversation. I’m here to—”