by Beth Revis
But mine coiled with anxiety. I closed my eyes, reaching for my revenants. Their voices were quieter than before, but not yet silent. There was Ollah, and Kessel, and Nixah, and Kent. I sifted through each one of them, reassuring myself that they were still there. And that they still wanted this.
They had all come back from the dead for a different reason. Some, like Ronan, had a living loved one to stay beside. Some had been afraid of death. Some had longed for more time, more chances. Some had just wanted to stay.
I felt the fear inside of them, too, the unease as they grew aware of what they had lost. They could tell they were fading. But while they did not want the empty life I had given Nessie, they were not ready to let go of the one I had given them.
Which meant that I couldn’t give up either. I had to save them all.
THIRTEEN
Grey
I TOOK THE long way back to my rooms, and when I arrived, Hamish Hamlayton was already waiting for me. I remembered the way he’d bit back his words at the chapel; it seemed he’d finally worked up the courage to speak his mind.
“Astor,” he said by way of greeting.
“What do you need?” I asked.
Hamish cocked an eyebrow at me. “Do you understand what happened in the council chambers?”
Was he talking about Nedra, and the way the Emperor hadn’t set a firm order for her arrest? “I understand enough,” I said.
“Your father knew the game,” Hamish started.
“This is no game,” I said. “And I am not my father.”
Rather than excuse himself at my obvious dismissal, Hamish leaned against my wall. “Why are you trying to help the north?” he asked softly. “You do realize it’s going to be an almost impossible task to revitalize the economy of an entire region? Why are you setting yourself up for something that could fail so easily?”
“The north needs support,” I said.
“I know,” Hamish said. “That’s why I’ve had propositions in the works for years to rebuild the infrastructure there.”
“But then why—” I started.
“Why haven’t they gone through? You tell me.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
I tried to find the answer in his inscrutable face. Had delays in progress happened because Governor Adelaide blocked them? Had people like my father stood in the way?
“You don’t know how this works,” Hamish said, his voice almost gratingly sympathetic. “So what makes you think you can do anything?”
I rolled back my shoulders. “I’m at least going to try,” I said firmly. “Maybe the Emperor is right. Maybe the situation needs new eyes; maybe making a show of helping will mean that eventually actual help comes.” I paused, suddenly thinking of Nedra. Thinking of all the times I hadn’t bothered to ask her about what it was like for her at home, how I never offered to go with her to the villages, how I neglected to notice the poor. “At least it’s something,” I said, my voice quiet as I remembered all the nothing I had done.
A sharp knock interrupted us. I opened the door, and a tall, thin man with wire-frame spectacles entered. He carried a sheaf of papers in his arms, bound by a leather wrap. “I’m Alyn Trublon,” he said hurriedly. When I blinked blankly at him, he added, “The Emperor’s travel secretary.” His gaze turned to Hamish.
“I’ll see myself out,” Hamish said, heading to the door. Just before he closed it, he shot me a look of what could’ve been suspicion or pity.
Alyn went straight to my desk, unrolling the leather wrap and spreading out the papers. “These are your expenditures,” he said, handing me a small envelope. When I peeked inside, I saw bank credit notes, each worth a hundred allyras. This wasn’t exactly a fortune, but more than my parents gave me in a year’s allowance. “Accommodations have already been arranged for Hart,” Alyn continued, either ignoring or not noticing my expression. “And the Emperor has allocated you a cabin on board his private cruiser, which is being used to transport guards.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, finally able to get a word in edgewise. “What’s happening?”
Alyn leaned back, adjusting his bifocals. “I was told you’re helping spearhead the initiative to revitalize the northern economies,” he said.
“I—er.”
“You can take it up with His Imperial Majesty.” Alyn shuffled through the papers. “You should arrive in Miraband—”
“Miraband?”
“The capital,” Alyn said in a flat voice.
“I know Miraband is the capital,” I snapped. It was also on the mainland, and about a week’s journey away.
“The Emperor oversees all operations of the Empire,” Allyn said. His voice was slower now, as if he thought I was simple. “But the Allyrian Empire is vast, so he allocates tasks to committees. You must get approval by the trade commission for any imports and exports prior to presenting them to Emperor Auguste.”
My obvious lack of understanding caused Alyn to—finally—pause. “You are Greggori Astor?” he asked.
I nodded.
“At the council meeting, you proposed that the north needed aid?”
I nodded again.
“The Emperor has allowed you the opportunity to prove yourself,” Alyn said. “You are to take a selection of local goods from the markets at Hart, then present them to the travel commission in Miraband for approval on new exports.”
“I had, er, thought perhaps funds could just be sent to the northern villages,” I said. “A type of welfare.”
Alyn leveled me with a cold gaze. “And how would that help?”
I wanted to protest—surely giving aid would help the north recover quicker—but Alyn’s cold stare made me feel as if I were simply not intelligent enough to see why it was such a bad idea. “Right, you’re right, er—I just. This is happening rather suddenly.”
Alyn started to gather his papers. “I am simply a facilitator. Whether or not you actually choose to accept the task is up to you.”
I started to say more, but the travel secretary was already sweeping through the doorway. I stared down at the papers he’d left behind.
“I guess I’m going on a trip,” I muttered. The door closed with an audible click, and I examined the travel documents. The schedule would have me back in time for the proposed rally the Emperor had mentioned at the council meeting. That’s why this is happening so quickly, I thought. The Emperor needs me to bring him the information before the rally. I had to admit that if he was able to tell everyone that not only had plans been made, but already carried through, it would surely help my cause. Actions—even if they meant I would be sailing across the sea and back in a few weeks’ time—would speak far louder than promises.
The door opened again, and I spun around, a question on my lips for Alyn. But my voice died away as His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Auguste, entered. His face was still wan, but his gait seemed stronger. As he stepped fully into the room, I noticed that he was using a silver-tipped cane for balance.
“I see Alyn’s been here,” he said casually.
“Ye-es,” I was able to stammer out.
“He’s quick. I meant to speak to you first.”
“I’m sorry?” I was unsure of how to respond.
The Emperor shot me a small smile. “And did he explain the mission I’ve set out for you?”
“A bit,” I said.
“I’ve done this sort of thing with other colonies before,” Emperor Auguste said. “Find something to export across the Empire, and an entire colony’s economics can change overnight. Although, I usually allow more time to prepare.” He leaned against the cane, looking at me with a sympathetic smile. Even he seemed to feel that the timeline of this endeavor was ambitious, to say the least.
“Perhaps . . .” I started, then steeled myself. “Perhaps it would be better to send someone more experienced.”
The smile faded. “Who would
you suggest?”
I wished I’d paid more attention at Father’s dinners. “Desminde,” I offered tentatively, remembering the name of one of the governors of Hart who’d retired and moved to Northface Harbor.
“Campbell Desminde?” the Emperor asked. “He’s among the fugitives.”
I swallowed, thinking of the happy, rotund man. He had not struck me as a rebel, but I supposed now that many of my father’s closest compatriots were.
“Prinna, then?” I’d seen her just this day at the council meeting, and as the councilwoman of finance . . .
The Emperor was already shaking his head. “It should be you. You were the one at the council meeting who expressed interest in aiding the north. And I meant what I said before: I think you could inspire the people.”
His eyes searched mine, as if he wanted me to figure something out, something he couldn’t say. When I didn’t reply, he continued. “I had a lot of time to think in that prison.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that either.
“For the most part, people don’t want this.” The Emperor paused, gesturing to himself with his free hand. “The power,” he clarified at my confused look. “People don’t want the power that comes with ruling, because it also comes with an enormous responsibility. These people,” he continued, “the council members who fled, the commoners who have been speaking out, all of them—they have not been happy. And their unhappiness is my fault. I am their Emperor. Had I solved their problems, they never would have felt the need to betray me.”
Which was why we had to hurry now. Trade news would give the people hope after the plague. And it might just be enough to distract them from wanting to seek vengeance on a certain necromancer. I glanced down at my travel papers. There was nothing in them that said I had to go alone. If I could convince Nedra to come with me . . . She could get lost in the vast city of Miraband. She could hide.
I almost laughed at myself. Convincing Nedra to come with me would be more daunting than changing the economic system of the entire island. Maybe I could leverage the situation, though.
“I noticed you haven’t arrested Nedra yet,” I said, choosing my words carefully.
The Emperor arched his eyebrow at me. “Should I?”
“No!” I said immediately. “No, I mean . . . If I get new trade for the north and begin enacting the kind of change the people have wanted all along . . . could you pardon Nedra?”
The Emperor cocked his head. “A pardon . . .” he said, his voice low. “For a necromancer?”
My fingers clutched the papers, and I knew no matter what the Emperor said, the best solution would be to get Nedra into hiding.
“I do not relish the idea of hanging the girl who saved me,” the Emperor finally conceded. “However, I could not refuse justice if it were demanded. But if you are successful, and the people are perhaps . . . distracted by their change in situation, then I will not order a death the people do not request.”
I let go of my breath, feeling my shoulders visibly sag in relief. It wasn’t a guarantee of Nedra’s pardon, but I had never expected that. But I could buy her more time, and buy myself the opportunity to convince Ned to get to safety. And the idea of actually doing something eased some of the weight of guilt that had settled in my chest. I hadn’t done enough to stop the plague before. I hadn’t been able to save Nedra; I had let ignorance be my excuse to remain idly passive. This, at least, was something.
“So will you do this for me?” the Emperor asked, indicating the travel papers in my hands.
I swallowed. “Yes,” I said, my voice cracking.
FOURTEEN
Nedra
I WATCHED THE children silently playing, going through the motions with methodic intent that belied the usual boisterous chaos of youth. A scream sliced the air, and a tawny, pale bird shot like an arrow from the north tower of the hospital. A squirrel near the trees stiffened, its front paws splayed, its body frozen with indecision.
I watched the bird of prey descend. The dead children I had raised stopped their pretend play and turned to watch as well—what I focused on, they focused on. Their living parents, not privy to our connection, followed their offspring’s eyes.
At the very last moment, the squirrel somehow mustered the courage to run; it feinted left then darted right, toward the trees. The bird—an awlspring—changed course, wheeling in the air, heading deeper into the forest. The squirrel zoomed around a tree and the awlspring, so focused on its prey, slammed into the trunk.
We all heard the crunch of its broken neck.
“Stupid bird,” Torva, one of the mothers, muttered, turning away as the tawny feathered body dropped to the forest floor, motionless.
My father used to say much the same thing. Awlsprings were vicious hunters but notoriously myopic. Papa saw two collide in midair once, both so intent on the same prey they had not seen the other.
I strode forward. One by one, my child revenants followed me into the trees, filing behind me as surely as if the awlspring had been a new corpse for me to raise. I felt the revenants inside the hospital drawn to me, but I mentally pushed them back; this would not take long. A few of the parents jogged to catch up with us.
“What is it?” Torva asked. There was fear in her voice. Odd. It was just a bird.
“I have an idea,” I said to no one in particular as I bent and scooped the still-warm body of the awlspring in my hands. My revenants watched me, a dozen childish eyes that knew too well what I planned to do. They expressed fear, too, but unlike Torva it was not painted on their faces, but hidden in the whispers through our mental connection. Unlike Torva, their fears were valid.
I could not experiment on the living; the thought of doing so felt wrong. And I did not want to risk hurting my revenants by experimenting on them. I knew they would let me—they could deny me nothing—but that made it worse, somehow. How could I risk harming someone who trusted me with their soul, someone who I knew so intimately? I had tried to turn my powers on myself, but that . . . I shuddered. Not only had it cost me a piece of my soul, but it had pushed me deeper into the very darkness I did not want to succumb to. That power had felt addicting, but also blinding. No. I couldn’t do that.
But here was a fresh corpse—not human, true, but dead—and perhaps I could learn something from it.
Go play, I ordered the children. Let your living believe the lie.
They returned to the ball and the swings, the maypole and the sandbox. Their parents, comforted by the facade of normalcy, followed.
The dead awlspring was lighter than I’d supposed it would be. The feathers made it deceptively large, but I could feel the thin, bony body through the down. Its head flopped, and I shifted my hand so it looked as if it were sleeping in my grasp. I cradled the bird as I mounted the iron spiral staircase leading to my clock tower.
And behind me every step of the way was Ernesta.
If she were really here, really herself, she would be mourning the dead bird. She loved animals. She’d held a funeral for the barn cat Papa had refused to name. She would have cried at the awlspring’s senseless, sudden death.
As I laid the bird’s body on my worktable, Nessie stepped back into the corner, unblinking, uncaring.
I spread the awlspring’s wings out, exposing its breast.
Animals did not have souls, but they had a life force, which was much the same thing. I shifted my vision as I reached with my shadow hand to touch my crucible. While human life wove like golden light, animal life had a deeper color, more bronze than gold, and the wilder the animal was, the darker the light. This was no pet dog or work animal. The freshly killed awlspring had just a glimmer of dark bronze streaming from its chest.
My hand clenched. I wished I had more books. I should have been able to study necromancy as much as I’d studied medicinal alchemy. But the only texts I had were old and worn, two solitary books that d
id not answer the questions that shrouded my necromantic curiosity.
I pulled my iron crucible from the chain I wore around my neck, letting the little bead rest in my shadow hand. It was easier to see the darkness swirling in the heart of it. Was that because I had seen it before and knew where to look, or was it because the inky depths were spreading?
I tipped my shadow hand to the side, letting the necromantic crucible fall into the palm of my hand made of flesh. Stretching out the shadow arm, I twined the threads of bronze light from the dead awlspring through my incorporeal fingers, tugging it up.
A human soul had thoughts and memories and something of the essence of the person it emitted from. An animal’s life force was not so clean. Feelings flitted through me, matching what the bird knew—flight, taste, hunger, rest, hunting. This bird lived its life with wings at the ready.
The bronze light dripped through my shadow fingers, leaking down, trying to escape my grasp. I plunged the light into the iron crucible, watching as the threads of it swirled down, spiraling into the dark center.
Cold shot through me like lightning. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Ernesta. I had taken some of the light from my soul and given it to her, and for a moment, she’d woken up. Would the life of a dying bird give her a minute more? Could I somehow channel it through my crucible and into my sister?
The bird’s life force touched the darkness that swirled in the base of my crucible. I could pull it through and raise the bird from the dead, simple enough. Instead, I fed the light of the bird’s soul to the blackness, pushing it toward Ernesta’s soul. The black overflowed from my crucible, spilling toward the bird, filling the little dead body, replacing the light that I had taken.
Like frost spreading on my village’s fishing pond, cold crackled out, fracturing fractals spreading impossibly up and up. The bronze threads of light were no longer wispy like fog, but hard and brittle. And black. The glowing life of the bird seemed to cave in on itself, turning into a nothingness that absorbed warmth and light. As it crackled up out of the crucible it curved around, the edge of it sharp as a blade as it pierced the lifeless body of the awlspring.