A distant call echoes down to us, and Kasmira’s shoulders slump in relief. “I’d better get back up there,” she says quickly, turning to go. “And I’m sorry for walking in on your it’s-about-damn-time.”
As she shuts the door, Meredy bites her lip and grins. “Where were we?”
I throw the blanket over both of our heads in answer.
* * *
* * *
In the first ten days of our hasty journey back to Karthia, the only other ship we see is a small Lyrian fishing vessel cutting through choppy seas the day after a storm.
Still, I’m so worried about Kasmira and her shaking hand that some days, like today, I keep her company at the helm—even though my girlfriend is waiting for me belowdecks, fletching arrows in the double bed we made from our cots.
She’s promised to do unspeakable things with me later tonight, and she readily reminds me of those things when I see her at supper, as most of the crew crowds around the table to fight over a bowl of boiled potatoes.
She doesn’t say anything out loud. She doesn’t need to. Our eyes meet across the table, and the look she gives me is so deep, it’s as if her hands are all over me right here, in front of everyone.
The moment is broken when Nipper shoves her scaly head into my lap, smoke curling from her mouth as she begs for scraps.
Meredy shakes her head at the dragon’s antics, then begins telling a story about a pet she had when she and Evander were little. She feels his absence each day just like I do, and we remember him together.
The days at sea, which once felt long, fly by as I practice with my sword, as Meredy tells me silly stories about the pets of Noble Park and their owners to keep us both from worrying about Valoria, as we dance and keep Evander’s memory alive.
“Two days to go,” Kasmira sighs over the sounds of Azelie’s animated conversation with the boatswain at supper one night. “One, if I can help it . . .”
“Don’t push it,” I insist. A pang of guilt jabs my insides as I say it, because the words aren’t just for Kasmira’s sake. Even knowing full well that Valoria needs us now, I’m dreading the moment we arrive in Grenwyr Harbor.
Meredy pulls something from her pocket, leaning over the remains of her supper—boiled potatoes, and a more meager portion than yesterday at that—to hand it to me. “We’re going home, my Sparrow,” she says, smiling as she watches me hold up my newly polished master necromancer’s pin in the dim light of the mess hall. She fastens it to my tunic in a spot right over my heart, a reminder that once, I was someone who mattered. “I have a feeling you’re going to need this.”
“Thank you,” I say as warmly as I can manage while my insides turn cold.
We’ve been gone less than two months, yet when I left Karthia, I already felt like a stranger on its misty shore.
I don’t want to think of what else might have changed there in our brief time away.
Of course, some changes—as Meredy reminds me every day—are good ones. So maybe it’s not what’s changed in Karthia that scares me.
Maybe I’m afraid of what remains the same.
X
It’s quiet in the city. A restless, uneasy quiet that reminds me of the aftermath of Hadrien’s Shades running loose through the streets. Even in the markets, usually bustling places for meeting, only a few people linger. Most of them barely look up as Meredy and I pass by with our beastly companions, having left Azelie, Kasmira, and the rest of the crew to secure the ship and tend to business at the harbor. The odd person who does bother to give us more than a glance looks for too long—as though they suspect us of something. Palace guards stand at the four corners of every square, armed with more than just their spears. Each one holds a crossbow, and I have a feeling the satchels at their sides must be full of the flammable potions I’ve used to kill Shades in the past.
Valoria has equipped them far better than King Wylding ever did.
The guards nod stiffly to us, and a few mutter a greeting, but somehow I’d feel safer if they were gone and I could hear laughter, or even an argument over the price of bread.
We pass buildings destroyed in the Battle of Grenwyr City, many of which bear evidence of attempted repairs—abandoned tools, mostly—but also signs of anger and further destruction: new windows shattered by rocks, the broken glass still framed by freshly painted sills. New murals of Vaia’s faces—including Change—marred by scorch marks and curse words. There are even the beginnings of foundations for new buildings, places where the land has been cleared and a few stones laid, but no sign of any crews working.
Most baffling of all are the iron rods placed at regular intervals along the main road through the city, which don’t seem to serve a purpose.
The Wyldings’ palace awaits us at the top of the cliffs overlooking the sea, its white marble walls dripping with red light as the sun sets. When the wind blows, it carries the scent of the palace itself toward us—sweet, with a hint of spice, like the bergamot and lemon trees hidden within its courtyards.
But beneath the sweetness lies something bitter that brings me back to the Battle of Grenwyr City with a single whiff. Ash and sorrow rest heavy on my tongue, becoming more cloying with every breath.
For the first time in memory, guards outnumber the wildflowers on the palace hill.
The very air feels wrong once we’re inside those marble walls—wrong as a splinter I want to rip out, if only I could find its edges.
As Meredy and I lead a hurried procession of a dragon and a grizzly bear down the hall to the throne room, our footsteps make lonely echoes off the polished marble. Just like on the hill, there are more guards than usual stationed throughout the warren of halls, but there are no masked and shrouded figures flitting through any of them. No dry, rattling conversations and laughter of the Dead filling these halls the way they always have.
And that, I realize, is what’s bothering me.
All the rooms once belonging to the Dead are empty, together composing dusty chambers of a hollow, lifeless heart. A heart whose rhythms were as familiar to me as those of my own. I’ve lost something else I can’t replace, and suddenly, as we walk over a large scorch mark darkening the hallway, I have the urge to grab Meredy’s hand.
“It feels odd being home, doesn’t it?” she whispers, squeezing my hand as if the absence of the Dead has her on edge, too.
“This is Karthia,” I answer, the words sticking in my throat, “but it isn’t home.”
Meredy arches a brow. When I don’t offer any explanation, she leans in to kiss my cheek, making me feel as though I’ve just swallowed a cup of hot, strong tea.
With her by my side, it’s easier to square my shoulders and hasten toward the throne room doors as two guards draw them open. They bow low as I pass, whispering, “Welcome home, Sparrow,” and I somehow find a smile for them.
They stare openly at Nipper, exchanging guesses as to what she might be—“Is that a wild cat?” “A sort of boar?”—as her tail slithers over their feet on our way past. It’s clear they’re hungry for any distraction from the palace’s pervasive air of misery.
Their curious chatter fades into the background as I take in the sight before me. It’s amazing how much someone can change something in a short time, if they’re determined enough. The last time I was in this room, I killed a man I once trusted. A man I once called a friend. The blood has long been wiped from the glistening marble floor, of course. But now, on the raised dais where the throne was proudly displayed—a seat occupied by Valoria’s ancestors for countless centuries, and coveted by many—there’s a new chair, more comfortable and less imposing-looking, decorated with gems, its arms painted a warm rose gold.
Valoria sits on its wide, black velvet-cushioned seat, flanked by girls I don’t recognize, girls who must be her ladies-in-waiting. Just as I’ve often pictured her while we’ve been gone, her head is bent over the notebook where she m
aps out her inventions and plans, and a stick of charcoal rests between her fingers. My heart aches at the familiar sight, and I suppress the sudden urge to throw my arms around her.
Instead, I mount the steps to the new throne and kneel stiffly before her while Meredy lingers at the bottom of the steps to lecture Nipper for trying to bite one of the guards stationed around the dais.
“Valoria. Thank the stars you’re all right. We came as soon as we got your message—or rather, overheard it,” I say quickly, before the lump in my throat gets any worse. There’s a small scar on her collarbone, almost hidden by the high collar of her inventor’s jacket, and beside her rests a long, polished piece of black wood with a wolf’s head carved into its handle. A cane. “Valoria, please say something. I want to know everything.”
Snapping her notebook shut, Valoria lifts her head. Perhaps it’s a trick of the scant light cast by one of the many chandeliers she’s installed in here, but her deep brown eyes seem to shine harder than the glittering stones of sapphire, emerald, jasper, smoky quartz, and turquoise set in her tall golden crown.
“You’re later than I expected,” she sniffs.
Smudges of charcoal decorate her face and neck, but her inventor’s jacket, with its stiff shoulders and glittering gold threads, still looks immaculate.
Gathering the loose fabric at the end of my shirtsleeve, I reach to dab the biggest charcoal stain beneath her eye. “It’s so good to see you.” I don’t add alive, though I think it. “You’ve got a little something—”
She raises a hand as if to slap me, making the rest of my words stick in my throat. I gaze deep into her eyes, daring her to go through with it, but her lower lip trembles and she drops the hand as swiftly as she raised it.
“Death be damned, Your Majesty,” I mutter under my breath as I leap to my feet. “If you need a punching bag, I’m right here, friend. But give me some warning first.”
Valoria staggers to her feet, aided by the two girls on either side of her. One of them offers out the cane, but she shakes her head, refusing it.
“Friends don’t call each other by their titles!” she snaps, leaning so close I can smell her perfume of daffodils and rosewater. “Friends don’t bow to each other.” Her eyes are shining so bright, I realize, with the effort of holding back tears as everyone else in the room looks on in quiet awe. Valoria has certainly found her leader’s voice. “Oh, and friends don’t vanish from each other’s lives in the middle of the night without a word like they never really mattered to each other at all, especially not when one of them just took over running a kingdom.” She takes a deep breath and adds with a hint of pride I’ve missed, “It’s good to know my little winged messenger made the journey to Sarral, at any rate. Did you see it? What did you think of the design?”
When I shake my head sadly, she nods and drops back onto the throne, as if the effort of standing without the aid of her cane cost her something. I note the old, familiar gleam of curiosity in her eyes as Nipper peers up at her, but she doesn’t ask about the dragon.
“Where are the Shade-baiters who attacked you?” I demand, trying to forgive the way she nearly slapped me. I deserved it, but it’s not like the Valoria I know to hold on to so much anger.
“Rotting in the dungeons, along with Lyda Crowther and the other traitors loyal to my departed brother. Danial made sure the would-be murderers never see daylight again,” Valoria answers coolly. “And in case you’re keeping count of everyone who’s tried to kill me, that’s: Count Rykiel, Duchess Nyx, Baroness Crowther—she’s a snake even from her cell—and three rogue mages from Grenwyr City. We’ve had an assassin sent from as far as the Idrany Islands, too, so add another to the tally.”
“Seven?” I shake my head, stunned. “And the Shade—was there really a Shade?”
Valoria nods grimly. “Jax and Simeon took care of it. My only loyal weather mage put out the resulting fire.”
That explains the scorch mark in the hallway. Once again, I have to fight the urge to put my arms around Valoria. If Danial couldn’t heal her limp, she must have truly brushed death. I just want to shelter her from this place that’s turned against her.
“Of course, now that my most experienced necromancer has answered my summons, I have work for you to do,” Valoria continues, her tone much too formal for my liking. “You’re to guard my back from Shades and anyone dangerous enough to create them. You’ll also need to keep a close eye on the gates in the city—there are usually only a handful at a time, as I’m sure you recall. You’ll also assist Jax and Simeon in watching the cemeteries so no one goes disturbing the dead. Oh, and have Kasmira come see me as soon as she’s finished with her usual business at the harbor. I have work for her and the crew, too. Understood?”
“Of course. Anything you need, I’m here. I was so scared when I heard what had happened.” I kneel again so she’s forced to meet my eyes. “Everyone was. Kasmira used so much of her magic trying to get us here, I’m afraid her hand might be damaged for good.” Taking a deep breath, I add, “Valoria, leaving was never about hurting you. It was . . .” My voice trails away as I struggle to put into words all the wounds I was trying to mend after the battle. “It doesn’t matter what it was. I’m sorry I wasn’t here before, but I’m here now, and if anyone else tries to send a Shade after you, they’ll have to answer to me. But how did a Shade get inside the palace in the first place?”
“I fear you’d have to ask my council about that,” Valoria says coldly.
I follow her gaze past the swarm of guards around the dais to the empty chairs that are usually occupied by the royal family’s advisors. The usual offerings of fruits and cakes on the table nearest their seats are untouched.
“What?” I look around some more, confused. “Where are they?”
“They’ve all retired for the evening. They still do things on Eldest Grandfather’s schedule, even though they all claim to support me,” Valoria says, a hint of sourness in her voice.
“But surely they wouldn’t try to—?”
I don’t even finish the question before Valoria cuts in, “Oh, no, I don’t suspect any of them of being a Shade-baiter.” She gestures to her leg, and though it looks ordinary beneath her crisply pressed trousers, it must be the reason she needs the cane. “However, I believe that at least one of them got drunk enough to let slip to someone in the city about the inventions and new laws I’ve been working on.” She sighs. “Or perhaps it was someone else who’s frustrated with me for any number of reasons—a worker who can’t do the job I hired them for because no one wants me to rebuild the city my way, or someone who’s afraid of my fireposts—the rods you saw on your way here. For lighting the road at night,” she adds at my confused look.
Peering more closely at her, I wonder when she last slept, truly slept. Given the storm brewing behind her sharp eyes, I don’t dare ask.
“I just want to improve people’s lives, but they destroy every project I start,” Valoria says, taking a shaky breath. Perhaps she’s closer to unraveling than I thought. “I’m trying to give them a safer city, and jobs, and fight poverty in seven provinces! Yet Karthians are so focused on how much they miss their Dead, and they blame me for sending them away. Somehow, on top of everything else, I’ve got to make people understand that the Dead being in their own world is for the best.”
“That’s why you have me, and Jax, and Simeon. Plus, Kasmira and her crew are well known in the city. They have some influence there, too. We’ll help the people see things your way.”
“I’m counting on it,” Valoria says firmly. “That’s why I need to speak to Kasmira as soon as possible.”
I nod. “As for your council—you need to talk with them about building a proper Karthian army, if you haven’t already.”
I can’t help but picture the scorched Sarralan valley as I say it.
Valoria blinks a question at me, and with help from Meredy, we explain
everything we know about the vicious warriors with a rumored penchant for dark magic. We talk for so long that Valoria’s ladies-in-waiting, yawning, ply us with bread and cheese and juice.
Lysander swipes a block of cheese for his enjoyment, which only lasts a few seconds before Nipper starts trying to pull it out of his mouth.
“If a bunch of strangers want to kill me,” Valoria says after a pause, drawing my attention away from the beasts, “they’ll have to get in line. However, most of the other rulers I’ve written to so far have had the decency to at least acknowledge my claim to the throne.” The shadows on her face deepen as she adds, “It’s the people of Karthia who hate me. If they aren’t blaming me for King Wylding’s death, they’re claiming I sympathized with Hadrien because I’m restoring the Temples of Change, or else they hate my plans to strengthen the city’s layout. There aren’t many who’d fight in my name.”
“Shouldn’t you let the head of your guard try to fix that?” a familiar, silky voice asks from the doorway.
Danial Swancott, master healer and—judging by the gleaming new pin on his chest—captain of Valoria’s personal guard, leans against one side of the entryway. His kohl-lined hazel eyes dazzle everyone in whatever room he’s in, but they’re especially bright as they sweep over Meredy and me.
“I’d come in and give you both a hug,” he adds, glancing at the dragon half-hidden by Lysander’s furry bulk, “but your giant lizard is smoking at the mouth.” He wipes his palms on his crisp healer’s whites. “Just watching it is making me sweat.”
“Danial!” I rush down the dais steps and crash into his open arms. This is what I missed the most. My friends.
“Let me get a look at you, Sparrow,” he says, sounding relieved to see me in one piece.
“Where are Jax and Simeon?” I ask as Danial draws back slightly and sweeps my hair away from my face.
“Simeon’s at the school,” he answers vaguely, scrutinizing the tiny scar on my forehead left over after the healers in Sarral saved me. “You should go see him as soon as you can. There’s something we want to tell you, but Si will kill me if I ruin the surprise . . .”
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