“Of course not,” Meredy and I chorus together.
I lean my head against my queen’s. “I love you, Valoria.” The words roll easily off my tongue after all that wine. And I mean them. But as soon as I say it, I can’t help but glance at Meredy, who gives another smile meant just for me. “We won’t leave again,” I add, refocusing my attention on Valoria. “Not unless you’re on board whatever ship we take.”
“That’s good news,” Valoria laughs, her breath warm against my hair. “We’ve been short on that lately. But who knows, maybe that’s all about to change . . .”
Yet as another day dawns, chasing away the warmth of wine and shared laughter with news of more death, hope is hard to find.
XVII
Three ravens arrive for Valoria over breakfast the next morning. “Ooh, I hope there’s something from Devran finally,” she whispers as the young messenger places three tidy scrolls on the table. True to his word, Devran has been able to keep most of the destruction and harassment of guards at bay, although according to Kasmira, Valoria’s last firepost was smashed to pieces and used in a bonfire the other night by those impatient for a tangible resolution.
I could wait to hear what news Valoria wishes to share as soon as she’s finished reading. Instead, I lean closer to her and read over her shoulder.
The first scroll is indeed from Devran, offering Valoria a report on the fever in his part of the city. There’s more to it than that, a whole second page that discusses the possibility of working citizens being selected for the royal council, but Valoria hastily sets it aside—to read later, I suppose—and opens the second scroll.
At this, she frowns right away.
“Who’s Empress Evaria?” I ask, sounding out the name. “Never heard of her.”
“She’s the ruler of a large country north and west of here. We’ve written once or twice,” Valoria answers quickly, her brow furrowing as she continues to stare at the parchment.
As I read on, I see why.
“The Ezorans have pulled out of Sarral and are now attacking her home,” Valoria explains unnecessarily. “She wants Karthia to send aid. I—I’ll think of something to tell her. She doesn’t know Karthia doesn’t have an army.”
“Yet,” I say firmly as gooseflesh spreads along my arms. I wonder what made the Ezorans tire of attacking Sarral. Were they driven back? Or have they found some vulnerable place that seems easier to conquer—someplace like Karthia? “Give us a little more time. We’re working on it.”
As Valoria opens the third scroll, I push my breakfast plate away, no longer hungry after hearing that the Ezorans are on the move.
“This one’s from the school,” Valoria tells me before I can peek over her shoulder again. Even though the old building is just a short walk away, she’s ordered that we send outside communications by letter to avoid potentially exposing ourselves to the fever.
Judging by her animated expression as she reads, this scroll doesn’t contain other deathly news.
“Simeon says something wonderful has happened!” She drops the scroll onto her toast crusts, elated. “We have to get to the school right away. Will you come with me?” Lowering her voice, she adds, “Just the two of us, and let’s be really quiet about it. I don’t want to make a scene.”
No one in the palace would want her leaving with the fever still raging in the city. I probably should tell her no, to stay where she’s safe, but I can never resist that light in her eyes when she looks at me like she needs something.
“Sure,” I agree. “But give me a moment. We should at least bring Meredy with us.”
Only Meredy is nowhere to be found. Panting from my run through the palace as I make my way back to Valoria, I remember Meredy saying something as we drifted off last night about trying to have supplies sent to Crowther Manor for her sick sister.
I’m glad my girlfriend has such a good heart. At least, that’s what I tell myself as Valoria and I walk to the temple over ground damp with fallen leaves, forcing Valoria to lean hard on her cane and me to keep from slipping. But the truth is, I miss her.
“This had better be really important, Simeon!” I call as I push open the temple door and usher Valoria inside. “I hate risking our queen’s safety!”
We’re greeted by an empty library—aside from Noranna’s three metal soldiers keeping guard over the bookcases—and a roaring fire in the room’s modest hearth.
As we hurry past the soldiers toward the warmth of the flames, a metal arm shoots out, blocking our path.
“What the blazes?” I shout, pushing Valoria to safety as I gape at the metal soldier whose arm is now extended in front of us. I feel Valoria peeking over my shoulder, her breathing rapid from the scare.
Before I can think what to do next, the soldier’s fingers bend in my direction, grabbing a fistful of my cloak.
I try to tug it from the soldier’s grasp. It yanks on the cloak so fiercely in return, I’m forced to surrender it or be pulled into the sturdy embrace of metal arms. Given the choice, it can have my cloak. The soldier bows with a whine of hinges as I let go.
“Fascinating,” Valoria breathes.
“Not really.” I grab her arm, guiding her away from the soldier as it flicks my cloak over its shoulder like a butler and returns to its motionless state beside its fellows.
“Simeon!” I growl, my voice echoing down the corridors that spiral off from the library. There’s no way Noranna invented metal brains for the soldiers’ metal bodies since the last time we saw her, so this has to be a joke of Simeon’s. He’s gone too far this time, though, and I can feel my temper rising as my heartbeat refuses to slow down. “I don’t know what kind of prank this is, but you should know better than to—”
“It’s not a prank!” Simeon calls as he hurries into the room. “Trust me,” he says, unable to keep from grinning despite shrinking back slightly when he sees the anger written across my face. “This is going to change everything.”
The mage students, minus Karston, follow Simeon into the room with Noranna in the lead. I’m relieved not to hear any sniffles among them, only eager whispers. Mostly eager, anyway. Noranna bites her lip as she sees the soldier holding my cloak, and a faint crease cuts between her brows. Frowning, she whispers something to Azelie.
“Simeon,” I say slowly, feeling like I’m missing something obvious. “What did you—?”
“It was my doing,” Karston says proudly, appearing from behind the bookcase closest to the metal soldiers and tossing a cocky grin to the room at large. Suddenly, I realize why he and Jax don’t get along: There’s a bit of Jax’s storm in him, and Jax is his own worst enemy.
“What in Death’s name?” I demand, glowering at Karston as I gesture to the soldier holding my cloak.
“I finally figured out my gift, Master Odessa. Majesty.” He glances between me and Valoria, and as he does so, the three soldiers turn as one to face us. “I can make things move without touching them. With just my thoughts.”
The soldiers bow stiffly, then do a little shuffling dance across the library rug. Karston never touches them, though he moves his hands at his sides just slightly as the figures do whatever it is, I suppose, that he wills them to.
“Is that all they can do?” I manage, swallowing over a dry throat.
Karston shakes his head, a hint of pride in his voice as he replies, “Not half of it.”
“How is this possible?” Valoria moves closer to Karston to study him with her glasses lowered, as though without them, her Sight will show her how Karston’s mind works. Just like he’s one of her inventions.
I glance at Simeon, trying to read his expression as Karston gives us an explanation of what he can do. None of what he’s saying makes any sense, yet Simeon doesn’t seem worried in the slightest. In fact, just the opposite. Guess that means I’ll have to be the voice of reason here.
“You saw the
gates to the Deadlands when we went to find Jax, didn’t you?” I ask sharply, drawing Karston’s gaze. When he nods, I continue, “Then you definitely have a necromancer’s Sight. That makes you a necromancer. End of—”
“But his eyes aren’t blue,” Simeon answers for him. “We’ve been trying to figure out his gift since he came here, but given recent changes to the law . . .” He glances guiltily at Valoria, then back to me. “It’s not like we could test his gift the old-fashioned way, by having him perform a raising.”
“I’m sorry I startled you, Master Odessa,” Karston adds, holding my gaze.
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” I grumble. Though we talked at length about our lives while looking for Jax in the Deadlands, how much I hate surprises wasn’t something that came up. “And you really ought to quit using my title.”
“All right.” His excitement begins to return as he gestures to the soldiers. “I was hoping to impress you when you arrived. I can make them fight, not just dance. I was thinking . . .” He takes a deep breath. “I was thinking I could help by training with them, learning how to fight with them while you’re training the, ah, human volunteers. And I can start right away, seeing as these soldiers can’t get sick.”
I may not understand his unusual gift—how can he have this other magic, when he has a necromancer’s Sight?—but there’s plenty about the world that baffles me, like the existence of dragons. A boy with a Sight that doesn’t seem to match his gift is still far less strange than a fire-breathing lizard with poisonous teeth.
And there’s no denying I like the determination glimmering in his eyes.
“Fine,” I sigh, resigned to what I’m about to suggest. “Let’s see how well these things can fight already, then. Three on one. Not exactly a fair fight . . .” As my voice trails away, Valoria meets my gaze, and we exchange a smile as I add, “For them.”
The metal soldier who took my cloak clomps over to Karston, handing him the cloth bundle without anyone touching the pull cords on its back. Then all three metal figures turn to face me as everyone else clears away to give us room.
I draw my blade, raising it as though I’m about to cleave the head off the metal soldier nearest me.
Some of the students chuckle.
“Any time now,” I murmur to Karston, waving my sword in the nearest soldier’s blank face and trying to sound like there’s not an army of ants crawling around in my stomach right now. It’s not that I don’t trust my own skills so much as that I don’t like the way the soldiers’ dark eye holes remind me of Shades.
The closest soldier bangs its spear sharply against the ground, startling me into even greater alertness, then raises the weapon to attack.
I block its blows without much trouble, forcing it back toward the bookcase that it so recently toppled. I hope someone’s thought to secure it to the wall.
I see one of the other soldiers spring into action out of the corner of my eye. While blocking another blow from the first, I kick the spear from the hands of the second, but it grabs on to my ankle, taking me down to the floor and forcing me to abandon my blade.
Its grip is, unsurprisingly, like bands of iron. Impossible to shake.
Valoria sucks in a breath as another soldier reaches for my fallen sword. I crawl toward it, the soldier who grabbed me still digging into my ankle.
I’ve just closed my fingers around the hilt of my blade, ready to jab the grabby soldier right in its empty eye socket, when a petite, curly-haired student—Noranna—takes a step forward and cries out, “Don’t!”
“She can’t hurt them,” Simeon tells her quickly, in a low, reassuring voice.
As if to prove his point, the soldier abandons its grip on my leg and grabs hold of my blade with both hands. It starts to squeeze and bend my faithful weapon. I’m pretty sure it’ll destroy the sword before its hands are in any way hurt.
“That’s enough!” I whirl toward Karston, who mutters a hasty apology as the soldier returns my sword, offering me the hilt. “You’ve made your point,” I mutter as I inspect my poor blade. Luckily, I don’t think it’s ruined. “I don’t see how anyone could fight these things. They can’t stab them, and they can’t burn them.”
“In other words, they’d make a pretty sweet army,” Azelie chimes in.
I toss her a grin. “Exactly, Zee.”
“You made them move like they do in my head,” Noranna tells Karston, her fingers pressed to her full lips in quiet awe as she studies her now-motionless soldiers.
He nods, clearly trying hard not to look too pleased with himself. “Just glad I could help someone. Especially you, Nora.”
“You’re all right, then?” Valoria asks me breathlessly, hurrying to my side along with Simeon and Karston. The moment I nod, she turns to Karston and beams in a way I’ve only seen when she’s worked out something for one of her inventions. “You’re giving Karthia an incredible gift,” she declares, grabbing one of his hands, then one of Noranna’s. “Both of you are.” She takes a deep breath. “How many more of these can you make?”
A smile blooms on Noranna’s face, as big and beautiful as a Deadlands flower. “As many as you need, Majesty. I can start right away.”
“I’d like that,” Valoria agrees swiftly. “I’ve gotten word that the Ezorans have moved on to other targets, which means we could be next. So Karthia needs to continue building an army despite the fever, and I think we’ve found our solution. But . . .” Her eyes sweep over the little library and the narrow corridors leading to small workshops and bedrooms. “Not here. You’ll need more space.” She shifts her gaze to Karston. “Both to build and to practice. You two will have rooms provided for you at the palace, and you can use the last empty dungeon as a workshop—hopefully, I won’t need it back to fill with more traitors. You’ll find it’s quite roomy. Oh, and there’s one more thing.” She pushes her glasses up, frowning slightly. “I think we should keep our new weapons between us for now. Until we need them.”
I know what she’s thinking. The people of Karthia are restless as it is, plagued with the fever and desperate to stop any changes to their city. Seeing a bunch of iron figures with spears probably wouldn’t have the intended effect of making them feel safe and, worse, could seriously undermine the tentative conversations between Valoria and the rebel leader when she’s promised a temporary halt to new projects.
“I can show you some more complicated moves for the soldiers. Some blocks and attacks, and even that kick I did,” I add to Karston, slowly warming to the idea of these killing machines now standing so quiet and still beside us. “But they’ve got to keep their hands off my blade from now on, understand?”
Karston laughs and flashes me one of his dazzling grins. Shame he’ll never be my necromancer brother-in-arms now. “Deal, Odessa.”
After that, the rest of the students slowly trickle out of the library, heading back to their various studies, a buzz of excitement still flitting through them. Azelie heads off to clear the remaining vines from the building, Valoria and Noranna continue to talk in low voices beside the soldiers, Karston cracks open a big old book with a torn leather cover and starts reading at a table near the bookcases, and Simeon makes me a big cup of tea that I sip in front of the library fire without really tasting it.
Now that the thrill of our new defenders is wearing off, something that’s been bothering me since we walked in pushes itself to the front of my mind.
“Where’s Jax?” I ask, frowning at Simeon as he stares into the fire from the armchair opposite mine.
“Music lessons. He’s taken up the harp,” Simeon jokes, though he doesn’t smile.
“He could get the black fever again,” I mutter, shaking my head. Just thinking about Jax venturing into the Ashes right now, turning to some pub for liquid courage before prowling the Deadlands, makes my tea taste bitter. “Would he really want to risk that?”
I’d tru
sted him not to go there alone again. He’d promised. But I wouldn’t keep a promise like that, so I suppose I shouldn’t expect him to.
Simeon doesn’t answer for a while. The fire pops and hisses in the absence of words. At last he says, “I don’t think either of us knows what he’s willing to risk anymore, not when he’s so determined to protect us in his way.” He runs a hand through his hair and finally looks at me. “That’s why I want you to be the Witness at our wedding—mine and Danial’s. I was going to ask Jax, since Danial wanted you to be his, but . . . somehow, if you can fight three soldiers at once, I think you can handle double wedding duties.”
I hastily set down my tea, searching for words. In the absence of finding any for such an honor—usually reserved for blood relatives only—I leap out of my chair and pull Simeon into a fierce hug.
“I probably should’ve waited to ask you in a better way,” Simeon murmurs into my hair. “But we’re trying to make this thing happen in a week or two. Valoria already agreed we can hold it at the palace. It’ll be small, thanks to the fever, but Danial and I agree it’s now or never, and neither of us is okay with the never. So, what do you say?”
I draw back to study his face. “Didn’t the hug answer your question?”
Simeon grins. “In that case, here’s the first important matter we need to discuss: How would you feel about a rosemary cake iced with lavender? Too plain?” Before I can reply, he adds, “Oh! The palace chefs have been working on some new frosting flavors. You’ll love the pumpkin. They still haven’t convinced me to try the sweet cheese or the seaweed, though . . .”
I purse my lips, imagining it. “Seaweed? In a cake?”
As we talk about frostings and fillings, my mind wanders to Meredy, wondering when we’ll get back on the training ground—even from a distance, I like the way her practice clothes cling to her curves. Somehow, those thoughts turn to wondering which of her favorite frosting flavors she wants on her wedding cake someday. Persimmon, ginger, or both. I picture her wearing a crown of daisies, in a dress the color of the forest she loves so much. And the partner facing her, holding her hands and whispering something that makes her laugh, wearing a red dress far more suited to a bonfire night, is me.
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