Song of the Dead

by Sarah Glenn Marsh

  My insides give a guilty twist as I think of the list of songs Evander made, ones he wanted the musicians to play at our wedding. His favorite songs for dancing. I still have the scrap of parchment in the inside pocket of my cloak, where it’s been for months.

  “Sparrow, what’s wr—? Oh, you’re out of tea! I’ll fetch the kettle. Hold on.” Simeon leaps up and hurries away. The fire is little more than glowing embers now, and Noranna and Valoria are talking in such soft voices that I might as well be alone in here.

  In the quiet, Simeon’s song echoes loudly through my head, drowning all my other thoughts in a welcome distraction. I start to hum it.

  “What’s that tune?” Valoria asks, startling me slightly. She drops into Simeon’s vacant chair, her conversation with Noranna apparently finished. “I don’t recognize it.”

  “Oh! Um, Simeon made it up.” I give her a hesitant smile, and when she returns it, I decide to treat her to a few bars. Just as I belt out at my off-key best, “Our bloody king for a day!” Karston coughs loudly.

  I don’t bother looking up, but instead keep singing. He must have gotten dust up his nose from that moldering book.

  “With a head far too big,” I continue, with Valoria looking more perplexed by the moment, “To fit in his—”

  “For the love of Vaia, would you please sing something else, Odessa?” Karston asks in a strained voice, slamming his book shut.

  I blink at him, surprised. “But you love that song.”

  “Sorry, I . . .” He straightens, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve just heard it too often, being around Simeon all the time.”

  “Right,” I murmur, giving Karston a thoughtful look. He must have been more nervous than he seemed about his demonstration with the soldiers. Or maybe he’s worried that he doesn’t have enough magic to control a whole army of them once Noranna builds more.

  After all, that’s a lot of weight on one person’s shoulders, especially a mage who’s just discovered what he can do. He probably doesn’t even know the cost of his gift yet, though he’ll find out soon enough with all the work that’s ahead.

  If any of the leaders Valoria’s been writing to decides that Karthia seems ripe for plundering, we may need those soldiers sooner than anyone’s expecting. Especially when, as Valoria is still quick to point out, there aren’t many who’d fight under her banner.

  “Get some rest today, all right?” I give Karston’s shoulder a reassuring pat, then add, “And tell Simeon to save my extra cup of tea for later, if you would.”

  “We’ll send a few guards to escort you and Noranna to the palace this afternoon with all your things,” Valoria says kindly.

  Wrapping our faces against the cold and the spreading sickness alike, she and I prepare for the hurried trip back to the palace. It’s time to give our friends a taste of what we’ve all been short on lately: hope.

  Valoria pauses, turning to me with her hand on the door. I can already feel a bitter wind slipping through its cracks.

  “You know, now that I’m speaking with Devran, and we have the makings of a defense against potential invaders . . .” She presses her lips together, seeming torn about whether to say more. Taking a hard look at me, she continues, “You shouldn’t feel like you have to stay here. If you and Meredy want to go back to Sarral, or anywhere else, you should feel free. Forget what I said the other night—that was just the wine and the pie talking. I’m not Eldest Grandfather. I won’t keep anyone against their will.” She tries to smile, but it falters.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” I want to hug her, or maybe hit her—how can she know so much, but not realize that I want to be right here, by her side? “There’s Simeon and Danial’s wedding coming up, and after that . . .” I shrug, not sure of the answer myself. All I see in my immediate future is Karthia. “I’ll be here. With you, dummy.”

  Valoria laughs, and I start to grin, too, because we both know it’s a funny thing to say to one of the smartest people in all of Karthia.

  “I’ll be here,” I insist again as I follow her out into the chill.

  “I know.” She lets me slip my arm through hers as we set off, and we walk in perfect rhythm all the way up to the palace.

  “See? Still here,” I tease as we reach the gates, earning a reluctant smile.

  But as soon as I’ve seen her safely inside, I slip my hands into gloves and wrap a thick blue scarf around the lower half of my face before taking off again, bounding down the great hill toward the Ashes in search of Jax.

  XVIII

  Shouts greet me as I draw near the edge of the palace grounds, coming within view of the seaside market on the lower cliffs that’s mostly frequented by nobles and servants. Instinctively, I reach for my blade, ready to put a stop to whatever destruction of Valoria’s brilliance and hard work Devran and his companions have under way now—when I realize one of the sounds I’m hearing is the distinct clap of wooden swords banging against one another.

  The market itself seems deserted, but across from it, amidst tall golden grass and the husks of late-season flowers in an ill-used palace field, a small group of people practice their sword work.

  Slinking through the grass toward them, I instantly recognize Freckles and Sunshine, Valoria’s favorite ladies-in-waiting.

  “Shouldn’t you be with our queen, putting your new training to use by watching her back?” I call, announcing my approach, though the words are somewhat muffled by my scarf. There’s no real anger behind the question. Valoria was with me all morning, and besides, she has plenty of guards at the palace, ones who actually know how to wield a blade.

  Freckles frowns at me, which I guess I deserve. I haven’t been very friendly to her or Sunshine, though it’s not their fault that Valoria likes them well enough to call them friends. I can’t even remember their real names.

  “There wasn’t much to do by way of hair dressing, gown fastening, or guard duty this morning,” Freckles says coolly. “I expect you know more about that than we do.” Pointing her wooden sword toward the ground, she adds, “We decided to take advantage of the quiet to practice.”

  Gazing around, I see that we means most of the volunteer army we’ve been assembling. They’ve come here to keep sharpening their skills, choosing not to leave the city, to keep fighting for their queen as long as they’re healthy.

  “Don’t worry,” Freckles adds as I scan the faces of those practicing for any signs of the fever. I don’t like the lack of scarves over their mouths, though most are wearing gloves, at least. “No one here is sick. We’re not letting anyone onto the palace grounds who doesn’t belong, and neither are they.” She motions to a swell of land on the horizon where several archers stand at attention.

  “Good,” I mutter. I turn to go. I shouldn’t be here. I need to find Jax. Besides, there’s probably no need for the volunteers to practice anymore now that we have metal soldiers with ten times their strength and Karston’s magic to guide them if the need ever arises.

  Yet something stops me in my tracks as I walk past people sparring on either side of me, sweat flying off their foreheads, their breathing labored. There’s something here I didn’t see among the volunteers before, perhaps because I wasn’t looking hard enough: potential. If they’re this determined to learn to fight, I’ll do my best to teach them.

  Turning around, I hold out my hand to Freckles.

  “Let me help you,” I say over the wind rustling the grass around us. “I can meet you here every other morning, if you’d like. I’ll teach you anything you want to know—but from now on, everyone needs to cover their mouth and bring gloves, all right? And don’t tell Valoria,” I add with a pang of guilt. Knowing how worried she is about the fever’s spread and preventing more uprisings, she wouldn’t consider this a good use of our time. She hasn’t seen the determination here. “These meetings will have to be our secret.”

  “Agreed. And you
r guidance would be . . . appreciated.” Freckles gives me a long, thoughtful look. Finally, she offers me her practice sword and inclines her head toward the rest of the group. “No time like the present.”

  I shake my head, my heart sinking as Freckles turns away. Even Sunshine’s smile disappears as she follows her friend back toward the group. “We can start tomorrow!” I call after them. “It’s just that I have to find my friend right now. It’s urgent. I’m afraid he—”

  “Looking for me?” Jax’s voice, so close to my ear, startles me into whirling around.

  Bracing myself for the stench of whiskey beneath the black scarf tied tightly over his nose and mouth, I lean in close to him and inhale. There’s no scent but his own, clean and sweet with a musky hint of sweat underneath.

  “Smell something you like?” Jax crooks a brow, his gaze skimming between me and the volunteers practicing.

  My face warms as I step back. “I just thought you were . . .”

  “Drinking away my problems? Getting my ass kicked by Hadrien in the Deadlands? Kicking asses? Breaking a promise to you?” Jax ticks off the possibilities on his fingers, and although I can’t see his lips, I know he’s grinning wolfishly as he watches me squirm.

  All that and more is exactly what I thought and feared, and he knows it.

  He has a leather bag slung over his shoulder, and from inside, he produces an empty soup crock and the cloth wrappings of a flaky pastry. “I was bringing a meal to Kasmira and the crew. That’s all I’ve been doing lately,” he sighs. “Kasmira still won’t let me on board, but she allows me to toss her this bag.” Sensing the unspoken question in my gaze, he adds, “She’s better. Not cured, but I think she’d agree that she’s on the mend.”

  The news makes me grab Jax’s hands and spin around with him on the spot.

  “So what are you doing out here? Giving dancing lessons?” he grumbles, letting go of my hands. Before I can answer, he says, “I want in.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Even though I’m exhausted from our secret practice, I have a surprise planned for Meredy, who promised to meet me in our room before sundown. Usually, we eat in the dining hall with Valoria and the others, but tonight I got permission to use the main palace kitchen to make a bunch of her favorite foods. I’m hoping the meal will take her mind off of her sister suffering with the black fever, at least for a little while—and if that fails, she’ll surely be distracted from her worries when I tell her about the metal soldiers and Karston’s magic.

  I’ve set up a folding table that fits into our large room without trouble, and as the sky turns a fiery orange, I take a seat at one of the two chairs. Meredy should be here any moment, but I can’t resist swiping a finger into a steaming bowl of buttery mashed turnips. The taste reminds me of the convent, of suppers where Simeon and I begged to be allowed to bring our toy soldiers to the table to eat with us. We won the argument about half the time, and the memory brings a smile. Master Cymbre taught me almost everything I know, but it’s the Sisters of Death who got me comfortable in the kitchen well before I ever learned the rules of necromancy.

  The sun dips lower. I alternate between watching its progress out the window and keeping an eye on the door.

  I wonder what’s keeping Meredy. She must have Lysander with her, since he’s not here, so I’m not too worried. I’m more annoyed that she didn’t keep her promise. And—though I’d never admit it, not even to her—a little hurt.

  Eventually, as the sky turns from soft lavender to indigo, and the food has turned Deadlands-cold, Nipper hauls herself into the chair opposite mine. With her stocky legs, long tail, and a body that lacks the muscles for a proper sitting position, her effort is one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen. Miserable as I am, I can’t help laughing.

  “You look ridiculous,” I tell her fondly. “You know that, right?”

  Nipper’s tail pokes through a space in the back of the chair as she stands awkwardly on the seat, gazing expectantly at the food. Her big, liquid eyes shimmer as they catch mine, and she makes a soft, pleading sound.

  “Oh, go on, then,” I sigh. “Try everything. Someone ought to enjoy my cooking.”

  Nipper flicks her tongue over the turnips, but they don’t seem to interest her much. Neither do the slices of roast boar, which is surprising given her love of fish jerky. But when she finds the spinach—something I’ll never understand why Meredy likes—the dragon plunges her whole head into the bowl.

  After Nipper has devoured most of the dishes, minus the turnips, I make sure the door is unlocked for whenever Meredy deigns to arrive. Then I flop down on the bed I thought I’d be sharing with her tonight. “No point staying awake, is there?” I say to Nipper as she leaps onto the pillows beside me.

  I put an arm around her, take a final look at the blackened sky, and close my eyes.

  Nipper snuggles against my chest and burps in my ear.

  “You’re a rude date, but I think I’ll keep you around,” I tease her without bothering to open my eyes. They’re suddenly heavy, and it takes no effort to fall into a deep, mercifully dreamless sleep.

  That is, until a high, piercing wail fills my ears and startles me awake.

  Breathing hard, I throw back the blankets and glance around the darkened room as the wailing continues, a haunting sound like wind forcing its way through narrow gaps in a stone wall. Nipper isn’t in my arms anymore, but I’m not worried. She’s developed a habit of kicking her cushion under the bed and sleeping there.

  Trying my best to still my breath and quiet my heart, I focus on the wailing. It has a certain rhythm, I realize after a while. And though the pitch makes me shiver, it’s much more like some person or creature trying to sing than, say, anyone being tortured.

  Still, even if there’s no danger, there’s no way I’m getting any more sleep until that racket stops. I wish Meredy were here to listen, too, even though I’m still mad at her. Just so I can be sure I’m not imaging things.

  Slowly, hesitantly, the bedroom door creaks open. As Meredy enters, a candle in her hands to light her and Lysander’s way, the wailing doesn’t seem to get any softer or louder. There’s an unfamiliar shadow in Meredy’s eyes as she sets the candle down on the bedside table and pulls off her cloak, and it stops me from asking her about the sound. Figuring out what’s wrong with her is far more important than some weird noise.

  When her gaze roams over the remains of our supper, she winces and turns, finally seeming to notice me for the first time. “Dessa, I’m so sorry.” She pulls off her trousers and climbs onto the bed with me. “I was visiting Lyda, and I lost track of the time.”

  “Yeah?” I mutter, feeling a sharp stab of resentment toward the baroness, which I’m sure has nothing to do with Meredy’s lateness and everything to do with how Lyda Crowther once blinded me and left me for dead. “Did your mother make all your favorite dishes for supper, too? Did she even make extra and wrap it up so you can have meals delivered to Elibeth tomorrow?”

  Okay, so maybe I’m resenting Meredy right now, too. She’s been full of excuses for her absences lately, but she’s never let me down like this before—never promised to be somewhere and then completely forgotten. And of all the things that could make her forget a promise, I didn’t suspect the woman who helped Hadrien would be on the list.

  “How much of your time have you been spending down there in the dark with that woman, anyway?” I ask in a much nastier voice than I intended. “All those times you said you were with Elibeth, were you really—?”

  “Careful,” Meredy says softly. She knows me too well—how I say things I don’t mean when I’m angry. “I thought you cared when I told you about visiting Lyda. I thought you understood. But you only care about yourself and what you are or aren’t getting, no?”

  I didn’t expect her to suddenly get angry, too. The shock of her bitter words instantly cools my temper.
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  “I’m so sorry, Mer.” I reach for her hands, and when she puts them into mine, I realize she’s shaking. But when I try to calm her by rubbing my thumb across her palm, she gasps and jerks her hands away.

  Too late, though. I’ve already felt the burns—burns even worse than the ones the crystal gave me both times I used it. The crystal I thought Nipper had buried.

  “Explain,” I say softly, trying to keep the heat from returning to my voice. “I thought I asked Nipper to bury that thing. And I thought we both agreed it’s just a trick. A bit of dangerous magic no one should have.” I swallow hard, feeling sick as a thought occurs. “You haven’t really been spending time with Elibeth, or even going to see Lyda, have you?”

  She says nothing.

  “Have you?” I ask again, almost shouting, my stomach twisting.

  She flinches and holds up a hand as if in surrender.

  “I did see Lyda, once,” Meredy says at last, in a small voice. “That first time I told you about visiting her. But, Dessa, real or not, talking to Evander again—talking to Firiel—I couldn’t just let you throw away the chance to be close to them again.”

  Firiel. Her girlfriend who died in a hunting accident.

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. “You don’t know what you’re saying! Meredy, it isn’t real. It repeated my thoughts back to me, just masked in Evander’s voice. It’s a trick, a nasty one. I thought you of all people would know never to mess with something like that. Remember when that potion made me see visions of Evander, and you and Valoria tried so hard to save me from the way it was destroying me? And now you’re just—what?”