“Agreed. But I’m coming, too,” Jax jumps in, hurrying to my side. “And, Majesty, if this doesn’t go as planned . . .” He meets Valoria’s gaze and, drawing his favorite sword, hands it hilt-first to her. “Kill every last one of these bastards for us.”
“You have my word,” Valoria says, accepting the blade. “But you’ll be back at my side before you can miss me.”
Jax pulls Valoria’s hood up over her head, concealing her face so she won’t be such an easy target, though there’s really no need in the absence of her crown. “I don’t think that’s possible.”
I turn away from them, my stomach in knots as doubt and hope war within me. They both sound sure the other will survive. It’s the kind of certainty I should have had all this time about Meredy. Surely she found her sister. Surely she, Elibeth, and Lysander are well away from the city now. Meredy’s smart. Smarter than me, and more cunning, less reckless. She’ll know places where they can hide.
Suddenly, I’m anxious to get back to shore. I’ll see her again. I will find her, if she doesn’t find me first.
One of the sailors hands me a piece of torn sail, drawing me from my thoughts. Reluctantly, I push Meredy to the back of my mind and inspect the frayed cloth. The fabric is weathered and stained, but still white enough not to be mistaken for anything but the peace it’s meant to represent.
Once it’s been hoisted, there’s nothing to do but wait for the Ezorans to kill us or join us.
* * *
* * *
To my surprise, the Ezorans don’t have the heads of their victims decorating the bows of even a single ship. It feels more like years ago than months when Azelie told me that gory detail. She also assured me they have a penchant for experimenting with dark magic, and if that’s true, our blades won’t be much use if they decide to wield their mysterious powers against us.
Still, as the first of their ships draws alongside us, I absently put a hand on the hilt of my sword. Simeon gently elbows me in the ribs as he, Jax, and I wait for the gangway to be lowered, and I drop my hand to my side.
They could have fired on us or used their powers long before now, I remind myself as I study the faces of the warriors on the Ezorans’ ship. Their pale skin—paler than I remember, even—seems almost ashen beneath the charcoal-dark tattoos of intricate dots and swirls that grace their faces and arms. Many are sweating profusely, too, no doubt miserable in their rich furs and leather even with the cool sea breeze providing some relief.
A woman who looks to be in her twenties, her white-blond hair half in braids, breaks away from the rest, surveying us imperiously. “Come. We must speak,” she commands in Kanon. “We will keep our swords from your throats. For now.” Silver rings set with gems flash in the morning sun as she beckons us with a curl of her fingers.
As I prepare to cross the makeshift bridge laid down between the ships, Kasmira struggles to hold Nipper’s lead. The dragon seems eager to accompany me, Jax, and Simeon, completely unaware of the curious—and, in some cases, hungry—stares that the Ezorans are giving her.
My knees seem to dissolve as I make my way slowly over the bridge. It’s not the warriors and their extensive collection of pointy objects that worry me, but the precariousness of walking a thin line where the ocean waits on either side to swallow me up if I make a single misstep.
I meet the blond woman’s eyes in a challenge as I walk. She’s clearly their leader, and I want her to know I’m not afraid. At least, not of her.
As I step onto their ship, I feel the weight of my necromancer’s pin against my chest. It makes me square my shoulders and stand taller. I don’t reach for my sword. Instead, I face the blond woman and offer her my hand.
“I’m Odessa of Grenwyr. Master necromancer. And these are my companions.” Turning, I gesture to Simeon and Jax on either side of me and continue the introductions. “We’re here to speak on behalf of Her Majesty, Queen Valoria Juline Wylding. Ruler of Karthia.”
For a moment, the Ezoran leader regards me in silence. I leave my hand out in offering. I don’t think I’ve ever had so many people stare at me quite this intensely, even when I killed my first Shade.
At last, after exchanging a glance with her companions, she nods and says, “Well met, Odessa of Grenwyr. I am Orsa, the Exalted One of Ezora.”
“Is that like . . . a queen? Or more like a nun or a priest?” I’m not sure if I should be asking that, but then, I’m not sure of anything in this situation.
Orsa frowns. Her pearly blue eyes, which I have to admit are quite beautiful, narrow as she regards me. “I am,” she says at last, “more like a queen.” I think I see a hint of a smile cross her face, but the moment I blink, it vanishes.
She reaches toward me, apparently willing to take my hand at last. But before our fingers can touch, her eyes widen and she brings her hand to her mouth instead. A violent coughing fit shakes her, and when she’s finally able to stand tall and face me again, her fingers are covered in black goo.
Cold washes over me as I realize I almost touched the hand of someone sick with the black fever. I cross my arms, resolving not to touch anything on this ship. Of course, being this close to the sickness and breathing the foul air means we’re probably already infected.
If not for Azelie and her cure waiting back on the Paradise, I wouldn’t be nearly so calm at the thought of getting sick.
“They’ve all got the fever.” Jax’s voice is a low rumble in my ear. “Look around.”
The telltale blackberry-colored stains adorn the Ezorans’ shirtsleeves, their hands, and the few handkerchiefs I spot poking out of pockets. All thirty or so people on this boat appear to be infected, and I can only assume the others in the small fleet have fared similarly.
Orsa doesn’t try to shake my hand again, but she clears her throat to get my attention and manages to suppress another cough long enough to grit out, “Karthia’s plague is swift and vicious. It is nothing like the one that devastated our home, but I fear it may kill us before we see our shores again.”
“We cannot go home, Exalted One,” another Ezoran adds. His Kanon is stiff and formal, every word carefully pronounced. “If we bring this plague to our people, it will be the end of us. We will get aid from Karthia for the suffering they have caused us with their filthy cloth and goods.” He glares at me and my friends as he takes a wheezing breath. “Or we will take as many of you with us as we can when we die.”
“Why should we care if you’re sick?” I blurt, directing my question to Orsa, who still stands closest to me. “Weren’t you coming here to murder us all anyway?”
Beside me, Simeon sucks in a breath.
I definitely don’t have a future as a diplomat.
Orsa’s eyes flash in the intense morning sun. “Perhaps our war in Sarral confused you. We fight Queen Jasira and her people to take back part of her kingdom only, land that was once ours in ancient times. We made our way to Karthia seeking only to raid as we have in other lands along the way, for supplies to fuel our war. Sometimes, death is an unfortunate side effect of taking the things one badly needs. But we aren’t murderers by trade—no matter what rumors would have you think.”
I open my mouth to point out the obvious, but Simeon silences me with a look of alarm and another well-placed elbow to the ribs.
“So,” I say as politely as I can manage with Orsa’s entire crew staring me down, “you need supplies. Even if you’re not on great terms with Queen Jasira, why not ask leaders like Empress Evaria and Queen Wylding for aid before stealing and leaving so many de—so many unfortunate side effects in your wake?”
Orsa leans closer. We’re almost nose-to-nose, and the sourness of infection on her breath is enough to make my toes curl in my boots.
“Don’t you think we tried?” she growls. “Our homeland has been blighted. The soil doesn’t nourish our crops the way it used to, and the animals we rely on for meat have be
en dying off as a result. There’s less of everything, yet babies continue to be born, and sicknesses take hold more easily than they used to because we’re always hungry, always tired, always weak. I despise weakness—we all do—yet that’s what we’ve become. So we wage war against Sarral in hopes of having a place to send our people, and in turn they spread rumors about us, making other leaders fear and hate us. There’s no help to be found.”
She draws back slightly, gesturing to the other nine ships flanking this one. “This is all we have left of the once-great Ezoran army. My best warriors have been reduced to the paltry number you see on these ships.” Once again, she closes the distance between us. There’s a bit of black goo staining her lower lip, and I try not to breathe. “Back when there were more of us, we pleaded our case before every leader we could find. None of them would aid us. The rumors some of them started, just to keep us away . . .” She shakes her head, bitterness deepening her voice. “Eventually, we had to start trying to take back our land in Sarral.”
“Well, if it’s food and supplies you’re after, Karthia has plenty to share, as I think you’ve already seen.” Eyeing the curved sword on her belt, I add sharply, “Plenty to share with those who don’t threaten us with their blades, anyway.”
“Maybe you should consult Valoria first . . .” Simeon whispers to me as the Ezoran leader turns to her companions. “She might not want you—”
The rest of his words are drowned by shouts coming from behind us. From the Paradise. Several people gather around Valoria, trying to hold her back, but she pushes her way through them and begins the precarious walk across to the Ezorans’ ship.
Jax opens his mouth to say something, but one look into Valoria’s hardened eyes is enough to stun him into silence.
In this moment, head held high as she strides confidently across the beam, she’s every bit the queen I knew she could be.
“Exalted One, I’ll gladly offer you food and supplies for peace!” Valoria says as she moves onto the ship, stepping nimbly between me and Orsa. “What do you say? If you agree not to attack us or steal, we will open trade with Ezora. Trades in your favor.”
When Orsa says nothing, merely tilting her head, Valoria continues, “There’s land here for the taking, too, good land your people can farm and live on, should they wish to submit to Karthia’s laws and my authority. We will welcome them. Perhaps you’d rather continue your war with Queen Jasira though, burning through what few supplies you can manage to steal in other battles along the way . . . ?”
I shoot Valoria a grin, impressed.
The Ezorans’ expressions are guarded as they listen. Orsa drops her gaze to the ship’s deck, keeping her face unreadable as she considers the offer.
“I don’t think they believe her,” Simeon murmurs. “Not sure I would in their position, either. Can she really give them all those things?”
I nod, confident that she can. With the Dead gone, our farms have been producing more food than the living can handle, resulting in tons of extra waste in the rubbish heaps. Karthia has plenty to give if this is a matter of life and death.
At last, Orsa looks up, though her blue eyes still reveal nothing. “No one has ever offered us such a thing,” she says coolly, “and we’ve journeyed to kingdoms from Sarral to ones so far away, they speak nothing like our language and have never heard of Karthia.”
“Well, you’ve finally come to the right place,” Valoria says firmly, standing taller. If she’s uneasy, her voice doesn’t betray it. “There’s just one problem we’ll have to deal with before you send your people to Karthia.”
As she describes our trouble with Hadrien and the metal soldiers, the Ezorans’ expressions turn feral in their anger. Some shake their heads or scoff, and a few even draw their blades.
“They’re mocking us!” a man hisses to Orsa, glaring at the four of us. “I say we slit their queen from throat to belly and see what she’s made of. Then maybe her friends will start speaking the truth!”
A chorus of agreement rises among the crew. Slowly, we edge backward toward the makeshift bridge that will carry us to the Paradise. I try to get Valoria to cross first, but she resists with more strength than I remember her having. I struggle to get a good grip on my sword’s hilt with my sweaty hand sliding across the metal. But before we can make our escape, Orsa raises a fist in the air.
The restless warriors fall silent at once.
“How can we trust you when you tell such fantastical stories, queenling?” Orsa demands, staring pointedly at Valoria.
She holds Orsa’s gaze, keeping a gentle smile on her face despite the insult. “It shouldn’t be too hard. I’ve already given you my trust.” She nods to me, Jax, and Simeon. “I sent three of my best friends onto your ship. And I’m here. You could slit my throat right now if you chose.”
Orsa’s lip curls. “So? All my warriors would gladly die for me on an enemy ship as well. And I would be there, too, fighting beside them. Now, give me a real reason to trust you, or you’ll have to watch—watch your friends die before I kill . . .” She doubles over as another coughing fit squeezes all the air from her chest.
A murmur of concern ripples through Orsa’s warriors as she chokes and gasps, dropping to her knees. Someone rushes forward to assist her, offering a handkerchief that quickly turns from ivory to a deep purple when held to Orsa’s mouth.
“We have a cure for the sickness that ails you,” Valoria says coolly, unruffled by the threats. “We don’t have enough for everyone yet, but if you give us time to take back Karthia from my brother’s army, we’ll be able to make plenty. And as a token of our goodwill, we’ll give this ship what little we have of the cure right now.”
“You have my attention, queenling,” Orsa chokes out, still breathing heavily from the coughing spell.
Valoria turns back to the Paradise and signals to Azelie, who begins making her way across the bridge between ships with a dancer’s grace, several glass vials clutched in her fingers. If she’s nervous, it doesn’t show. It’s only when she’s standing beside me that I notice the liquid inside the vials sloshing around slightly thanks to her hands shaking.
I can’t imagine what it must be costing her, facing the warriors who’ve been battling her people and not being able to retaliate. I don’t think I could stand as still as she is, or offer to save their lives if they’d already wounded Karthia the way they have Sarral.
Orsa nods to the fair-haired woman on her left, who appears to be some sort of commander, judging by the sun-shaped pin on her leather vest and the extra array of tattoos on her face and hands. She steps forward to accept the vials from Azelie, who takes care not to let her skin brush the Ezoran woman’s in the slightest. Once the cure is out of her hands, Azelie releases a breath and balls her hands into fists at her sides.
I put a hand on her back, lending my silent support. I just hope she’s saved at least one vial back on the Paradise for all of us who might have been exposed here.
“Now, who’s going to test this for me?” Orsa demands.
Several of her warriors volunteer at once, but Orsa’s gaze remains leveled at me and my friends. “All five of you will drink it at once, while we watch,” she says firmly.
The commander uncorks a vial and wafts it under our noses, surveying us calmly.
“If this is poison, we’re going to kill every last Karthian and take the whole kingdom for ourselves,” Orsa snarls, returning her gaze to Valoria as she drinks deeply.
“I’ve already told you,” Valoria replies steadily, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, “that there’s an army of spirits inside metal bodies murdering my subjects. We don’t need any more enemies. There was a time when it might have been in my best interest to poison you, but what we need now are allies.” Nodding toward a warrior with black goo on his hands, she adds, “And since you’re all sick, and your only hope of survival is our cure, it would seem
we need each other.”
Azelie gives me an encouraging nod as the commander presses the vial to my lips. I take a small, hesitant sip, remembering the bitterness of other potions. This one, despite the liquid’s grayish appearance, tastes surprisingly sweet.
“This unique combination of herbs and flowers purifies the blood,” Azelie says before it’s her turn to drink. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Orsa falls victim to another coughing fit as Jax and Simeon take their sips from the vial.
“They should show signs of any type of poisoning within a few hours,” the commander tells Orsa, tossing the empty vial aside. It shatters on the deck, glittering like diamonds. “I’ll monitor them, and if they still look healthy at the end of the third hour, we’ll try this cure.”
So we wait, the silence on the ship broken only by the occasional cough, listening to the wind rippling in the sails overhead. The commander walks back and forth in front of the five of us, peering closely at our faces for signs that we’re taking ill.
My thoughts wander back to Meredy, to home, and to all the lives we could be losing at this very moment thanks to Hadrien.
A drop of sweat beads on my neck and trickles partway down my spine.
Somewhere in the distance, gulls cry, having strayed too far from home.
Finally, the commander nods, satisfied, and begins distributing the cure among her people, saving an entire vial for Orsa alone.
The Exalted One lifts the glass to her blackened lips, tosses her head back, and downs the liquid inside in one long gulp. “I don’t feel any different,” she mutters, narrowing her beautiful eyes at Azelie.
“That’s because it doesn’t work instantly,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “This is medicine, not magic.”
Orsa considers her for a moment, then nods and returns her gaze to Valoria. “If your cure works, we’ll have a deal. Food and land for peace,” she grits out, her words ending with a cough. “And if not, we’ll board your pathetic excuse for a ship at sundown . . .” She pauses for a labored breath, during which I swear I can hear Kasmira spitting a curse at her. “. . . and kill every last one of you. Slowly.”
Song of the Dead Page 34