Song of the Dead

by Sarah Glenn Marsh

  XXXIII

  With the threat hanging over us, we’re free to return to the Paradise.

  “How long will it take for Orsa to realize she’s getting better?” I ask as Nipper bounds over to me, jumping up and colliding with my chest so hard that I nearly fall over. I run my hands over her smooth scales, and she nuzzles my cheek like she’s forgotten once again that she’s a dragon, not a kitten.

  “A few hours, at the very least,” Azelie admits reluctantly. “But certainly before sundown. She won’t get her chance to order a murdering spree, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I nod and gaze around the ship, determined to make the most of the wait. After all, even if Orsa were cured instantly, going back to Karthia still wouldn’t be possible—we haven’t gotten any closer to figuring out how to stop the metal soldiers.

  As the sun climbs higher in the sky, I talk with the mage students who searched the ship for our mystery singer. They had no luck. I call Simeon and the rest of the students over to one side of the deck, where we toss out ideas for stopping the metal monstrosities: luring them all to a cliff and shoving them into the sea is the only plan we all agree could work. Under water, they wouldn’t be dead, but they wouldn’t be able to do any more harm.

  While we try to come up with a way to draw the soldiers to the cliffs, Azelie plays fetch with Nipper, to the irritation of several of Kasmira’s crew bustling about on duty. Some of the Ezorans gather at the rail of their ship to watch, many with smiles or envious looks, and I get the sense that they’d love nothing more than to raid a dragon farm and have their own scaly companions. I wonder if they know about the dragons’ poisonous bites.

  Valoria stays at the rail of the Paradise, too, watching and waiting for some sign that Azelie’s cure is taking effect on the other ship. Jax tries to draw Valoria away several times, but eventually he gives up, brings her something to eat, and joins her at her post.

  Raised voices on the Ezorans’ ship cut short our conversation about whether the metal soldiers would eventually be able to crawl out of the sea.

  The sun has half disappeared below the horizon, I realize with a start, putting a hand on my blade as my heart begins to race. Others around me do the same. I thought the Ezorans would wait until evening to attack if our cure didn’t work for them, but maybe they get bored if they haven’t stabbed something for a few hours.

  When I glance over to their ship, however, I don’t see anyone with weapons drawn.

  Orsa mounts the bridge and quickly walks across to our ship. Alone. I don’t know whether to call that brave or stupid, but I guess I have to admit it makes me respect her. Just a little, though.

  Most people on our side lower their blades as Valoria rushes to meet her. She offers the other leader a hand as Orsa steps onto the deck of the Paradise.

  But Azelie, it seems, wants nothing to do with this meeting. She disappears belowdecks, looking sickened.

  “I’ve come to thank the people who saved my life,” Orsa says stiffly, as though admitting our help was worthwhile causes her pain. “I didn’t believe it was possible, but I’m not coughing nearly as much. And so, perhaps, your story about the metal soldiers is as true as your promise of a cure for the fever.”

  “We have a deal, then?” Valoria asks cautiously, clasping Orsa’s hand.

  Everyone gathers around them to hear the answer. I have to hold Nipper back by her collar so she doesn’t charge in between them, demanding attention.

  “We do. As of today, Karthia and Ezora are allies. We won’t attack or raid, so long as you fulfill your end of the bargain.” Orsa shakes Valoria’s hand, and some of the Ezorans watching from the other ship applaud.

  “There’s one other thing I wanted to ask you,” Valoria says hopefully. “Do you suppose your people could help train Karthians to fight?” She glances at me, then back to Orsa, and smiles. “A friend of mine has informed me that your warriors’ skills are without equal, and the things they could show my people would be useful in keeping future threats at bay.”

  “We’ll see,” Orsa says. “Once you’ve begun to welcome us into Karthia, perhaps protecting its shores will be in our best interest, too.” She sweeps her gaze over the rest of us, her eyes lingering on Nipper. “Ah. This must be one of the famed Sarralan dragons,” she murmurs, excitement evident in her tone as she moves closer to me. “May I see her?”

  “Go right ahead.” I smile grimly. “But I have to warn you, she bites.”

  “I’ve heard dragons have incredible magical abilities,” Orsa says as she kneels and pets Nipper’s scales without a moment’s hesitation. There’s a warmth to her eyes that wasn’t there before. “Has yours demonstrated any powers yet? She looks old enough.”

  “Not that I’ve noticed.” I shrug. “Unless you count the poisonous bites, the fire breathing, and general trouble-causing?” I shake my head fondly at the dragon, who rolls over shamelessly for more petting.

  The Ezoran leader arches her brows. “You haven’t heard her sing yet, then?”

  “What?” I wince, not having meant to shout.

  Orsa smiles—more of a smirk, really. “In Ezora, we collect knowledge of the world’s most arcane and interesting forms of magic,” she says, raising her voice so others on the ship can hear. “Dragons may be scarce now, but it wasn’t always so. We in Ezora, while we have no dragons of our own, hold the only known scroll ever written on dragonsong.”

  Valoria and Jax hurry over to join us. So do Simeon and his students, everyone crowding around us to listen. With Nipper demanding more belly rubs from her, Orsa obliges and continues, “Dragonsong, while often mistaken for the cries of angry spirits, does have one notable use: It may be used to aid a necromancer by momentarily stunning a troublesome spirit, so long as that spirit isn’t already housed in flesh.”

  As she goes on to describe different types of sounds dragons can make, including a high, wailing melody, Jax, Simeon, and I exchange stunned glances.

  That explains the spirits frozen in place in the Deadlands when I went there with Nipper. It also explains the song Meredy and I kept hearing at night. Nipper must have been trying to protect us when the metal soldiers tried to roam the palace halls.

  I shudder. That also means those things were walking around more often than we realized.

  Kneeling beside Nipper, I let her put her claws on my shoulders and lick my face, something I rarely do. She coos happily. Just like with Karston, I should have paid more attention to her. Maybe then I would have seen what she could do without the Ezorans telling me. She swishes her tail, whacking me in the head with it and almost making me laugh despite everything.

  As I glance up, I catch Valoria beaming at Orsa, clearly grateful for her knowledge. I can’t bring myself to give her any thanks, though. She is, after all, still a murderer, no matter how helpful or pleasant she’s choosing to be right now. Plus, I’m not sure I buy the Ezorans’ claims about once having owned land in Sarral. For all we know, that might be an excuse they made up to try to sweep in and take all the dragons there.

  Of course, none of that prevents me from swallowing my pride and locking eyes with Orsa to ask her a question. “In all of Ezora’s experimenting with dark magic—that’s right,” I say as she frowns at me, “I’ve heard about that. Anyway, in all your experimenting, have you ever figured out a way to rid an object of a spirit trapped inside it?”

  Orsa continues to stare me down for a moment before nodding curtly. “I’ll let Commander Ilyra explain. She’s the only one among us to have done so.”

  The commander nimbly crosses between our ships, coming to stand beside her leader. When Orsa nods, Ilyra looks between me, Jax, and Simeon and says, “Pay attention. What you speak of is possible, but challenging at best. It’s going to take hours, and it’s going to bring you what may well be the worst pain of your life.”

  We listen in silence as Ilyra explains the proc
ess of drawing a spirit from an object. Every muscle in my body tenses as I realize what we’re going to have to do. It sounds terrible. Still, some tiny part of me rejoices, renewed energy singing through my veins and waking me more thoroughly than a sunrise. Finally, we have a way to defeat Hadrien’s soldiers that’s far more permanent than tossing them into the sea.

  “Let me make sure I heard right,” Simeon says, his voice a shade higher than usual. “We”—he gestures to me and Jax, then himself—“have to be wounded to the brink of death so our spirits can reach through the metal husks and pull out the spirits inside? Then they’ll be forced back to the Deadlands, never to trouble us again? Or at least, not until the next violet-eyed mage comes along?” When Ilyra nods, he laughs weakly and mutters, “Sounds like fun.”

  Simeon’s words bring the awful reality of what we have to do crashing down over my head, snuffing out my momentary spark of joy. If Meredy were in my place, she’d be determined to stop the spirits regardless of the consequences. Knowing that, I resign myself to the fact that I’m going to have to deliberately bleed out when we return to shore.

  But there isn’t time for another plan, not with so many lives at stake. With Karthia itself at stake. It may not be exactly like the place I knew and loved for so long, and it may have taken Hadrien threatening to raze the place to the ground for me to realize it, but Karthia is still my home. It’s still the place that smells of bergamot and the salty sea. Though we’ve both rearranged our contours in the last few months, we’ve found new ways to fit together, Karthia and me.

  “How can we be sure you’re telling us the truth?” Valoria demands suddenly, crossing her arms. She stands on her tiptoes, giving her a boost in height that still doesn’t quite allow her to tower over Orsa and Ilyra the way I think she’s intending. “All we have is your word, which means for all I know, you’re trying to send my friends to their deaths. Can’t we simply take the soldiers apart with tools and have our necromancers pull the spirits out without any of the bloodshed?”

  Ilyra shakes her head. “That’s not how the ritual works. There is no other way.”

  Orsa frowns as Valoria questions the Ezoran mage. “Do you forget your own words so quickly, queenling?”

  Valoria frowns at the term. “I’m not a queenling. You’re not that much older than me!”

  “Yet you have so much to learn,” Orsa says solemnly. “As you said earlier, it would seem we need each other. Our war in Sarral is not going well, and we found no allies in the places we raided on the way to Karthia. My people need new land, and you need help taking back that land before you can bestow it on us. It’s in our best interest, as you say, to give you whatever assistance we can in this matter, be it knowledge, blades, or . . . both.”

  “Wait,” I blurt, deliberately avoiding the gazes of Valoria and the others. “What are you saying? You’re going to fight alongside us, when you could stay safe on your ship?”

  Orsa just smiles, like the thought of a battle warms her heart, and says, “Perhaps it’s difficult for you to see, young necromancer, but magic is limited. Fists, however, have infinite uses so long as one is alive. Why be a mage when you can be a warrior? And why turn down a chance to win a fight?”

  I shake my head at her words. Still, I’m glad we’ll have the extra swords when we return to Karthia.

  Orsa offers Valoria her hand again. “I trusted you with my life when I was about to lose it, and you didn’t disappoint me. But trust is a double-edged blade. I wouldn’t risk the lives of your necromancers when I need them, too, unless it were absolutely necessary. Besides, our only practicing necromancer, Ilyra, will work with them. My wife.”

  “I will?” Ilyra says, her eyes widening as she turns to Orsa.

  “You will,” Orsa says to her before meeting Valoria’s gaze again. “We must trust each other for this alliance to work.”

  “Trust,” Valoria echoes, a note of doubt in her voice.

  “That’s right. I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept.” Orsa draws a small knife from her pocket, and my hand immediately flies to my blade. But she offers it hilt-first to Valoria. “Let’s make an oath here and now, deeper than our words. Be my sister in blood, so that we’ll never betray each other.”

  Valoria accepts the knife. She glances my way, but I’m careful to keep my face blank. I can’t help her decide whether to make a blood oath with a leader who, while she doesn’t seem as bad as the rumors made her out to be, is practically a stranger. The unknown can be dangerous, as we’ve learned all too well.

  Gritting her teeth, Valoria draws the knife across her palm and hastily hands it back to Orsa, who does the same. It’s a good thing Azelie’s cure is flowing through their veins, purifying any lingering traces of the fever.

  The Ezorans watching from the other ship applaud, howl, and whistle as Orsa’s commander and wife, Ilyra, binds their hands together with a scrap of fabric. Valoria doesn’t flinch once, not even when they have to squeeze their hands, mixing their blood further, or when they break apart and Danial sees to their wounds.

  Just like that, it’s done.

  From the doorway, a small voice says, “Well, then. If our new allies can spare a few of the supplies they stole in Lullin, I’ll get started on making more of the cure right away. There must be many sick people on the other ships in their fleet.”

  I glance toward the stairway leading down to the sleeping cabins, trying to gauge Azelie’s expression, but her face is thrown into shadow by the lantern light. I hurry to her side and drop my voice to a whisper. “You don’t have to do this. You’ve already helped Valoria by gaining their trust. Why—?”

  “I’ve been listening, and they aren’t as bad as they seemed,” Azelie explains quietly. “They’ve done some terrible things, it’s true, but they aren’t the monsters everyone in Sarral believed them to be. I had no idea they once lived on part of our land.” Softer, she adds, “When you think about it, most everyone here has probably done something terrible at one point or another. Even me. It’s how we survive.”

  I squeeze her shoulder. She’s right about that. Still, I won’t lose any sleep over killing Hadrien this time around. Things have changed—I’ve changed—and I’m ready to do whatever it takes to stop him a second time. For good. “Give me a list of supplies,” I say quickly, “and I’ll bring it to Orsa before we set sail.”

  As Azelie scurries off to find parchment, I turn away from the stairs to see my friends waiting for me. Valoria, Kasmira, Jax, Simeon, Danial, and even Nipper form a circle around me, drawing me into their midst. I try not to think about the fact that we might be the only living members of the wolf pack.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this, you three?” Valoria asks, glancing between me, Simeon, and Jax. “As your friend, I really don’t want you to, and as your queen, I’d rather you tell me no when I ask this, but . . .”

  “But we’re going to do it, no matter how much it hurts, because we have to,” Jax says firmly. “Karthia is depending on us.”

  Simeon nods his agreement.

  They’re right. It’s time to do the job I was born for. The job that’s so much a part of me that I want to keep doing it, even if it kills me.

  Putting an arm around each of them, I catch Kasmira’s deep gray eyes and say, “Take us home, Captain.”

  XXXIV

  A shroud of smoke and silence hangs over the seemingly aban- doned depths of Grenwyr City. The only other ships in the harbor are two ancient vessels that clearly aren’t seaworthy, and the only other people we see are unmoving corpses on the harbor walkway.

  The haze of smoke lingering over the Ashes, the markets, and the taverns has turned everything gray and lifeless despite the presence of the morning sun. Stepping around both broken glass and bodies is a challenge, though the dead we spot can’t possibly account for more than a fraction of the city’s population.

  Either everyone is
hiding or most of them managed to escape.

  “There’s no telling where the soldiers are now,” I say to Valoria and Orsa in the barest whisper, walking with them near the back of our group. Even though there’s no gleam of anything metal in sight, I’d rather not risk drawing attention.

  “They’ll be at the palace, guarding Hadrien,” Valoria whispers back. “If I know his twisted mind at all, he’ll be there, polishing my crown.”

  Since our ranks have swollen considerably with the addition of the Ezoran volunteers from Orsa’s ship—the rest of the fleet remained offshore—there’s no stealthy approach to climbing the palace hill.

  The group keeps relatively quiet as we follow Danial and his few remaining volunteer soldiers through the long grass toward the wrought-iron gates.

  Sure enough, as Valoria predicted, there are six metal soldiers standing guard behind the gates—which means Hadrien, wearing Karston’s skin, is somewhere inside his former home. My hands curl into fists at the sight.

  “I see my trust wasn’t misplaced, queenling,” Orsa says softly to Valoria.

  As they spot us, one of the metal soldiers breaks away from its companions and stomps into the palace, no doubt to warn Hadrien.

  There’s no way the other five will let us inside without a fight.

  Danial pauses, turning and scanning faces until his eyes find Simeon’s. “You ready for this?” he asks shakily.

  Simeon hurries toward him, taking the general in his arms. “Not exactly, but this is what we do every day, right? One of us does something stupid, the other saves his life, then we make out.” Faking a grin, he adds, “Besides, I risk death every time you give me one of your heart-stopping kisses. I’m used to it by now.”