by Caitlin Seal
“Like what?” Naya asked. “A monster? Is that what you think the undead are?”
Sai shook her head. “You’re not even that,” she said flatly. “You’re just a tool for Talmir’s enemies. Unnatural, and pathetic.”
The words hit Naya like a slap. “You’re wrong,” she said, but Sai had already turned away and disappeared into the crowd.
“I think we should be going,” Leori said loudly.
“But—” Jelvi began, then cut off as Leori elbowed him un-subtly in the ribs. Jelvi gave Mel one last look, then sighed. “Fine. Have fun playing with the corpses, Mel. I’m sure your mother will be delighted to hear about the company you’re keeping.”
The two of them beat a hasty retreat, leaving Mel, Naya, and Francisco standing awkwardly. All around them people very deliberately turned away, pretending they hadn’t been listening in on the conversation.
“Well…” Lucia said drily. “They all seemed like charming people. I can see why you were so eager to have me come to this delightful gathering.”
“This isn’t why we’re here,” Francisco said through clenched teeth. “Come on.”
He turned and stomped away.
“Wait—!” Mel began, then trailed off, exchanging an uncertain look with Naya.
Naya wanted to scream in frustration. Instead she said to Mel, “Sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow,” then followed Francisco.
She caught up to him near the edge of the room and grabbed his arm. “Hey,” she said. “We shouldn’t have just walked away like that. Mel was—”
“She was baiting us,” Francisco said.
“Sai and Jelvi were the ones being insulting. I think Mel was just trying to make the best of it.”
Francisco shook his head. “Just stay away from her. Whether it’s intentional or not, she’s obviously a magnet for trouble, and I’ve had enough of that for one night. Let’s just find the Endrans and get out of here.”
“Fine,” Naya said. She still didn’t agree with Francisco’s assessment of the situation, but this wasn’t the right place to have that argument.
The Banian salon was spread through a suite of connected rooms, so it took several minutes before Naya finally caught a glimpse of Ambassador Bargal’s distinctive copper hair. She squeezed past a knot of delegates who were listening while Grand Marshal Palrak, the head of the Talmiran delegation, and his husband discussed the expansion of the rail lines into eastern Talmir. On the other side of the group, Naya found the Endran ambassadors talking quietly together next to one of the food tables. Ambassador Bargal noticed her and his face broke into a warm smile. “Ah, Miss Garth. And this must be Lord Francisco, and…forgive me, I don’t know your other companion.”
“Lucia Laroke.” Lucia’s eyes were bright with curiosity as she looked at the two ambassadors.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Francisco said with a bow.
“And you. My companion is Ambassador Noreth,” Bargal said, waving at the short-haired woman who stood beside him. “We were just talking about how we hoped to find you here. Isn’t that right, Ambassador Noreth?”
“Yes. Great hopes we had,” Noreth said. Her accent was far thicker than Bargal’s, and her cool expression seemed to contradict her words.
“You got my invitation then?” Naya asked.
“Invitation?” Bargal glanced at his companion with a raised eyebrow. She said something to him in a language Naya didn’t recognize, and he answered in the same before turning back to Naya. “Forgive me, the servants had not notified me yet. We have been so very busy these past days. But this only makes it doubly good fortune to have found you here.”
“Naya told me you were interested in necromancy?” Francisco asked.
“She is correct,” Bargal said. “Our queen has great respect for the old powers. And I myself would very much like to know what it is like to travel back from the darkness of the other side.”
Naya glanced around, trying to judge if anyone had overheard that. Even in Ceramor people were cautious in the way they spoke about necromancy. What one saw on the other side of death was considered deeply personal, and few undead spoke about the experience.
If Francisco was perturbed by the ambassador’s curiosity, it didn’t show on his face. “We’re happy to answer questions. Madame Laroke is a necromancer, so she can provide more details than we can.”
“A necromancer?” Bargal’s eyes lit up. He turned to Lucia and bowed more deeply. “Forgive me, my lady, I did not realize. I have heard your kind call the dead with the strength of your voice and will alone. Such power is to be honored.”
Lucia blinked, obviously startled by Bargal’s reaction. “Well, it’s more complicated than that, but the song is an important part of our rituals.”
“Of course, all magic has its complexities,” Bargal said. “If you ever wish to travel east, please know you would be warmly welcomed. My queen’s scholars would be eager to exchange knowledge with you.”
Naya felt a shiver of unease and turned her attention to the aether, trying to read the ambassador. His enthusiasm for necromancy seemed out of place compared to the way he’d acted around Queen Lial. What game was he playing? As she focused on him, she noticed the strange pattern in his aether. Energy concentrated around his wrists rather than drifting to mingle with the already-thick aether of the room.
“I’m sure if you wished it, my father could also arrange for you to visit Ceramor,” Francisco said to Bargal, his eager tone drawing Naya’s attention back to the physical world.
Bargal smiled. “We do hope to see all your fine western kingdoms soon.” He turned his attention to Naya. “Tell me, Miss Garth. Did your meeting with the queen go well? We have been told that your lands are in conflict, but perhaps we misunderstood if she is inviting you to tea.”
“Things between Talmir and Ceramor are complicated,” Naya said cautiously. The last thing she wanted was to try and explain the tensions between the two countries. “But there’s been peace for thirty years now.”
“Ah, I understand,” Bargal said. “Old feuds are many in our homeland, but all that is behind us now that Her Great Majesty Queen Alethen the first has united us.”
“So all the city-states now follow one ruler?” Francisco asked.
“We do. Her Majesty is not one to be denied. What else could we do but bow to her will and set aside our differences?”
Naya exchanged a glance with Francisco. She wasn’t sure how many city-states populated the Endran plains. But everything she’d heard made it seem unlikely they would unite so suddenly.
Someone bumped into Naya hard enough to make her stumble. Behind her a woman cried out. Naya turned to see Lady Elv, the woman she’d met at the ball, staring back at her in horror and clutching her arm. “Did you see that?” Lady Elv asked, her voice wavering. “That thing assaulted me!”
“What? I didn’t do anything,” Naya said. People all around them were turning to stare.
“It shoved me!”
“What are you talking about? You ran into me.” Naya’s anger flared. This was absurd. Surely Lady Elv couldn’t think anyone would believe such an obvious lie. And yet Naya could feel something sharp building in the aether. People were murmuring behind their hands and while some looked amused, many others seemed angry.
Lady Elv flinched away from Naya. “Look at its eyes. Oh, please, keep it away from me.”
“I didn’t do anything.” Naya threw up her hands in exasperation, and a few onlookers gasped and took a step back. Naya glared at them. What were they, a flock of frightened chickens?
Grand Marshal Palrak stepped out of the crowd, frowning. “Perhaps,” he said softly, “you should apologize to the lady.”
Before Naya could say anything, Francisco stepped up next to her. “We apologize,” he said, his voice cold.
Palrak nodded curtly. “Your companions look tired,
Lord Francisco. I think you should return to your rooms for the night.”
Naya stared between Palrak and Lady Elv. “She’s the one who should—”
Francisco grabbed her arm. “We were just leaving,” he said.
Naya turned to protest, then paused when she saw the dark anger in Francisco’s eyes.
“Perhaps we can continue this another time? I’d like to learn more about Endran magic,” Lucia said to the Endrans.
Bargal nodded, his pale eyes fixed on Naya. “Yes, I would like that very much.”
Naya let Francisco pull her toward the doors. The crowd parted around them as though they carried some foul plague. “Why did you let them push us out like that?” Naya asked Francisco once they were back in the hallway.
Francisco cast a wary glance at the soldiers by the door. “Because it only would have gotten worse if we’d stayed.”
“And this is better? Now that we’re gone, Lady Elv is free to say whatever she wants about us,” Naya said.
“Francisco is right not to beg for more trouble,” Lucia cut in. “At least we were able to speak to the Endrans. They do seem unusually interested in necromancy, more so than most Ceramorans even.”
“I guess,” Naya said.
Lucia smiled. “I admire your determination, but you have to realize that people won’t change overnight. Many in that room have been fighting these battles since before you were born.”
Naya knew that. Just like she knew she’d be better off not drawing attention to herself while she searched for Lucia’s journals. But the more she saw of Talmir, the more she wanted to change things. Even if this country never felt like home again, she had to believe her people could be better than they were. She thought back over the encounter with Lady Elv and her brow furrowed. “Do you think they pushed us out because we were talking to the Endrans?” she asked.
“Why do you say that?” Francisco asked.
“I know Lady Elv has a reputation as a drunk, but don’t you think the timing of her running into me was a little too convenient?”
Francisco gave her a sharp look.
“What?” Naya asked.
After a moment Francisco shook his head. “Nothing. You might be right.”
They returned to the delegation’s hall in silence, followed by a pair of Talmiran soldiers. Lucia bid them good night and returned to her rooms. Naya would have liked to follow her and tell her what she’d seen in the Endran ambassador’s aether. Before she could, Francisco touched her arm. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked.
“Sure,” Naya said.
Francisco motioned for her to follow him to one of the now-empty sitting rooms near the end of the hall. “Have you found anything else in the logbook?” he asked. Now that they were in private, he let his shoulders droop. There were shadows under his eyes that Naya hadn’t noticed before. Underneath the mask of confidence, he looked every bit as frustrated and unsure as she felt.
Naya hesitated. She’d meant to lie. But the note of desperation in his voice reminded her that, despite the secrets between them, they were on the same side. “Does the name Resurgence mean anything to you?” she asked.
“No. What is it?”
“I don’t know. My father didn’t either, from what I can tell. But he thought that name was tied to whoever was helping fund Valn’s operations.”
Francisco looked thoughtful. “I’ll see what I can find out. I’ll need more than just a name before I bring this to my father.”
“Be careful,” Naya said. “Whoever or whatever Resurgence is, they could have a presence at the palace. They’ll be easier to catch if they think their identities are still hidden.”
“I know.” After a pause Francisco added, “You should be careful too. I know my father wanted us to draw attention here, but I’m starting to worry that he underestimated how the Talmirans would respond.”
“You’re thinking about the attack at the gates?” Naya asked.
Francisco nodded. “I get the feeling whoever staged that won’t stop because of one failure.”
Corten fell from Servala’s ship and plunged into the rolling, icy waves below. He gasped, kicking and flailing at water that felt somehow thick as mud. Clumps of grass sprouted from the crests of the waves and brushed against his fingers as his perception of the shadow world struggled against Servala’s. He could feel her will in the waves rising higher around him, seeking to slam him against the hull of the ship. He didn’t know if he could drown in death, but he had no intention of finding out.
Trying to swim only made the water feel more real around him. Instead Corten forced his fear aside and closed his eyes. He tried to dismiss the icy press of the water. He imagined fields of tall grass blowing in the wind and solid ground beneath his feet. The water flickered, becoming thick and slow like sucking mud. Corten clenched his jaw and concentrated harder. A sharp ache blossomed between his eyes, and for an instant he felt the grasses drifting around his legs twist into thick ropes like the one that had sought to bind him on Servala’s ship.
Corten kicked hard and wrenched his legs free. Servala screamed in frustration from somewhere above him. Then the water vanished and Corten stumbled, landing on his hands and knees in a field of tall grass. His clothes were perfectly dry. When he looked back, he saw only a faint shimmer where Servala’s ship had been.
“Not bad,” the shadow man said. He stood nearby, and though Corten couldn’t see his face, he thought he sensed grudging respect in the shadow’s tone.
“Why didn’t you warn me about her?” Corten asked as he got to his feet.
“I warned you not to linger,” the shadow man said. “There are more scavengers here than those who hunt the deeper dark.”
“Are you saying those monsters out there were once human souls?” Corten asked, his anger turning to horror at the thought.
The shadow man didn’t answer, and Corten threw up his hands in frustration. “Fine, don’t tell me.” He started walking away from the door and Servala’s ship.
“Where are you going?” the shadow man asked, keeping pace with Corten though his legs didn’t seem to move.
“I’m not going to stand around here and wait for her to try something else, that’s for sure,” Corten said.
“Then you must go through the door,” the shadow man said.
Corten turned to face the shadow man. “Why do you care? You keep hanging around, giving me vague warnings, but you didn’t look interested in stopping what Servala was doing. And what about all the others here?” He waved a hand at the long procession of souls drifting toward the doorway. They were fainter, barely visible outside the radius of the door’s light. “Shouldn’t you be helping some of them?”
“I am not the only guide, and most of those who come through the fringe don’t need our help. They pass on willingly and do not attract the attention of the scavengers.”
“That still doesn’t answer my first question,” Corten said. “Why are you trying so hard to get me to go through the door?”
The shadow man didn’t answer for a long moment. Finally he said, “We protect all those we can from the scavengers. We guard the fringe and the door to death.”
That still didn’t tell Corten anything more than he already knew. He considered the shadow man, trying to put together what he’d learned to form a picture that made sense. “When I fell into my own memories before, was that you trying to protect me?”
The shadow man shifted, and Corten got the impression that he was somehow uneasy. “Memories hold strength here. Strong memories, and strong wills, can shape this place. The strongest can act as a barrier to hide you from the scavengers’ sights.”
“And you can see my memories?” Corten asked.
The shadow man didn’t answer. Corten tried not to shudder at the way that dark face stared down at him, invisible eyes seeming to bore into him. Whate
ver the shadow man was, Corten didn’t think he was human. Though he said his job was to guide souls to the door, he didn’t seem able to intervene directly in any way other than forcing people to relive their old memories.
Everything here seemed to come back to the question of will. Maybe that was the key to fighting his way back into life. He had to harden his will, make it both armor and weapon, and carve a way out of the fringe. Corten smiled as a plan began to take shape in his mind. Servala’s ship had been a false refuge, but the idea behind it had been sound.
“What do you intend to do?” the shadow man asked.
Instead of answering, Corten turned and stared out at the darkened landscape of death. He closed his eyes and imagined the front of Matius’s shop—worn cobblestones under his feet and windows full of glass plates and bowls that glimmered in the sun. He’d been a mediocre glassworker at best, but that shop had been a refuge to him after his first resurrection. Matius had given him work and kindness, and a place where he could sit alone to come to terms with the future he’d lost.
He called to mind the feeling of quiet peace, the heat of the furnaces, and the beautiful, twisting shapes of Matius’s statues. He remembered his own small room, the dusty smell of books, and the way the morning sunlight slanted across the polished wood floors. His throat tightened. Creator, he wanted so badly to be back there, to be alive again. He wanted to kiss Naya again. He wanted to fix the chasm that had grown between him and Lucia. He even missed his parents—and Bernel, for all that he could be an annoying brat. He’d been meaning to go home and visit them for ages. Now if he couldn’t find a way out, he might never see any of them again, not on this side of the door anyway.
Bright pain flashed between Corten’s eyes, growing by the second. He didn’t let the pain distract him. He drew together all his need and pain and frustration. When it felt like his chest would explode from it, he let it out in a wordless shout of command.
His shout echoed as though bouncing off hard walls. The tinkle of rattling glass sounded around him. Corten stood perfectly still, barely daring to breathe for fear of having his hope shattered. When he finally got up the courage to open his eyes, a grin spread across his face. He was standing back in the shop. The walls were hazy, not quite as solid as Servala’s ship, but still they were there. He’d done it.