Wraith King

by Argyle, Amber

  Denan pushed an unsuspecting Tam toward the center of the room. “Tamrel Bordeck, captain of His Majesty’s guard.”

  Tam glared at Denan. Larkin shot Tam an amused look; she hadn’t known his full name was Tamrel.

  Caelia flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for. She gestured to the chair. “Sit.”

  Tam hesitated. “What’s this about?”

  “It’ll be all right,” Larkin said.

  “Well, now I’m really worried.” But Tam did as he was told and sat.

  The enchantresses stepped forward, shields coming to life to trap Tam within a shield wall. He darted to his feet. “What’s—”

  “You’re being tested for ardent blood,” Caelia interrupted. “Take the knife you were allowed and scratch your right forearm. Just until blood appears. Do not cut too deep.”

  The way she said it made Larkin think it had been a problem.

  Myriad emotions crossed Tam’s face—hurt, betrayal, anger, and then reluctant understanding. He took his knife, which was made of sacred-tree wood that never lost its edge, and scratched his arm. He held it out for them to see.

  Denan let out a breath. Larkin hadn’t been worried—no ardent could fake Tam. Caelia’s quill scratched across the paper. The enchantresses released their magic and stepped back.

  Tam placed his knife in its sheath and glared at them. “Always a good day when your friends ambush you with plans to kill you if things don’t work out.”

  Denan elbowed his ribs. “Want to do it to someone else?”

  Tam grinned. And just like that, all was forgiven.

  Larkin rolled her eyes. Men.

  Caelia wiped her hand down her face, her exhaustion clearly showing. She pushed to her feet and headed toward the door. “Nothing too difficult. My commanders and I are going to get some sleep in the barracks. Don’t wake me unless something’s on fire.”

  Larkin flinched when Caelia rested her hand on Larkin’s arm. The woman’s gaze locked on Larkin’s. Less than a year ago, the two of them had conspired to help Bane escape. A few months after that, Larkin had told the woman how her brother had died. How Larkin had failed to save him. To even realize he’d been sentenced to death.

  “I couldn’t stand going to the embedding ceremony to face him.” Caelia had to mean Garrot. That explained why she hadn’t been there with her husband, Gendrin. “I’m glad you were there.”

  She moved on without another word. Larkin exchanged glances with Denan. Maybe . . . maybe Caelia was on their side.

  Tam eyed the scratch on his arm in distaste. “And if we find an ardent?”

  “Kill them,” Denan said simply.

  “But they might tell us something,” Larkin said.

  Denan’s gaze grew distant. “They never do. Not in all our years of trying.”

  “Maisy did,” Larkin said softly. Enough to warn them. Give them hints. Keep them safe.

  “What if she’s one of them?” Tam asked.

  “Maisy wouldn’t do this,” Larkin said.

  “How do you know?”

  I just do. Aware of how mulish it sounded, she didn’t say anything at all.

  “All the ardents we’ve found so far have been men,” Denan said. “A woman would have too hard a time hiding in the Alamant.”

  He was right. Larkin relaxed in relief.

  He eyed them both. “If either of you find an ardent, kill them.”

  Larkin wanted to argue—she still thought they could interrogate them—but Denan was far more familiar with ardents than she.

  “And after we’ve proven the army?” Tam asked.

  “We’ll move on to the constables and then the populace,” Denan said.

  Larkin thought of his intentions to test her sister—had he ever done it? “Even the children?”

  “Everyone.” He rounded on Larkin. “You can handle this?”

  She bit her lip. “I’m not a fast reader.”

  “Tam will help you,” Denan said.

  Larkin gave a reluctant nod.

  Denan strode out. “I’ll be in the room next door if you need anything.”

  One by one, enchanters filed into the office. One by one, they bled clean. Larkin and Tam ate lunch and then supper in Aaryn’s office, only pausing long enough to use the privy out back.

  Five times, she heard a scuffle in one of the other rooms. Five times, that scuffle was followed by the thud of a body. Five times, one of the pages reported that an ardent had been found and killed.

  By the time night fell, Larkin despaired. Exactly how many assassins were they dealing with and how deeply entrenched were they? A warning buried deep in her heart burned like an ember: whatever the wraiths had planned, they hadn’t seen the apex of it yet.

  Denan stepped inside. “The constables are taking over.”

  He moved aside as one of the constables stepped into the room, his own ledger under his arm. Relieved to be leaving the stuffy office, Larkin entered the main room. Denan, Gendrin, and Aaryn all gathered around the table.

  Tam hung back as Larkin moved to stand between Denan and her mother-in-law. A lovely map of the Alamant lay on the table. A stylized White Tree painted white and gold took up the center. Beyond stood the hometrees, with smaller bridges leading to the main bridges. Around it all was the defensive wall, which had four gates and numerous guard towers.

  Beyond that was the uneven shore, and beyond that . . . the Forbidden Forest.

  “How many ardents did you find?” Larkin asked.

  “Seven.” Aaryn braced herself over the table. She looked more rested than she had this morning. “Their bodies will be burned.”

  Relief washed through Larkin that she hadn’t had to witness any of it.

  Gendrin gestured to the map. “When the remaining ardents find out what we’re doing—if they haven’t already—they’ll either try to escape, mount a defense, or hurry to complete their missions.”

  “The constables will see all Alamantians remain in their hometrees until the search is completed,” Gendrin said. “My men will guard the bridges.”

  Aaryn tapped on the Enchanter Academy, which was situated on the second ring of hometrees. “What are we to do about the druids?”

  They were all busy with their own tasks.

  “Larkin and I can do it,” Denan said.

  Cold dread slithered down Larkin’s spine. She didn’t want to see Garrot. Ever again. But for Nesha . . . “It will give us a chance to find my sister.”

  Gendrin called for one of his pages and whispered something to him. The boy took off.

  Aaryn nodded. “I’ll send you with a hundred of my best enchantresses. Just in case.” She wrote something on a slip of paper, sealed it with wax, and marked it with her signet ring. “I’ll have Mytin meet you there. He can use embedding as leverage to get what you want.”

  Aaryn locked eyes with one of the pages and lifted the letter. The boy came at a run.

  “Take it to my husband,” Aaryn told him.

  The boy took off at an even faster run.

  Gendrin’s page returned with a heavy ledger, which Gendrin handed to Larkin. “A copy of the Idelmarchian manifest.”

  Denan leaned over her shoulder as she scanned the list of names, ranks, and physical descriptions.

  “Anything else?” Denan asked. No one said anything. He nodded. “All right, everyone get some sleep. The search begins at first light tomorrow.”

  Ledger tucked under her new cloak, Larkin followed her husband outside.

  “Wait.” Aaryn hurried to catch up. “Be careful with the druids; they’re snakes in the grass. And not the good kind.” She shot a meaningful glance at the knotted snake on Larkin’s new cloak to show what she meant.

  Acting on impulse, Larkin hugged her mother-in-law. Her armor made it awkward, but Aaryn didn’t seem to mind. Larkin was just so glad to have more people who loved her. Who would stand beside her if she ever needed them.

  Larkin, Denan, and Tam left the building, ste
pping out into the evening air. It had finally stopped raining. The ground squished beneath her boots. Bits of sky peeked beyond the clouds. Below, boats departed the overcrowded dock.

  Tam took the lead with Maylah, two other guards falling in behind. The breeze picked up. Larkin breathed it in, glad to be out of doors. Denan shuddered and huddled in his cloak. He winced, his hand going to his side.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Just my blight mark.”

  It was more than that. She opened her mouth to press him when Maylah flared her shield and moved to block a woman who was headed straight for them. “State your business.”

  Larkin shifted to get a look at the approaching woman. “Atara?”

  “Is it Alorica?” Tam asked. “Is she all right?”

  Atara frowned at her brother-in-law. “She’s fevering.”

  Tam flinched as if her words had landed a blow.

  Light, Alorica.

  “If you hurry,” Atara said, “you can catch the same boat I came in on.” She pointed down the dock. “That one there. Deluge written on the side.”

  Tam shot Denan a pleading look.

  “Go,” Denan said gently.

  Tam took off at a run. Atara squared herself before Larkin. “I’d like to take my sister’s place as your personal guard.”

  Larkin’s brows rose in surprise. “But you’re a healer.”

  “I’m an enchantress first, same as any of us.” Atara cleared her throat, clearly trying to keep her emotions in check. “You saved her life. Twice now. I want to repay that favor.”

  Denan and Larkin exchanged loaded glances.

  “That’s not necessary—” Larkin began.

  Atara stepped closer. “You don’t understand. I-I need this.”

  Denan shot Larkin a questioning look.

  “I know how hard it is to be helpless against something,” Larkin whispered.

  Denan motioned to Maylah. “Test her first.”

  “Hold out your arm,” Maylah said.

  Brow furrowed in question, Atara obeyed. Quick as lightning, Maylah nicked her, red blood welling.

  Atara pressed on the wound. “What was that for?”

  “Just making sure you’re not an ardent.” Maylah looked to Denan for orders.

  “It’s Larkin’s decision.” Denan motioned Maylah back into position. They started back down the hill.

  Atara fell in beside Larkin. “Well?”

  “West will test your skills in the morning,” Larkin said. “If you pass his inspection, you’ll be my guard. For now, take Tam’s place up front.”

  With a look of profound relief, Atara moved up beside the other enchantress. The wind gusted, and Denan shivered.

  Larkin leaned in and pressed her hand to his forehead before he could duck away. He was fevering. “You’re sick.”

  He and Sela clearly had the same illness.

  “It’s just being in wet clothes all day,” Denan said. “I’ll be better by morning.”

  “Denan,” she chided.

  “I can’t be sick,” he said stubbornly. “I have assassins to find.”

  “Maybe we found them all,” Larkin said.

  He huffed. “We can’t afford to hope for that. We have to know.”

  How was she going to keep this man in bed? “The plan has been set in motion. We’ll go home, get some supper, and retire early. You’re no good to us if you’re too sick to get out of bed.”

  They stepped out onto the dock when one of their pages leaped out of a boat, darted through the crowd, and handed Denan a letter.

  “Another letter from Garrot.” Denan tore it open and read. “If he can’t go to the White Tree,” he summarized, “he wants the thorns brought to him.”

  Larkin rolled her eyes. “That’s not how it works.”

  Denan, Larkin, and their guards climbed into their boat. They used their oars to push off other boats and rowed into open water. The lake was calm, so Larkin dared sit beside Denan at the rudder.

  It would be dark soon. She eyed the water suspiciously. “Is it possible that the druids snuck ardents in with them?”

  Denan rubbed his eyes. “You think they’re still in league with the wraiths.”

  Clear of the press of boats, the guards dropped sail, and the boat picked up speed.

  “The assassinations started when they arrived,” she said.

  “Every single one of them was counted and recounted, Larkin. No one else came in with them.” He shivered again. “And all the ardents we’ve found have been in the Alamant for months.”

  She wanted him to be wrong, wanted to blame the druids. But he was right. She rubbed his arm. “How about, when we get home, I make you a pot of feverfew tea and rub your feet?”

  He moaned. “That sounds wonderful.”

  “King Denan.” One of the guards pointed to a boat headed toward them. One of their pages stood at the prow and waved another letter at them.

  “I’m starting to hate letters,” Larkin muttered.

  They dropped sail, both boats slowing as they passed each other. Two guards helped the page jump from the other boat into theirs. He handed Larkin a letter. With shaking hands, she tore it open and read the single line.

  “What is it?” Denan asked.

  “Iniya is dead. My father and Raeneth were with her.” She waited for the grief. The loss. But all she felt was pity for a woman who had chosen misery.

  Time

  Shadows stalked Larkin. Relentless black shadows that smelled of the rot and freshly turned soil of an open grave. She stumbled through a thick forest of moth-eaten trees with sticky, tattered sheets of spiderwebs instead of leaves. The sky above was black, the ground beneath thick and tangled. With each step, she broke through brittle roots. When she tried to pull her foot out again, it tangled in the undergrowth.

  She opened her sigils, adjusted her sword to a razor’s edge, and hacked her way forward. She managed to make it a dozen steps before her foot caught fast. She caught herself on a tree.

  When she tried to pull her hand away, it stuck. She pulled harder, but it sank into something the texture of rotted flesh. She braced her other hand and tried to pull back, but it, too, became stuck.

  She struggled, throwing all her weight backward. But it seemed the harder she pulled, the further she sank. And then a face appeared in the tattered bark.

  Bane’s eyes and tongue bulged with rot. “You left me to die.”

  A sob caught in her throat. She glanced to her left. The black nothingness had stalked closer, devouring everything in its path. When she looked back, another face appeared in the bark.

  Venna, marked with jagged lines, her eyes a soulless black. “If you would have listened to Denan, you could have saved me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Larkin cried.

  The darkness was close enough now to reach out and touch it. With her hands trapped, she couldn’t form a sword.

  A new face appeared. Talox’s. He didn’t say anything, only looked at her sadly. As if to say that he’d suffered a fate worse than death to save her. To save the woman who was meant to break the curse.

  Only that woman wasn’t Larkin. It was Sela.

  It was then that Larkin understood the truth.

  She was the shadow.

  Always had been.

  The tree became the Wraith King. Larkin didn’t try to run or fight. She simply sank into his arms. Let his icy touch creep into her. Through her. Her body dissolved into shadows. Shadows that rolled relentlessly forward. Devouring everything she touched.

  When she was finished, there was nothing left.

  “Larkin.”

  Arms wrapped around her, bringing the nothingness of her back together. The heat radiating from those arms chased away the cold. She left the shadows behind. Became herself again.

  It was morning. And she was not a shadow. Not a monster. For the space of a breath, relief washed through her. But then she realized the arms that held her raged with fever. She turned to face her h
usband, the color high on his cheeks.

  “Denan?”

  He pulled the blankets higher but didn’t open his eyes. She had to get his fever down. She slipped out of the bed and shifted open the doorpane, wrapping a rob over her blood-stained nightdress, though thankfully she hadn’t stained the sheets again. West and Atara stood on the other side. A couple pages waited on the connecting colonnade.

  West eyed her in her robe and then quickly looked away again. “My queen.”

  “Aren’t you on night shift?” she asked.

  “Tam’s late,” West said.

  Larkin shot Atara a concerned look.

  “Still fevering,” Atara said softly.

  Larkin’s eyes fluttered closed. Light, please let Alorica be all right.

  She made to step onto the colonnade, but West blocked her way. “You’re not wearing armor, Majesty.”

  “Denan’s very ill,” she said.

  “You’re a queen,” Atara said with a roll of her eyes. “Have something brought up.”

  Feisty, just like her sister. Larkin decided she liked Atara, but she hated feeling like a prisoner in her own home. “My hometree is crawling with guards. The panes are closed. No one could get close enough to see me, let alone take aim.”

  “A guard’s job is always to assume that other measures have failed,” West said.

  “One of you fetch their breakfast and a pot of feverfew tea,” Atara said to the pages.

  They shot Larkin a questioning look. She made a disgusted sound low in her throat and waved one of them off. “I take this to mean you passed West’s testing,” she said to Atara.

  The woman nodded.

  The other page edged closer. Larkin held her hand out for the packet of letters in his hand, but the boy hesitated. He clearly had something to say.

  She raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

  “I found your sister, Majesty.”

  Nesha. Finally. “You know which room she’s staying in?”

  The boy nodded eagerly. He was young with big brown eyes edged with thick lashes, acne, and a breaking voice. Despite his youth, he’d put himself at risk to help her.

  Larkin rested her hand on his shoulder. “What’s your name?”

  “Farwin, Majesty.”

  “You could find it again?”

  “Yes, Majesty.”