by Mary Taranta
Chadwick edges closer. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw her back in Pilch, doing her little magic show,” Kellig says, waving his hands in a mocking gesture. “And so did any other hellborne who happened to smell that spell in the air and then looked up to see it unraveling across the sky. And that includes our dearly beloved Baedan.”
Chadwick straightens as my stomach sinks. I hadn’t even considered that using the spell would leave a trail of magic, and in a wasteland like the Burn, clean magic is a beacon.
Did Baedan get here first because of me?
“Not an hour after you magicked yourself home,” Kellig says, “that place was overrun with hungry hellborne. Anywhere you search will be the same. And next time, maybe one of them will actually wise up and start waiting.”
Suddenly the sound of his rattling, damp breathing clicks into place. “That was you in the trees that night,” I say, incredulous. “What were you doing there?”
His smile is slick and oily. “Reconnoitering.”
But North is frowning. “Pilch? Don’t you mean Oksgar?”
A low burr of warning sticks in my throat as I look to Chadwick for help. North still doesn’t know about my unauthorized confrontation with Merlock.
“They’re barely a day apart,” Chadwick cuts in smoothly. “It’s an easy mistake to make.”
“Pilch doesn’t have a church,” North says.
“What difference does it make?!” Jarrett angles himself into the conversation. “Our entire strategy was based on Locke’s spell leading us to Merlock. We can’t use it now unless we want every hellborne in the Burn on our asses.”
So often I resented my mother for making me a weapon. Now that my one usefulness has been stripped from me, I realize just how valuable a gift it was.
“Ah,” Kellig says. “But I know how to find him without using magic.”
North shakes his head. “You’re lying. If you knew where Merlock was, you’d be riding Baedan’s back to glory.”
“There’s no glory in the Burn,” Kellig says ruefully. “I’m a lone wolf these days, my friend.”
“Cut out his heart,” North says. “We don’t have time for this.”
“I know about the rocks,” Kellig calls. “The little trail of breadcrumbs Daddy dearest leaves behind.”
North freezes. “What?”
“The stones only tell us where he’s been,” Chadwick says tightly. “We have no idea where he’s going.”
“You would if you were able to catch the spell he leaves behind before the Burn consumes it,” Kellig says.
Stunned silence follows his comment. “What spell?” North asks, even as Elin says, “Why would he leave a trail?”
“Maybe he wants to be found,” I say, thinking back to that night I saw him in Pilch. Why else would he leave clean magic like a calling card in his cairns?
“Then why are we chasing him?!” Elin explodes.
But it’s obvious. If he knows North is coming, he also knows Baedan has bloodbound herself to North and forged a blade able to destroy Merlock. He can’t afford to stand still.
“Daddy wants to talk,” Kellig says, “and I know where he’ll be waiting.”
“And so will Baedan,” Chadwick says.
North’s jaw clenches. “What are you asking in return?”
Kellig’s smile vanishes. Poison seeps down his throat where Cohl’s gloves have broken through the thin, damaged skin. “I get you there first, you kill the king, inherit the earth, and reward your obedient servant with a long and happy life.”
“You think I’ll save you after the Burn is destroyed.”
“You saved your boy. The apprentice.”
North’s silence stretches into awkwardness. “Tobek was infected, not hellborne,” he says at last. “I can’t excise death. You’re asking the impossible.”
Hope. Kellig is asking for hope, despite it all. It unsettles all of us, I think. The hellborne are meant to be monsters. Regret is all too human.
“You need every advantage you can get,” Kellig presses. “This is war, my good prince, and you’re in enemy territory. There’s not a hellborne out here who’s going to take your side, but there are hundreds who know that Baedan’s got a pretty new knife and a real chance at Burning the world down. So you can kill me or you can beat Baedan to your father’s next destination.” He swallows hard, eyes briefly dropping from North to the arm Cohl has wrapped around his throat—the arm bearing a protection spell. A flicker of hunger crosses his face, a shadow of greed.
Scowling, Chadwick clamps a hand on North’s shoulder and wrenches him away to discuss the matter in hushed voices. Elin begins to draw lines across Kellig’s chest, as if plotting where to cut to reach his heart, but the others are gravely silent, watching. Waiting.
I can’t be silent. Barreling my way into the conversation, I plant my feet between North and Chadwick, giving them both pointed looks. “Why are you even entertaining this idea?”
“Your opinion was not requested, Locke,” Chadwick says.
“He tried to kill me, more than once,” I remind North. “His loyalties change on a whim. You can’t possibly trust him! Or Baedan. For all we know, she left him behind on purpose to lead you astray. We know how to find Merlock!”
“And by the time we reach him, he’ll have left again,” North says flatly. “We can’t afford to run your spell dry by allowing it to go uninterrupted. It was a bad idea to begin with. I never considered the ramifications of utilizing it here in the Burn. It was selfish of me to ask you to come.”
“I wanted to come.”
“It was a mistake,” Chadwick says.
North sighs, rubbing his eyes. “If we can overtake Baedan, we can take back the blade she forged with my blood,” he says. “At worst, it removes our competition. At best, she’s on the right trail and we’re that much closer to Merlock. We kill two birds with one stone.”
“And what if that stone is poisoned, your majesty?” I ask darkly, before stalking back toward the others. Sofreya offers me a sympathetic look, but I shrug it off, straightening my back and staring across the horizon. I am more than my mother’s spell, I tell myself. I am Cadence’s sister, and our success is her freedom. The others have their own reasons for being here, but mine is my sister. Having abandoned her twice already, the least I can do is ensure that leaving her behind a third time is worth it. She can hate me all she wants, so long as she’s free of Bryn’s influence at the end.
“So what’s it like, turning hellborne?” Rialdo’s voice startles us all. He stands apart from the others, cigarette case in one hand. He clicks it open and closed with his thumb.
Kellig gives Rialdo a long, pointed once-over. “You’d never last out here,” he says. “You’d be eaten by sunset.”
Rialdo clicks the case closed and slides it into his coat, looking away. “This whole thing is ridiculous,” he mutters.
“Says the boy who’s here to play hero,” Terik says.
“I’m here because my father believes in this kingdom,” Rialdo snaps. “He wants nothing but success for this expedition, and yet he has doubts as to its leadership.” His eyes cut toward Chadwick with a sneer. “A young man who’s never fought in battle, at the side of an infant prince who has no support from his own people.”
“And I suppose you’re the leader we need,” Cohl says.
“Of course he’s not,” says Elin. “He’s not an heir. Just a spare.”
Rialdo’s face darkens as the others laugh, and despite myself I feel a glimmer of sympathy, but it quickly fades. Bryn told me that the entire Dossel family knew Avinea still existed, and every one of them chose to remain in Brindaigel, supporting their father’s lies because it benefited them. As far as I’m concerned, Rialdo deserves whatever fate the gods have planned. Yet his retort unsettles me. Is that why he’s really here? He can’t kill North literally, but he could figuratively, by sowing seeds of discontent amongst his own men.
“It’s not that far
back to the Mainstay,” I say, gesturing the direction. “Davik will keep you safe and sound if you want to turn back and wait with her.”
Rialdo shoots me a dark look, but before he can speak, North and Chadwick finally return. Kellig tries to straighten his shoulders, only to wince as Cohl knees him hard in the back.
North’s lips thin as he surveys all of us. “We’re losing time,” he says. “We keep moving.”
“And this one?” Cohl yanks Kellig back to his feet.
North stares at Kellig in silent challenge, but Kellig only smiles, knowing he’s won. “Bring him,” says North.
Fifteen
IT ISN’T LONG BEFORE BAEDAN’S footprints are wiped away by the wind and we’re truly reliant on Kellig to lead the way. He avoids all questions regarding where we’re going, but I see Chadwick and Jarrett passing the map between them, attempting to guess. North is too preoccupied to notice, keeping a blistering pace with Kellig. North speaks to no one, and I watch him with mounting concern. There’s a recklessness in his behavior, a frantic desire that has bypassed duty and become obsession.
The Burn is killing him faster than expected, I realize. Instead of worrying about how long my mother’s spell could protect me, I should have worried about how long North has until the infection reaches his heart. Seven days was optimistic. He’ll never last that long.
It’s not just North I worry about. Rialdo’s speech earlier, his assertion that Perrote could salvage this kingdom when North fails, seems to have sparked a sense of mutiny amongst the soldiers. They follow orders as directed, but they speak low amongst themselves, their sense of loyalty starting to cave to a more primal instinct for survival of the fittest.
The Burn is eroding all of our defenses, and no one else seems to notice.
North would have us walk all day, but Chadwick pulls rank and cites our exhaustion as he orders us to make camp that afternoon in a village called Tortin, on the second floor of a hollowed-out townhome. He separates the others into watches and patrols. Even Sofreya is placed on guard, but he passes over me without a glance.
Any guilt I felt earlier hardens into resolve. I am not worthless, I want to say; you do not know me, or how I can fight. You do not decide my value.
While the others prepare their bedrolls in a close circle, I stick toward the back of the room, where shadows darken the floor and hide my shaking fingers as I fumble with my things. There, safely tucked at the foot of my bedroll, is Chadwick’s dagger. I weigh it in my hands, tasting fear on my tongue. What I couldn’t do in New Prevast now feels like a challenge. I can do this, and I will. Trusting Kellig is a mistake; hunting Baedan is too. We don’t have the time or the resources to waste on frivolous vendettas, and if Chadwick can’t make North see how imbalanced this plan is, I need to rewrite the equation.
“Locke.”
I startle, shoving the dagger into my boot and spinning to see Chadwick. “Yes?” I say carefully, aware that the others are now watching.
“A moment, if you please,” he says, already striding away, assuming I’ll follow.
I do, into the ash-covered street outside.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“He actually listens to you,” he says darkly as he leads me down a small side street of broken cobbles and sagging walls to North, sitting on a stone with his hands cradling his face. He looks up on our approach with a guarded expression, and my stomach sinks at the bruise-colored shadows spreading through his fingers. Sofreya’s protection spells aren’t working on him.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
When North feigns confusion, I give him a withering look, and he shrugs somewhat helplessly. “I don’t know,” he says. “Does it matter?”
“When your team is upstairs ready to plot mutiny, then yes,” I say, “it matters.”
“I’m the Prince of Avinea,” North says weakly. “You are not allowed to chastise me.”
Chadwick drops his folded arms and looks up toward the darkening sky. “This is what I was talking about. Your obstinacy will kill all of us.”
“Shut up,” North says, not unkindly.
“You shut up,” I say, and they both look at me, startled. There are shadows twisting across North’s face that have never been there before. “You’re losing the right of an opinion, your majesty. If you don’t get a handle on this, you’re going to lose them, and if you lose them, you lose the city. And the kingdom. That”—I level a finger at the spell nestled by his throat—“is useless.” Stepping forward, I hover my hand above his heart. “This has to be strong on its own, and right now it’s killing you.”
North stares at me with an unreadable expression. “The skill is in cheating,” he says. “If you could use your spell to clear the earth, just a patch, I could—”
“Ask Sofreya for that,” I interrupt. “If I take off this armor, I go sailing across the Burn and Baedan knows we’re on her tail. Not to mention it’s an open invitation to anyone else who might be looking for dinner tonight.”
“I don’t trust Sofreya.”
“Why not?”
His eyes cut toward Chadwick, who latches his hands behind his neck and paces away from us. Lowering his voice, he says, “She’s stealing my magic.”
I straighten with a flash of nerves. “What are you talking about?”
“I think she might be leading the hellborne after us,” North continues. “She’s leaving clues for them to follow. Marks in the ash. Arrows pointing the way.”
We tracked the footsteps of an entire tribe of hellborne for less than a quarter of a mile before the wind swept the rest of the tracks away. If we were being followed, they’d have to be close enough to see us. Arrows drawn in the ash would be worthless. And yet, from the panic in his eyes, I see he truly believes that Sofreya has betrayed him.
I frown, glancing behind me to see Chadwick still pacing restlessly. “We need her immediately,” I call to him. “North needs to be excised right now, or he’ll never last through the night.”
Chadwick swears under his breath but dutifully turns back for the town house. I kneel in front of North, gripping his arms, careful to only touch the sleeves of his coat, none of his exposed skin. Despite myself, I can’t help but mourn the bones I feel through the fabric, the hard edges that imply too many sleepless nights and too many uneaten dinners. He was already thin to begin with; now he’s bordering on skeletal.
His eyes lock onto me with a wanting that feels naked. It’s a too-long look, a moment of weakness, a spark that ignites in my belly and begins to smolder. Even with Sofreya’s spell protecting me, I can’t ignore the stirrings of my blood, the desire awakened by his proximity, his face, even this—this half-mad suicide mission to kill his father and save the kingdom.
Cadence, I remind myself, but her name isn’t the rope I need to pull myself to safety that it once was. Her accusations have thinned our connection to more of a thread, easy to snap, easy to lose. For weeks—months, even—Cadence was my only light, my triumph at the end of all my perils. In this moment she feels forever away, my greatest loss. Would she come with me if I left Avinea? Would I leave if she didn’t? Or would I sacrifice my freedom and stay a servant to Bryn forever, if only for the chance to stay close to a sister who hates me?
North touches the curving shoulder of my breastplate, fingers skimming the iron, leaving tracks in the accumulated dirt. “Your mother gave you such a gift,” he says, as if in a dream.
“No,” I say, pulling the armor on more securely. “She forced me to take something I never wanted. Something that”—my thoughts stray to Frell—“I was never intended to carry.”
“She had a higher purpose—”
“I was six years old,” I snap, “and Cadence was barely two. My mother had no right to seek a higher purpose. She had no right to take my future away from me without so much as a map to guide me in the right direction!”
I swallow hard, surprised by my own hostility. I thought I was beginning to forgive her, to see her in a different
light—not as a mother who abandoned her daughters but as a woman fighting for their freedom.
“Avinea would be lost without her,” North says. “Without you. Had I not met you—”
“You had a plan before you met me. Now that my spell is useless? Fall back on that plan and forget this one ever existed.”
“No. Faris, I needed you. I still do. Why do you refuse to believe that?”
I want to be strong but I’d rather be weak; I can’t encourage his attention even as I crave more. My emotions waver, battered by the infection in my blood. “Stop it,” I finally say. “This is cruel, North. And it’s not fair.”
I realize my mistake the moment it leaves my mouth, my feigned indifference to him shattered in an instant. He latches on with an intensity that terrifies me. “Did you lie to me?”
Adrenaline spikes down my back. How could I be so stupid? North isn’t the only one being eaten alive by the Burn; it’s weakening my defenses as well. “No.”
“Did you lie to me?” he repeats, bending forward, fingers closing tightly around my upper arms. “Because I think you need me too, but you refuse to admit it.”
“My decision is not open for interpretation.” I stare at him, concerned. I’ve seen this once before, his anger and the way it erupted so suddenly when I brought an infected girl into his wagon, cornering him into excising the poison from her blood. His frustration with me was palpable, a flaw he was fighting to control.
I see it here now, and he’s losing this battle. He’ll never make it to Merlock. Or even back home. Not unless Sofreya excises the poison and we turn around immediately.
Horrified, I turn to call for Chadwick, but North tightens his grip on my arms. “All right,” he says, matching my furtive tone, “maybe you don’t need me, but you want me, Faris.”
My mistake is in not pulling away. North cradles my face in his hands and kisses me, hot and searching and filled with greed and desperation combined.