Shadowcaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Could he have changed so much? Lyss pulled out the small portrait her mother had given her. And studied it. No. She would know him if she saw him.

  Was he still aboard the ship? Maybe he had a lot of belongings to get together. Couldn’t somebody help him? Then she saw that they were taking down the gangway.

  Dread fisted her in the gut. Where was Adrian? Had he refused to come after all? Had they been unable to find him? She accelerated into a run.

  That was when Hadley turned and saw her. Hadley’s eyes widened, her mouth pinched shut, and she turned pale as rough-water ice. She looked as if she’d like to turn and run right off the end of the dock in order to avoid facing her.

  But she didn’t. Instead, she broadened her stance, pushed her shoulders back, and waited until Lyss all but skidded to a stop in front of her.

  “Lyss,” Hadley said. She stopped, cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you would be here.”

  “Where is Adrian? He didn’t come back with you?” Lyss looked from face to face. Their faces looked like they’d been hammered flat.

  Hadley gripped both her hands. “Lyss,” she said, her face crumpling a little. “Let’s go inside where we can talk.”

  “Why?” Lyss set her feet. “Just answer my question.”

  No one answered her question, not out loud, anyway.

  “Something’s happened to Adrian,” Lyss said. Though she sucked in breath after breath, she still felt starved for air.

  “We will tell you what we know,” Hadley said, squeezing her hands. “But I’m not going to tell you this story standing on the dock. We are going to go somewhere private and sit.”

  Lyss ripped her hands free, turned on her heel, and walked landward. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t Hadley’s fault, she thought. You don’t have to kill the messenger.

  The keep was a bare-bones kind of place where privacy was hard to find. Lyss led the way into the armory, since it was usually deserted at this time of day, except for the weapons master, and she booted him out. She sat down on a bench and rested her hands on her knees, her heart thumping in her throat.

  The three of them, Hadley, Abbott, and Fry, sat side by side on a bench opposite hers like students called to account.

  “Well?” Lyss said, when nobody spoke up.

  “So,” Hadley said, “we sailed down the coast to Baston Bay and traveled inland from there. But when we arrived at Oden’s Ford, we learned that there had been an attack on Adrian’s dormitory a few months ago. Several people died—five priests, two provosts, and two dorm masters.” She stopped, her voice catching in her throat.

  “Two students disappeared,” Fry finished for her. “Adrian was one of the two students.”

  “The attack seemed to be centered on Adrian’s room,” Hadley said, as if to kill any flicker of hope Lyss might harbor. “We spoke with Joniah Balthus, the dean of Mystwerk. He said that Adrian’s bed was soaked in blood. Two of the dead priests were found in his room.”

  That word penetrated Lyss’s bleakly chaotic thoughts. “Priests? Why priests?”

  “Balthus says they were a radical splinter group within the Church of Malthus that goes around killing wizards and . . . and . . .” Hadley’s voice trailed off.

  They waited, then, as if Lyss might say something back. But she didn’t. If she opened her mouth, if she moved a muscle, if she broke out of her frozen state, she might start screaming and flailing. And that she wouldn’t do.

  Of course Adrian wasn’t coming back. Of course. She was like a young plebe who kept falling for the same prank.

  Finally, Lyss looked at Fry. “They didn’t find Adrian’s body?”

  The Gray Wolf shook his head. “I’m sorry, Your Highness.”

  “Captain Gray,” Lyss corrected him automatically. “Who was the other student?”

  “Her name was Lila Byrne,” Hadley said. “Captain Byrne’s daughter.”

  “Ah. Of course.” Lyss picked at a scab on her arm, raked at it with her broken fingernails until the blood flowed again. She watched it trickle down her arm.

  Her gut told her that Adrian was dead—that, surely, he was dead—but maybe it was because she couldn’t stand another empty siege of wondering, waiting, and hoping. Of spotting his face in every crowd, of hearing his voice around corners, of treasuring up everything she would say to him when they were together again.

  I’ve done this, she thought. I’m not doing it again.

  Lyss couldn’t shut down the voice in her head that kept repeating, You could have been together. You could have had these four years, and now he’s gone, because our own mother knew where he was all along and left him there until our enemies tracked him down and killed him.

  This is why Mama wanted to keep this secret until Adrian came home. Somehow she knew that this would happen.

  It was as if Gerard Montaigne had reached his dead hand out of the grave and broken Lyss’s heart one last time.

  “One thing you have to say for Captain Byrne,” Lyss said finally. “He never hesitates to sacrifice a child for the cause. He should have had more children. My mother, too.”

  “I’m sorry, Your—Captain,” Fry said softly. “This is not the way we saw this operation ending.”

  Hadley cleared her throat. “We are traveling on from here to the capital, to let the queen and Captain Byrne know what we . . . what we found. You should come with us. You and your mother should be together right now.”

  “No,” Lyss said. “I mourned for my brother four years ago. I’m not going through all that again. I’ll just try to forget that—that any of this happened. When I finish up here, I’ll go back to Delphi.”

  “Please,” Hadley said. “You should talk to her. I’m sure she and Captain Byrne could answer many of your questions if you give them—”

  “No.” Lyss shook her head. “I’d rather pretend that Adrian died in his home city, beside our father, and not far away, among strangers.”

  Tears were streaming down Hadley’s face now. “What do you want me to tell your mother?”

  Lyss patted her hand, finding herself in the odd position of consoling her. “I just can’t go back there right now. The risk is too high that one of us will say something unforgivable. Tell her . . . tell her I’ll need a little time.”

  Hadley stared at her, searching her face, as if the Lyss she knew had been swapped out for a stranger.

  “We’ll be here a day or two before we leave for the capital,” Abbott said. “So you can still change your mind. In the meantime, we brought back a small crate of Adrian’s personal effects. I thought you might want to go through it.”

  “Thank you,” Lyss said. “I’d like that.”

  Hadley slid an arm around her. “Let’s go find Sasha,” she said.

  40

  DUEL

  Hal, unable to sleep, lay on his back, his fingers laced behind his head, his brain rattling like a runaway cart from one problem to another. It had been some time since he’d heard the bell in the tower overhead bong one, but frustration was keeping him awake despite his long walk through the wind and sleet with Captain Gray.

  He couldn’t complain about his treatment. If he was a prisoner, he was being cradled in an open hand. He knew that hand would close into a fist with another escape attempt. So it wasn’t enough to escape the keep. In Delphi, he’d been close to the border, at least. Here, there was lots of open space to cover before he reached friendly territory.

  If it was even still friendly to Matelons.

  He left his locked quarters only for meals, and for his walks with Captain Gray, which inflicted their own kind of torment. Speaking of which, what or who was she expecting to arrive by ship? Why had she barreled down the steps like there were demons at her heels?

  He should have a plan by now. Time was wasting, while events in the south went on without him. His father might already be marching on the capital. His mother and sister might be dead. Or worse. He had so many reasons to want to get home. And one reason in particular
to stay.

  He recalled what he’d said to Gray after his bout with Bosley. Our women are not like you.

  Nobody was like her. And now, maybe, he was ruined for anyone else. Meanwhile, she’d made it plain they had no future together.

  His king had sent him north to die. So far, he’d managed to stay alive, but the experience had changed him. Would he even fit in when he went home?

  I need to get out of the witchy north, he thought, before I lose myself. If it wasn’t already too late.

  A noise outside his door made him sit upright. The guards in the corridor seemed to be arguing with someone. A voice rose above the others, shutting the discussion down. “I will see him, I don’t care what time it is. Now get out of my way.”

  It was Captain Gray.

  Hal groped for his breeches, yanking them on hastily. He was just buckling them when the door banged open, and there she was, a bottle in one hand, the other propped against the doorframe. Her shirt was untucked, hanging midway to her knees. She was in her stocking feet, and long strands of hair hung down around her face. Her eyes were deep wells of pain and grief.

  “Captain Gray,” Hal said warily. “It’s late.”

  “It is late,” she said, her voice a low growl. “It’s late. It’s too bloody late.” Her gaze traveled over his chest and shoulders, lingered there a moment, then seemed to focus. “Where’s your shirt?”

  “Forgive me,” Hal murmured. Snatching it up, he pulled it over his head without unbuttoning it. Looking past her, he saw bluejackets milling in the corridor behind her as if unsure what to do. Gray set the bottle in a corner with exaggerated care. Then she turned and threw her shoulder against the door, slamming it in their faces. As Hal watched in amazement, she dragged a massive breakfront over until it blocked the door. She studied it a moment, hands on hips, then spun around to face him.

  “Now,” she said, grabbing up the bottle and thrusting it toward him. “We are going to play a game.”

  Hal eyed the bottle. “A game?”

  “A riddle game.”

  Hal looked down at the bottle, then back up at Gray, and realized from her slow, deliberate speech that she had been drinking. A lot. “I was just going to sleep,” he said. “Could we play tomorrow?”

  She wagged the bottle in his face. “We’re doing this now.”

  He took a step back. “Let’s wait until tomorrow.”

  “What’s the matter? Are you scared?”

  “Yes,” Hal said honestly. “You’re scaring the shit out of me.” He took the bottle, tipped his head back, and took a careful swig. Blue ruin. It all but lifted the top of his head off.

  “Hey! We’re not playing yet.” She grabbed the bottle back and drank, her throat jumping with each swallow. She thumped it down on Hal’s little table and slumped into one of the chairs. “You. Sit,” she commanded, pointing at the other chair.

  Hal sat across from her, resting his hands on the tabletop.

  “Here’s the rules,” Gray said. “I’m going to ask you riddles, and if you can’t answer, you have to take a drink.”

  “Ma’am, I’m really not much for—”

  “And every time you say ‘ma’am’ you have to take a drink.”

  Hal pressed his lips together and waited.

  “Now, then,” Gray said. “First question: Why are southerners such assholes?”

  “That’s not a riddle,” Hal said.

  “Answer the question.”

  “Why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

  “You’re the only flatlander within reach.”

  Hal studied her haggard face. In truth, she looked like she’d been run over by a team of horses. He’d seen that expression before, on some of the men in his command. Ambushed by grief, they had taken to drink in an effort to drown it.

  It was the face of heartbreak. Did it have to do with the ship that had arrived that afternoon?

  “What’s happened?” he said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “That’s not an answer.” She pushed the bottle toward him, and it rocked dangerously. “Drink up.”

  “I’m not going to do this,” he said, shoving his chair back. “I’m going to call for the guards.” Crossing to the door, he took hold of the breakfront and tried to drag it aside. A flicker of motion caught the corner of his eye before Gray bulled into him.

  This time, Hal was smart enough to mind his feet, shifting them out of danger at the last minute so she was unable to sweep them out from under him. Even drunk as she was, she came close to rolling him over her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her in a kind of bear hug, and wrestled her to the floor so he could pin down her flailing arms and legs. It took the full weight of his body to keep her down. She was yelling something at him, over and over.

  “Why did you do it? Why did you bastards murder my brother? He was a healer! He never did anyone any harm.”

  Bewildered, Hal tried to remember what she’d told him about her family. If he remembered right, her brother had died years ago.

  Sometimes drink will surface long-buried hurts, like corpses floating out of a flooded graveyard. Hal had seen it before, in taverns and inns, when the hour was late and the ale had been flowing.

  “I’m sorry about your brother,” Hal said. “Too many people have died in this war—people we can’t afford to lose.”

  “Sorry doesn’t bring him back,” Gray said, her voice hitching. She’d stopped struggling, and now lay on the stone floor, limp and weeping.

  “I know,” he murmured. “I know.” He didn’t know, exactly, but he could imagine how he would feel if the war took Harper and Robert from him. Though, just now, they seemed more at risk from his own king than from the enemy they were supposed to be fighting.

  Taking a chance, Hal slid his arms under Gray, leaned his back against the wall, and scooped her onto his lap. She buried her face in his shirt and kept crying, clutching a fistful of the fabric. Gently, he rocked her, smoothing back her hair and kissing her forehead, murmuring whatever came to mind. Eventually, she slept, lips slightly parted, tears still leaking from under her eyelashes.

  He recalled the glib words he’d said to her, the excuse used through history by soldiers standing up for the killing trade.

  This is war. People die—even innocents die, unfortunately.

  He thought about carrying her to the bed, but that was risky in a hundred ways. So he sat, cradling her in his arms, thinking that he never wanted to let her go.

  He heard new voices in the hallway. Someone hit the door, hard, and it shifted the breakfront a little. Three more body hits, and the door had slid open enough to let them squeeze through, Talbot in the lead, still rubbing her shoulder. She froze, scanning the scene, the bottle on the table, Hal propped against the wall with Gray snuggled in against him, her fingers tangled in his hair.

  Talbot raised both hands, palms up, the universal sign for What the hell?

  Hal motioned Talbot over, and she squatted in front of them. He eased Gray into Talbot’s arms. Talbot stood, nodded at Hal, as if acknowledging their partnership, and carried Gray from the room. The other bluejackets moved the furniture back into place and left, closing the door behind them.

  Happily, they left the bottle of blue ruin behind, and it helped Hal into sleep.

  41

  DRAGON

  Being from Delphi, Jenna was no stranger to cold, nasty conditions. But flying along the frozen coastline to the north was brutal. The wind off the Indio was bone-chilling, and the shore was layered in ice where the waves splashed up.

  Urgency lent them speed, which drove the cold wind through Jenna’s new clothes. The knowledge that she might be too late to save Chalk Cliffs thrummed in her veins.

  She didn’t trust Evan Strangward, but when she closed her eyes, she could see the town in ruins, overrun by the army she’d seen crossing the snowy moor. She believed him when he said that if Celestine won a foothold on these shores, it was bad news for both of them.

  She was
grateful for the heat that constantly seethed beneath Flamecaster’s scales. Riding Cas in these conditions was like bellying up to Brit Fletcher’s stove in the dead of a Delphian winter—roasting in front, freezing behind.

  Ordinarily, Jenna loved night flying, soaring over sleeping villages shrouded in snow, their lights like small beacons in the darkness. She and Cas had to be careful not to fly too near the clan lodges. Dogs always seemed to sense their presence and would run along, barking, in their wake.

  Food?

  “You can’t possibly be hungry. You had an entire sheep for breakfast.”

  Sheep mostly wool, not much meat.

  Tonight, to avoid being spotted, they flew so low that at times it felt like swimming, with walls of foam-flecked waves all around them. In their early days of flying, Cas had sometimes miscalculated, and they would end up plunging into freezing seawater. These days, that was rare.

  As they flew south, they began to hear an irregular booming sound, and Cas’s flight slowed perceptibly.

  Guns. Go home, find sheep?

  Jenna tightened her knees along the dragon’s spine. “We need to warn them.”

  When she and Cas argued, it was like having a debate with herself. Sometimes it was hard to sort out who was on which side. When they agreed, they were of one mind.

  Now they could see flashes of light along the escarpment as they approached the white cliffs of the harbor they had seen earlier. Just outside the harbor mouth, a small flotilla was firing back.

  They flew high, high, higher so they would be only a speck in the darkness to anyone below, then swept back and forth across the battle scene several times. The ships were showing no sign of making a run in, but simply hovered there, just out of range of the cannon on the cliffs. Almost as if they had no intention of risking an attack by sea.

  It’s a diversion, Jenna thought, so they don’t notice trouble coming from the other direction.

  “Let’s fly west.”

  Cas banked, turned, and they soared back over the shoreline, following the road that led toward the interior. Below, they could see movement, the occasional flash of light off metal, and hear the tread of hooves in the snow that meant that a large company of riders was approaching the town from landward, staying off the road and within the cover of the forest. They must be the ones she’d seen crossing the frozen wastes on the peninsula. Now there could be no doubt about their destination.