I’m tempted to name Meredy and her pet grizzly. But the entire Crowther family has a permanent invitation to all palacefestivities. And after meeting her, I doubt Meredy’s capable of the abduction of several nobles. I shake my head.
“Most of my kin, living and Dead, are keeping to their rooms today at my request. I’ve stationed extra guards outside their chambers, just as I’ve done for yours.” King Wylding was a bear of a man in life, one whose first death happened in battle too young, and his massive form is intimidating as he towers over me. Yet the rapid rattle of breath in his chest suggests that, for the first time in memory, he’s afraid. “Several of my relatives never made it to the celebration, and the guards can’t find a trace of any intruders.”
“I’ll search the Deadlands for you in case they’ve been killed,” I say. “Master Cymbre will accompany me.” I imagine a troubled look behind the king’s dark mask and wish I could better reassure him. “It might help if we could figure out why anyone would do this—for a hefty ransom?”
There are certainly a number of people in the Ashes desperate enough to attempt a kidnapping, but coming to the palace is a bolder move than any of them have attempted before. And then there’s what happened to Duke Bevan, though I’m not sure how the two events are related. The duke had plenty of enemies, as Jax pointed out, while I don’t think anyone had a grudge against Valoria’s mother or the rest of the Wyldings.
“Perhaps itisgold they want,” King Wylding says at last. “But all these madmen will get is the noose, once we find them.” He squeezes my shoulders. “I know you’ll help the guards bring them to justice and return my family. You’re a treasure to the Dead, my Sparrow.”
“Thank you, Majesty.” I bow, and heat creeps into my face. My head feels clearer than it has in days as I mull over what might havehappened to the nobles. And a clear head is what I’ve been waiting for, which means it’s time.
Time for one last trip to the Deadlands.
“I shouldn’t delay any longer. I’m off to find Master Cymbre and begin the search.” I give the king another bow, this one of farewell, though he doesn’t know it. Now if I’m killed in the Deadlands, I’ll have the perfect cover. And even though I have no intention of knocking on Master Cymbre’s cottage door before I jump through the nearest gateway, I can’t be punished for the transgression if I’m dead.
Since when do you care about what’s forbidden by anyone?Evander teased me on the palace’s windswept hillside mere weeks ago. If only he could see me now, shattering rules at every turn for the sake of revenge.
“If you would, please tell Princess Valoria where I’ve gone and what I’m doing,” I say before continuing on.
“Sparrow!” the king calls, jarring me from my thoughts. When I turn back, he rasps, “Give Master Cymbre my best. Tell her to stay strong.”
I hurry away, marveling at how much the king cares for each of his necromancers, wondering how many more losses he and I will have to endure. How many more losses it would take to push him toward madness or the sort of carelessness that leads to becoming a Shade. I shiver as an autumn breeze hugs my shoulders.
Things are changing all around me, whether the king realizes it or not, and I’m afraid neither he nor anyone else seems to have the power to stop it.
The only thing I can prevent is any more death at the hands of the powerful Shade, so I quicken my pace on the brisk jog to the apothecary. After peeking through the windows and seeing no trace of Lyda, I buy enough liquid fire to light up the night sky over Grenwyr City, then stride back into the brisk afternoon in search of a gate.
Today, the city’s usually vibrant colors are muted—the pink flowering vines spilling over a shop window, the blue domed roofs of Death’s temple and convent, the yellow and orange sun-washed walls of craftsmen’s houses, the occasional tree full of white autumn blossoms bearing symbols of beauty and peace—they’re all paler than I remember, as if I’m seeing them through a foggy window.
Gateways to the Deadlands are nearly impossible to spot in daylight, even to a trained eye. But as I walk deeper into the warren of houses and shops, away from the sea, a telltale pull around my middle draws me toward an alleyway between a tavern and a boarded-up bakery just a few blocks from the Ashes.
Not exactly where I’d hoped to end up. Especially when I peek down the alleyway and the tugging sensation grows stronger, guiding me to the faintest blue haze that I can only see when I squint and tilt my head back.
Of course the gate has to be right on top of the tavern’s stinking trash heap. Pinching my nose, I place a foot on the soft, warm pile of discarded vegetables, rotting meat, and moldy black lumps that remain a mystery. The ooze at the center of the trash heap sucks at my knees as I climb higher. I’m going to sink through the middle if I’m not careful. Gripping the wall for balance, I put onefoot in the gate and hoist myself up as the rubbish wobbles and rotten food rolls down the pile.
Breathing hard, I crawl into the solid tunnel opening.
There was no time to take a last look at the sky. No time to think up words of goodbye I could have said to Jax. Simeon. Valoria. Kasmira. Danial. Master Cymbre. Even Hadrien. To wonder why I feel so sick when I realize the list of names I’m leaving behind is so much longer than the list of ones I’m going to avenge.
But I made a promise. Evander’s and Master Nicanor’s lives will be the last this monster ever takes. Jax, Simeon, Cymbre, and all the other necromancers will be able to raise the dead again without the fear of losing the only life they get.
I can’t think of any greater cause worth dying for.
Still, thinking of my promise to Evander reminds me that I made another promise, to bring back the missing Dead, and I imagine the disappointment in Valoria’s eyes when she hears I didn’t find her mother. That I’m never coming back.
Brushing dirt from the tunnel floor off my trousers, I let my eyes adjust to the dimness, grateful none of my fire potions exploded in the jump. I’m carrying them in a sack the apothecary gave me because they wouldn’t all fit in my cloak pockets. Then I make sure the vials of blood and honey on my belt are still intact. Just in case.
Potions secure, I march on through the shadows. I still have the whistle Master Cymbre gave me the last time we came here, and I fish it out from underneath my tunic as I near the tunnel’s end, running my thumb over the smooth ivory of the mouthpiece.
The Shade mimicked this whistle before. Hopefully it remembers the sound and comes straight for me.
When the tunnel leads me out into the Deadlands’ twilit landscape, I wade into a knee-high field of roses as big as my fist and check for any Dead who might be lurking nearby. I don’t want the spirits here getting killed, their souls destroyed just because they happened to be in the way of my battle.
A flash of white hovers at the corner of my gaze, but when I turn, all I see are the heavy heads of flowers nodding in a slow breeze.
Someone giggles, a high girlish sound.
“If anyone’s out here,” I call into the field, “you’d better leave now. I’m hunting the foulest Shade that’s ever walked the Deadlands, and you don’t want to be here when I find it. Or it finds me.”
