“Or the prince was lying for some reason.” Meredy’s eyes search my face, so I drop my gaze. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
“Maybe. I don’t know what to think anymore.” I rub my temples.
I only knew Meredy for one brief year before she disappeared to Lorness and came back as someone else entirely. But I’ve known Hadrien since I started my necromancer training seven years ago. Seven years of attending parties together and raising his relatives. In all that time, he’s never given me a reason to doubt him.
“Even if you’re right,” I say slowly, “and Hadrien was lying, that doesn’t mean he would ever hurt King Wylding any more than he’d hurt me.” Remembering how close those two have always been, I add, “Maybe Hadrien was covering something up for the king. Maybe His Majesty was on some secret errand, and he was attacked on his way to... wherever.”
Meredy arches her brows. They’re dark brown, not red like her long hair. I wonder why I hadn’t noticed before, and why in Vaia’s name I’m noticing now.
“Seeing as you know more about the Wyldings than I do,” she murmurs, “I’ll leave the worrying to you.”
Taking a deep breath, I try to silence the new, nagging unease in the pit of my stomach. Whether or not Meredy’s right about Hadrien, she’s raised a frightening point: Given the events of the last few weeks, I can’t trust anyone anymore. I lean back against the wagon, the night falling softly around me, complete with chirping crickets and a steady autumn breeze.
Meredy sighs. “I bet we couldn’t go a full day without arguing.”
After the coffee bean trick, the idea of beating her at something sounds rather appealing. “I’ll take that bet. If we argue, you win. And if we don’t,Iwin. But what should we declare as the prize?”
She taps the scar on her cheek as she thinks. “If I win, you have to promise never to insult me again. And if you win...”
“I get enough coffee to last a lifetime. Paid for by you.”
Meredy’s eyes flash with excitement. “Deal.”
We shake on it. Her hesitant smile reminds me of Evander, but for the first time in a long while, remembering him doesn’t make me feel like crumbling.
“Evander didn’t like coffee. He said it tasted like burnt pan scrapings.”
Meredy arches her brows. Slowly, a grin appears. “He didn’t like hills either, after the time he ran down that big one at Grenwyr Pond—”
“The one with the sign at the top that said ‘Danger. Don’t run’?” I grin back.
“The very same!” Her laugh is like the rustle of bird’s wings, soft and sweet, and I realize this is the first time I’ve heard it. “He broke his arm, and Mother told him it was a good lesson in reading before running.”
“How about the time he broke his ankle playing some ball game with Simeon? I never understood how that happened, but you were there, weren’t you?”
I wish I’d known sooner how easy it would be, talking about Evander together. Dredging up these memories doesn’t sting nearly as much when sharing them with someone who knows exactlywhat I’ve been through. Someone who lost their love, too. Jax and I spent most of our time in bed tryingnotto mention Evander, but it feels right here, now, with Meredy.
“Oh! His ankle? That’s a funny story.” Meredy’s voice draws me back to her. “The healers mended the break, but he woke up thinking he was still in the field with the ball, and tried to—”
Meredy’s words are cut off when a shriek splits the night air. Sharp. Unrestrained.Eager.
Meredy and I exchange a glance. I’d recognize that sound anywhere.
A Shade is on the hunt, and we’re the prey.
XXII
As the wagon comes to a sudden halt, I reach for my sword and strain my ears to detect what’s happening over the horses’ frightened whinnies and Lysander’s hair-raising roar. Master Cymbre yells something I can’t quite make out. Her cry is abruptly cut short, and a cold weight settles in my chest as I imagine why.
Something crashes into the wagon hold, making Meredy and me jump as the wagon rocks violently from side to side.
I dive toward the crate where we’ve carefully nestled several glass vials of liquid fire potion for the journey to Elsinor. Without those precious vials, we can’t kill any Shades. The crate’s lid is ajar, and I hurry to push it back into place. Meredy puts a hand on the crate’s side to steady it as the wagon continues to shake.
Another shriek nearly deafens me. The monster must be right on top of us.
I draw my sword and stagger to my feet as a long, bony arm shreds the wagon’s canvas covering and smashes the crate of fire potions. The wood splinters under Meredy’s hands, and she cries out. The vials scatter everywhere, some shattering, others rolling across the floor. The ones that break erupt into flames, and just like that, the wagon is done for.
I drop my blade, trying to save as many of the potions as I can before the blaze in the wagon forces me out. The Shade knocks the few vials I managed to gather out of my hands; its sharp, bare-boned fingers tangle in my hair as the vials hit the ground and burst into flames. Quick as lightning, the Shade pulls me toward the huge hole it’s created in the canvas. I dig my nails into its flesh, hoping it’ll drop me. Instead, its grip tightens, its free hand closing around my neck.
