“Nothing,” she says quickly, untangling our fingers to grab it.
I reach for it, too, so fast we almost bump heads. She catches one edge of the parchment while I grab another, stretching it into a flat sheet. If either of us pulls any harder, it’ll tear. Naturally, I tug the parchment toward me, forcing Meredy to release it.
I turn it over, blinking at an ink likeness of myself in a familiar style, and my stomach does a flip. “Valoria gave you this.”
“She did.” Meredy leans over the parchment, raising her gaze from the drawing to me. “She has a way of seeing how things are meant to fit together.”
“Must be those brown eyes of hers,” I whisper.
Without thinking, I drop the parchment and reach for Meredy.
She stiffens, then shivers as I press my palm to her cheek.
“We shouldn’t. We can’t,” she whispers, more to herself than to me, as she touches my waist with both hands. Her fingers are feather-light, as though they’ll vanish if I startle her the slightest bit. Her lips are red and inviting. She blinks a question at me, lowering the shield that always covers her face. I beckon her closer with a look.
I don’t know what’s gotten into me.
My lips burn at the betrayal of sharing breaths with her. But the small clouds of heat against my mouth make me shiver and set me on fire all at once.
As I close the remaining distance between us, pulled forward against my will by the invisible strings lashing us together, something moves at the corner of my sight. Startled to my senses, I jerk back before our lips can touch, gazing up in time to see a winged shadow crossing the moon, and whatever spell was cast here is broken.
“A messenger raven,” Meredy murmurs, low and urgent, as if she’s already putting what almost happened out of her mind. The bird’s shape becomes clearer as it descends toward the castle. “It’s frightened and in a hurry. We should—”
“Have a peek at its message. Just in case it’s from Grenwyr,” I finish, leaping to my feet. She tosses me a strange, unreadable look, and my head spins with the realization of what we almost did.
“I’m sorry, Evander,” I mutter under my breath as we start to run. Because all I can think of are his sister’s vivid green eyes, and the way she makes my blood run hot every time she opens her mouth. And when I try to remember what it was like to kiss Evander, I imagine kissing Meredy instead.
We race to the front of the castle, where the raven appears to be heading, with Meredy in the lead. I hold up my arm and let it fly to me, only wincing slightly as its claws graze my bare skin. Meredy breaks the ties around the letter strapped to the raven’s leg with her fingernail, then leans in as she unfurls the parchment.
I draw back, careful not to get too close to her again.
My blood runs cold as I recognize Simeon’s loopy scrawl. “More Dead are missing, including Her Majesty,” I read aloud. “It happened right after you left. And no one’s seen Hadrien for hours.There’s panic in the city. Don’t return to Grenwyr, dear sister. Go to the coast, or better yet, take a ship and set sail. Love, Simeon.”
Crumpling the parchment in my fist, I take a deep breath and fight a sudden urge to scream. I have to stop this, all the death and disappearances. And Vane is my one lead, whether he’s the one who stole the Dead from the palace or not.
“Get Lysander,” I say softly, trying to keep my voice from shaking with rage. “I’m going to wake Master Cymbre and show her this.” I hold up the wrinkled letter. “We’re going to the Deadlands now. All this fear and hurting has got to end, and there’s only one person I know of who might be able to tell us something useful.”
XXV
Master Cymbre’s room is empty. A hint of spice and leather hangs in the air, a sure sign that she was here not too long ago. Yet all her things are gone: her sword, her boots, and the tiny book of poems she carries everywhere. The bed is neatly made, as perfect as though she never slept in it.
Meredy peers at something dropped behind a chair, then checks inside the wardrobe, her brows knitting together in concern. “There’s no sign of a struggle.”
Lysander watches from the doorway, unable to squeeze his bulk across the threshold.
“Right. I doubt rogue necromancers forcing her into the Deadlands would have made sure she had time to pack her favorite book and her weapon,” I murmur, thinking aloud. Besides, when Master Nicanor was abducted, there was evidence of a fight at his house. The only other option here is that Cymbre went against therules she taught me for most of my life—that she went into the Deadlands alone of her own free will.
A faint blue glow from the windows draws my attention. There’s a gate to the Deadlands a brisk walk from the castle. Master Cymbre must have entered it to find Vane after hearing about the massacre. After promising me she’d rest.
I know that’s what happened, because it’s exactly the sort of thingIwould do. It’s what I did do, when I needed to prevent the Shade that killed Evander from taking any more lives. For better or worse, she brought me up to be just like her, risking everything to protect the people she loves.
“She’s gone,” I whisper. “She went to the Deadlands alone. To protect us. To protect all these people. But if Vane is there, she’ll need our help. Who knows how many Shades he’ll have with him?”
“We’re going after her. Lysander can track her scent if we let him sniff her pillow.” Meredy’s eyes glitter in the candlelight, hard and determined. Some part of me wishes there was time to kiss her firmly set mouth, to finish what we started and see if it’s something I’d want to do again. To see if she tastes like Evander, or if there’s something distinct about Meredy that’s making me crave her like this.
Sleeping in Jax’s bed never made me feel this guilty, but maybe that’s because with Jax, I didn’t really think about it. About him. My time with him was always an escape from thoughts of Evander, like my potion addiction. What’s happening with Meredy feels like a force all its own, as strong and perplexing as lightning.
I can’t think about her this way, not now orever, but especially not when Master Cymbre’s in danger.
