As I walk past Evander into a swirl of mist as thick as cream, I brush my fingertips over his and mouth a silent thank you. The princess hasn’t stopped talking since we got here, and my patience for questions evaporated right around the time Master Nicanor died at our feet.
No matter how many times I repeat it over in my mind, I can’t seem to grasp its completeness. Master Nicanor isdead.I press a hand to my writhing stomach, still sickened by the memory of the corpse.
The princess clears her throat. “Speaking of powerful things... what are the chances we’ll run into that Shade?”
“I don’t know, but I’d like to cut off its ugly head.” Evander’s voice is jagged, like he’s swallowed too much grief. He pauses with his back against an enormous tree, one hand on his sword, the other clutching the vial of human blood he sprinkles along our path to try to draw the king’s spirit near.
“Lucky for us, the Deadlands are vast. We probably won’t see a thing,” I grit out in a tone that doesn’t invite more questions. I hate how each word is magnified in the immense emptiness of the grove. The Shade that killed Master Nicanor must have scared any nearby spirits into some deeper part of the Deadlands where we don’t often travel. I’ve never walked this long down here without seeing a soul, and I don’t like it one bit.
As if sensing my thoughts, Valoria shivers against me.
“It has to be a really nasty Shade to have gotten the better of Nicanor,” Evander says after a while, putting away his vial of blood to scrub a hand over his shadowed jaw.
I wonder if he’s also thinking of what happened to his father, Baron Crowther, and wish I could wrap him in my arms.
“What gives Shades their strength?” the princess whispers as we push through the deepest shadows of the grove.
I rub my aching temples. I wish there was some way of telling time here, but the permanently twilit sky gives away nothing, so I can’t say whether the soothing potion Valoria drank is starting to wear off.
“For that matter,” she adds thoughtfully, “what do they look like?”
“If you’ve never seen a Shade, you’re lucky. I’m not going to describe one for you.” I frown as Valoria shoots me an affronted look.
The Shades that haunt the Deadlands dislike sunlight and usually keep to the darkest shadows, occasionally finding a spirit to devour. They’re rarely bold enough to attack a necromancer. Still, they’re a big part of the reason why we always work in pairs. Andwhy we kill any Dead—like King Wylding—at the first signs that they’ve been in their old bodies for too long: increased aggression, snarling at their families, and generally acting strange. Lucky for the Dead, the transformation from person to monster is much slower when they’re shrouded, giving us necromancers time to intervene with a mercy killing and another raising. Once someone’s turned into a Shade, there’s no reversing it.
A soft humming fills the misty grove, drawing my attention back to the princess.
Valoria clutches a pendant around her neck, a wooden token etched with swirling lines that make the rough shape of a face. “Dear Vaia, show us mercy and grant us safe passage,” she mutters under her breath. “Help us find the king, and guide us safely home.”
She’s praying, I realize, to the brown-eyed Face of Change. The only one of Vaia the Five-Faced God’s faces whose temples have been abandoned for over two hundred years, since King Wylding was first raised from the dead and outlawed the worship of Change.
“No music,” Evander says gently, turning back to us. “Apologies, Highness, but the sound might attract more than just the king. Many spirits miss being able to laugh and sing. Get too many of them hungry at once, and we’ll have to fight them off with our swords like a pack of wild dogs.”
As we emerge from the silver tree grove and approach the edge of the massive garden, something stirs in the shadows at the corner of my vision. I whirl around, staring hard at the spot. My heart thuds dully in my ears, and though Valoria says my name in a faraway voice, I’m too focused to answer.
At first, all I can see is blackness between the trees that looks thick enough to swim in. Then I glance lower, and I spot it. The outline of a rotting arm or leg, a piece of mottled gray flesh stretching toward me through the darkness, changing the shape of the mists.
The sight squeezes all the air out of my chest.
“Odessa?” Evander grabs my shoulder. The spark of his touch breaks the spell the grisly sight cast on me, and I suck in a breath. “What is it?”
I blink, and it’s gone.
Shades always move faster than humans, but the speed with which this one disappeared makes me feel like bolting for the nearest gate. Only my legs have turned to jelly, and there’s no way I can go anywhere just now.
Meeting Evander’s worried gaze, I shake my head. It isn’t until Valoria’s back is turned that I mouth, “Shade. It’s gone now.” The blood drains from Evander’s face, and he meets my eyes as we exchange a wordless agreement: There’s no point unsettling Valoria any further by mentioning this.
Still, Evander guards our backs with his blade. Just in case the Shade decides to return.
Valoria tugs on my hand, drawing my gaze to the garden. It’s empty. No spirits stand around the giant marble fountain at its center, though the elderflower wine splashes merrily over the stone as always. My heart sinks at the sight.
Maybe all the spirits are gone because the giant Shade devoured them—the king included. But it’s such a terrible thought, I can’t bring myself to voice it.
“I thought you said he’d be here,” the princess whispers. Her tone isn’t accusing, but she shrinks against me.
“Maybe we need to spill more blood,” Evander ventures, taking a few steps into the silent garden. “Fresher blood, so they can smell it from farther away.” He holds up his left arm and lays the sharp edge of his sword against his pale skin.
Valoria sucks in a breath as I cry, “Don’t!”
