He throws me to the ground, ramming his shoulder into my chest. I get a brief glimpse of Meredy as I go down, standing mere paces away near the water’s edge, her eyes glazed in concentration as she controls her grizzly like a puppeteer. I hope she snaps out of that daze before Vane comes for her.
Pain blossoms through my middle as I writhe on the sand, my sword lying just out of reach, everything hurting too much for my body to obey my commands to roll away. My neck is exposed, ready for Vane’s blade to come swiftly down and cleave my head from my shoulders.
He raises his sword again. I force myself to gaze into the slits of his mask, hoping I’ll make Master Cymbre proud by witnessing my own death. By not letting Vane win entirely, because I’m not afraid. It’s exactly what Cymbre must have done earlier, on this very spot. I won’t disappoint her.
Fury sings through my veins as I greet my coming death.
His sword slices through the air but swings wide as it flies out of his hand. Finally, I manage to draw a shuddering breath that clears my head a little. But the pain in my chest is still white-hot as I roll across the sand to dodge the errant blade.
Vane crashes to the ground beside me, a dagger sticking out from between his ribs. That explains his poor aim with the sword.
Running over to admire her handiwork, Meredy gives a satisfied nod. “Finish him, Odessa,” she growls, looking past me and raising an arm. I follow her gaze in time to see Lysanderraise that same arm, his claws slashing the face of an already-wounded man.
Beside me, Vane groans, drawing my attention.
“I think your dagger might’ve done the job,” I tell Meredy, but she’s not listening, once again focused on fighting through Lysander.
Still breathing hard, I wrap my bloody, sticky hand around the hilt of the dagger in Vane’s ribs and shove it in a little deeper. My stomach does a flip as his scream fills my ears, but I hold on tight to the blade in case he’s less injured than he’s letting on.
“Silly girl,” he coughs. Blood flecks the narrow mouth opening of his mask, like it flecked my lips the day Evander died and I nearly lost my life. “I would’ve made quick work of you before the Shades cleaned up your remains. Now you’ll have to feel their every bite.”
I glance toward the horizon. Sure enough, the Shades are opening their cavernous mouths and scraping their bony fingers against the hard ground—impatient to come for us when their master gives the order.
Still, we can’t leave yet. Not without knowing who paid these people to create more monsters the world didn’t need.
“I can either dig this dagger in deeper and scramble your insides or give you a swift end if you answer my questions,” I whisper, not sure it’s a promise I can make. His end seems to be coming swiftly with or without my help. I rip off his mask, flinging it into the sand, wanting to study his face for lies as we talk. “Now tell me, how were you controlling these Shades?”
He spits blood in my face.
I wiggle the dagger just a little, and once he stops screaming, he starts talking in a ragged voice. “Magic. I taught myself. My eyes may be weak, but there’s nothing wrong with my Sight. I see differently than you, so my powers are different. I thought you’d noticed last time we met, when I didn’t have a mask in the way.”
I gape at him. “So you can... control Shades, like a beast master controls an animal?”
Vane nods stiffly.
I make a hasty note to tell Valoria, if I ever see her again. Maybe there are others with powers we don’t understand or even know about. And perhaps, like Vane, there are others who have mastered their abilities alone in the shadows.
In the distance, Lysander roars. I hope he’s running down the other Shade-baiters without any trouble, but Meredy must be worried, as she edges away from us and draws another dagger. Still in her dreamlike state, she runs farther up the beach.
“What were you planning to do”—I rip my gaze from her and quickly return my attention to Vane as the Shades beyond the shore moan and grumble—“with all those monsters?”
He laughs, though it’s more like a splutter. “Why should I tell you? I’m dying, and you’re as good as dead. Soon...” He tilts his head in the direction of his companions’ shouts farther up the beach, where the other Shade-baiters are trying their luck against Lysander—and suddenly, I understand. He’s preventing his Shades from attacking to buy his companions time to escape, time they wouldn’t have if they were still around after the monsters finished with me.
“Tell me what you were planning!” I demand again. Even with Vane stalling on behalf of the others, it won’t be long before he’s gone and we’re all Shade food.
He shakes his head, still laughing.
I punch him in the chest, just to stop the sickly sound ringing in my ears. “Fine. Allow me to guess, then. First, you kidnapped Dead nobles from the palace and pulled off their shrouds to turn them into Shades. Then you fed people to them, like Master Nicanor, to make them stronger. Then you kidnapped His Majesty, probably to make another Shade. You’ve been killing necromancers and creating Shades, building an army from our Dead—but why?”
Vane’s breathing is ragged as he chokes out, “If you’re so clever, girl, you tell me.”
I remember the horrified faces of the villagers who survived the massacre in Elsinor. I remember their Dead, marching away to an uncertain future, and it dawns on me. “You were trying to make people fear the Dead. By turning them into Shades, you reminded the living of the danger that surrounds them at all times. But there has to be more to it than that.”
Vane goes suddenly still beneath me, and my heart stops for a moment. I slap his cold face so hard that the sound ripples across the lake.
He’s lost to a fit of bloody coughing. At last, he says, “There’s nothing you can do that’ll make me talk.”
It takes a moment to find my voice again, I’m shaking so hard all over. “Who is he? The man who hired you? A duke—one from the southern provinces?” After all, there have been some with their eyes on King Wylding’s throne for decades.
