Vane says nothing, but offers me a strained smirk.
I grab the hilt of the dagger and drive it in deeper, eliciting more screams. Every Karthian’s life depends on knowing who’s really behind these attacks. “Tell me his name, and I’ll make the pain stop!”
Still Vane doesn’t answer, due to agony or his twisted code of morals, I can’t tell. “I’ll find your family, or whoever or whatever it is you love. I’ll kill them, every last one, if you don’t give me the name of the man who hired you right now.”
It’s an empty threat, but he doesn’t need to know that. I must sound wild in my desperation, as he cowers slightly in the wake of my words.
“I do care about the living people of Karthia. Same with my partners.” Vane makes a wheezing sound, struggling for breath, but continues, “And I was promised a seat on his court when he takes the throne. When the living rule and decide the future.”
Thelivingpeople of Karthia. The words remind me of something Hadrien said once, as he held me close to the beat of a drum. Hadrien, who has enough money to hire a host of men like Vane. Hadrien, who was the last person seen with King Wylding according to Meredy. Hadrien, who Simeon said no one had seen for hours at the time he’d penned his letter to me. Hadrien, who I left with Her Majesty and my friends, thinking they would watch over each other. Hadrien, who is next in line for the throne.
Suddenly, I see what I couldn’t before.
Head spinning, I drop my gaze to the sand. Vane’s blood-spattered hand twitches, and beneath the grime I notice a smattering of bruises, dark against his white knuckles.
“How did you get those marks on your hands?” I demand, but as I expected, Vane can’t or won’t answer. “You punched Prince Hadrien, didn’t you? To demand more rewards when you finished his—his murder crusade. Is that right?”
The last time I saw him, mere days ago in the throne room, Hadrien’s face was bruised just beneath his eye. Still, I want to hear Vane say it aloud. To hear Hadrien’s name spoken by someone who, in his final moments, has no reason to lie.
“Death be damned—say his name!”
But Vane is still and silent again. I shake his shoulders. He doesn’t move, his body limp beneath my hands.
He’s gone; his spirit has vanished, leaving behind the shell of a mage who could have done some good with his unusual power—protecting necromancers during their travels to the Deadlands, for one. But instead, he was loyal to Hadrien to the end.
And now, no longer under their master’s control, his Shades are free to hunt.
I hurriedly grab Vane’s silver mask and cloak, careful to avoid touching the part that’s wet with blood. They’re a reminder that Karthia’s enemies can be slain. ThatIcan slay them, even the traitorous prince who was once, perhaps, my friend.
The lake becomes a blur as I sink forward in the sand beside the Shade-baiter’s body. I thought Hadrien loved me. I swear I heard caring in his voice that day in the throne room, but he sent me here to have me killed, away from my friends, from help.
I stagger to my feet. The world,myworld, is falling apart, and I’m probably much too late to stop it—but I have to try. Even if I don’t know who or what to trust anymore.
A Shade howls in the distance, fighting with its companions as they feast on the body of the rogue necromancer who managed to flee farthest.
Gazing up the beach, I realizeallthe other Shade-baiters are either dead or gone. I don’t see Meredy, but Lysander’s chomping on one of the mangled corpses without a care, meaning she must be alive and unharmed nearby.
The spirits of the Deadlands haven’t yet lured her to taste their fruit or wade in their lakes, though they might, and I have no honey. We need to get out of here before the Shades run out of other bones to crunch.
I hurry to where Master Cymbre’s book is half-buried in the sand. My heart soars pitifully as I tuck the leather-bound poems into my front pocket for safekeeping, as though touching the battered pages will bring me closer to Cymbre. I pat the book, trying to tell my foolish heart it’s of no use.
A Shade howls again, and another one answers with a gleeful, lilting noise.
Shaking my head to clear it, I pick up my sword and call to Meredy, “We need to go!”
There’s a gate on the lake’s western shore. It won’t take long to reach, just a sprint down the beach, following the curve of the narrow stretch of sand.
“Oh good. There you are,” I say shakily as Meredy reappears beside me. I need her steady presence to help me focus as I lead us out of here. “Get Lysander. Hurry.”
But she doesn’t seem to hear me or even the Shades’ hunting cries as they start to close in, bounding on all fours like houndsinstead of the humans they once were. With a vacant expression, she kneels by Vane and pulls the dagger from his flesh. She brings it to her lips and licks the gooey crimson mess from the flat of the blade.
“What are you doing?” I try to suppress a shudder.
She glances up, her eyes still blank, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing blood all over her face.
I reach for the dagger. She holds it out of reach, snarling like a feral dog. Then I remember: the effects of her magic. She was using Lysander like a puppet to hunt the other Shade-baiters, and now she’s become like a beast herself.
Vaia only knows for how long.
