Remembering what the blue, bitter-apple-tasting liquid that filled my days not too long ago had almost cost me, I gently push the glass away. Potion dribbles onto the bed. I’m never going back to that miserable existence, and even though this tonic looks and smells completely different, I won’t risk it. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”
Azelie arches both brows as she dabs up the potion spill. “But your headache...”
“I’ve lived through worse, so unless I’m in danger of dying, I’ll pass.” But eyeing the many potions on the nearby table makes me wonder something. “You must have cures for lots of ailments, right?”
“For everything from coughs to helping wounds clot,” Azelie confirms cheerfully.
“What about a cure for the black fever?” I ask, not bothering to disguise the hope in my voice as I think of the lethal sickness that sweeps through Grenwyr City each year. After all, the Sarralans have had so much more time to research it than Karthian healers.
“Afraid not. It’s one of a handful of diseases we haven’t yet solved, although luckily, cases of it here are quite rare,” she answers. “We have more problems with the—”
“My ship!”The words rise through the floor, echoing around the room.“What the blazes happened to my ship? Someone’s going to pay for thisin blood!”
Recognizing Kasmira’s voice, I can’t help but smile. If she’s feeling well enough to shout and threaten bloodshed, she’s already on the mend.
Azelie snickers, setting down the potion glass. “Sounds like your friend is back on her feet. Which means she should be back with you in a moment.” She flops down on the end of my bed, her grin turning conspiratorial, her dark eyes alight with curiosity. “In the meantime, tell me about Karthia. I want to know everything.”
I open my mouth, but Azelie keeps going. “No. Wait. Tell me about Meredy. She was really worried about you. I had to practically shove her out of that chair by your bed to make her get some rest.” Taking a breath, she grins. “And put a couple drops of sleeping potion in her drinking water.”
“Where is she? Downstairs with the others?” I ask, trying to keep my expression neutral.
“She fell asleep on one of the cushions in the room where the healers usually rest.” Azelie props her chin on her closed fist, smiling up at me. “So, come on. We’ve got time. Spill. Is there something between you two?”
I should be annoyed. I should tell this girl to quit prying and leave.I try to summon a glare, but instead, I find myself smiling back. Her cheerfulness must be contagious, because it’s making me like her against my better judgment. Besides, it’s kind of nice to talk to someone who doesn’t know I’m a king-slayer, a former potion addict, a girl who saw her first love die in the clutches of a Witherling.
“All right, we’ll talk until the healer comes,” I agree. “But why don’t you tell me aboutyouinstead?”
For the first time, Azelie’s sunny demeanor fades. “Oh, no.” Her smile is back in place faster than Meredy’s when she’s hiding something. “Not when there’s over two hundred years of gossip to catch up on.”
I steer the conversation toward festivals, food, and what the weather’s like in Karthia, keeping firmly away from any mention of the recent battle, the man I loved and lost, and this dangerous attraction I feel for his sister. Azelie has so many questions about growing up among the Dead in Grenwyr City, and in return, I ask her what it was like growing up in Sarral, where brown-eyed mages have always been able to invent things freely, unlike in Karthia. From the sound of it, they have so many recipes and hairstyles that I’d need to live here a year or more to try them all.
Just as I’m about to ask her what a dragon is, and whether most people in Sarral have a lizard to pull their carts, the healer on duty arrives and chases Azelie away.
“Tomorrow, we tour the city,” Azelie whispers on her way out, hooking strands of her blond hair behind her ears. “You and me. And your friends, if they want to come. It’s my day off, so I’ll fetch you bright and—”
“Azelie!” The healer, a stern-faced older woman, groans. “It’s nearly sundown, and you’re not on overnight duty. Shoo!”
“Already gone!” Azelie flashes me a grin, then vanishes.
The healer lays her soft, cool hands on either side of my head, and as the pain dissolves, so does the room. Even my thoughts and worries drift away.
***
When I wake drenched in sweat, the nearly full moon is high in the sky, a cold and distant bystander. I must have had a nightmare, but the details are fading faster than water slipping through my fingers. Right away, I sense something wrong in the waking world, too. My head doesn’t hurt anymore, so there’s no question the healing worked. Still, unease clings to me, making my breath quicken.
Leaning against the window, I gaze out at the street below, where the Dead move quickly and quietly about on errands. The deep shadows of night mute the flash of their jewelry and masks and the sparkle of their eye-catching shrouds. Unlike the street during the day, there are no children giggling, no work-lizards, and no people stopping to chat. I don’t like it, this separation of living and Dead, but that’s not the only thing bothering me. There’s something more.
As I turn away from the window to peer around the room, the moon’s waxy glow reveals that only a few beds are still empty. Most are now occupied by members of theParadise’s crew. Dvora tosses restlessly, while the boatswain and quartermaster compete to see who can snore the loudest. Close to Meredy’s empty bed, Lysander sprawls on the floor, his bulk rising above the low bedframe. His huge claws click against the tile floor as he swipes at some invisible opponent, untroubled by his master’s whereabouts.
As I take in the sight of the neatly made bed where Meredy clearly hasn’t slept at all, I finally realize what feels wrong: I’ve gotten used to her waking me from my worst dreams.
Now wide awake and restless, I slip out of the bed and grab my sword, careful not to make a sound. I’ve only missed a few days’ worth of practice with my blade, but even that small gap makes me feel sluggish and slow, so I might as well get a session in now. It’s probably pointless—there don’t seem to be any Shades around here for me to fight, and I don’t need to be in shape to stay alive in the Deadlands anymore—but some stubborn part of me refuses to give up on my daily necromancer’s training.
As I stride down a hallway I saw Azelie use earlier, searching for a private place to practice, I’m grateful for the dark that hides the pathetic sight of a mage working to stay fit for a fight that’s never coming. For a job she no longer has.
The hallway leads me into a large sitting room. I suppose if I moved a few chairs, I could practice here, but to my left is a set of glass doors leading onto an empty balcony. Slipping outside, I listen to the hush of the Dead going about their business on the street below as I stretch to warm up my stiff muscles.
Aside from the occasional cry of a gull to remind me that we’re still near the ocean, all is quiet. Too quiet. I hum a song Evander and I used to dance to as I start practicing my lunges.
