He nods, then shakes himself, as if trying to wake up further.
Somewhere on the grounds, a man cries out in pain.
“Make sure he doesn’t endanger himself or others,” I plead with Karston before rushing off to deal with the latest training injury.
Karston nods, guiding Jax to a spot where he can sit down while he eats the coffee beans. He’s patient, even as Jax snaps at him and tries to shake him off—almost like he’s had practice at this. I’m beginning to enjoy having Karston around. If I overlook his lack of experience, it’s like having another necromancer in our midst.
Across the field, I find a man with a broken nose and his apologetic sparring partner who sneezes with every other breath. Most of the trainees still spend more time nursing injuries than they do learning, but then, they’re trying to cram years of practice into a matter of days.
I wish I could trust even a single one with a blade yet. But that will come in time.
After balling up an old shirt to stanch the blood flow and sending the unhappy man off to Danial for some healing, I’m finally able to check on Jax again.
The trouble is, he’s not where Karston left him.
My heartbeat quickens as I scan the grounds. He’s nowhere in sight.
Not wanting to draw anyone’s attention away from what they should be focused on—training—I wait until Karston’s finished chatting with another sparring pair before pulling him aside. I don’t want to go to the Rotten Rose alone, and that’s the first place I intend to look for Jax. On second thought, I call Nipper over, too, and clip her leather lead to her collar.
Her tail thumps against Karston’s legs as she waits to see where we’re going, making the purring sound that means she’s pleased with me. Between her barking, purring, tail wagging, and love of Lysander’s fish meals, I don’t think she knows what sort of animal she is.
“He’s gone,” I whisper to Karston as Nipper strains at the lead, ready for an adventure.
“What? No!” Karston looks wildly around, then mutters a Jax-worthy curse under his breath. “I’m so sorry. I was watching him until just a little while ago. If it wasn’t for those two”—he pauses, pointing to the sparring partners he was just overseeing—“actually trying to kill each other, I wouldn’t have had to look away at all. It’s like there’s a new problem around here every bleeding minute.”
I can’t help it—I grin. “Welcome to my life, my friend.” Karston raises his brows at that, and I continue, “If you’re serious about testing out this partnership, now’s the time. What do you say? Are you up for helping me find Jax and bringing him back?” I cross my arms and glower at the empty space where I saw Jax last. “He needs us to save him from himself, no matter how much he protests.” I have someexperience with that, after all. And by the shadow that flits across Karston’s gaze, he does, too.
“I’m in,” he agrees without hesitation. “Partner.” As I shoot him a look, he winces and asks, “What? Too much?”
I shake my head. “Don’t push it. Hey, cover for me!” I call to Danial over my shoulder as Karston and I race off.
Given how slowly Jax was moving when he got here, I’m betting we can catch him before he enters the pub, if we’re fast enough. And I’d rather not go in there.
On our way into the heart of the city, we hurry through a warren of twisting cobbled streets, once passing a smashed terra-cotta pot that has Jax written all over it.
“Have you been to the Ashes before?” I ask Karston between breaths.
I don’t hear his answer. About a hundred feet to our right, on the third-story balcony of a tailor’s shop, balancing precariously on the balcony railing’s edge, is Jax.
Karston shouts his name as Jax leaps into the air.
I don’t have the breath to say anything.
But instead of plummeting to the ground like a stone, Jax disappears. One moment he’s there, then I blink and he’s gone. Narrowing my eyes at the spot where he vanished, I see it: the faint blue outline of a gate to the spirit world.
After what we went through with Vane and his army of Shades—after how his mentor, Master Nicanor, died—I can’t believe he’d break the necromancer’s first rule: Never go into the Deadlands alone. I’m scared for him, not because of what’s lurking in there, but because I don’t know what he’ll do.
Turning back to Karston and taking a shaky breath, I mutter, “I hope you’re ready for this. Looks like we’re going to the Deadlands.”
XV
There are so many reasons why this is a bad idea. For starters, I don’t have the usual necromancer’s tools with me. My blade is back on the training grounds, and the small knives hidden in sheaths on my ankles won’t do much against Shades. My vials of milk, blood, and honey, if someone hasn’t thrown them out by now, are rotting in a closet somewhere within the palace, probably in my old room.
We won’t need the milk or blood on this trip—it’s the honey I’m worried about. I trust myself and my connection to this world to always guide me back, but Karston might be more easily led astray, tempted to remain in the Deadlands forever. I don’t feel good about taking someone so inexperienced there while we’re defenseless, but time isn’t on our side.
At least we’ve got Nipper. The dragon eagerly claws the damp, fragrant earth of the tunnel after our precarious climb up the balcony and our huge leap through the gate, nearly pulling me off my feet in her apparent haste to get to the Deadlands. Not that she needs to. Forme, the Deadlands have a pull all their own, calling to my blood and moving my feet forward even when my mind is reluctant.
I didn’t think I’d be back here this soon, if ever. Especially not with a fledgling necromancer beside me, goggling at everything. And especially not when I don’t feel ready to face Hadrien’s spirit yet.
