Jax groans from the bushes.
With a rumble more menacing than thunder, Nipper lunges forward, a cloud of mesmerizing blue-white fire erupting from her mouth. The Shade darts away at the same time, trying to throw itself into the bushes.
It might be quicker than humans, but it’s not faster than fire.
Howling, the Shade claws at its skeletal face and collapses beside the hedgerow, rolling across the path as its body pops and sizzles. The heat of the dragon’s flames must be more powerful than anything in the liquid fire potions we often carry, because it only takes a few blinks for the monster to be reduced to lumps of bones and a putrid dark liquid. Steam rises from the remains, the fire having burnt itself out. Nipper flicks her tongue at the puddle of Shade but quickly slithers away, apparently having no desire for a second taste.
And once again, the grandest garden in the Deadlands is quiet. Just the way the spirits like it.
“What was that you said about there not being Shades around here?” I ask as Jax crawls out of the rosebushes, scratched and bruised but really no worse for the wear. We exchange a shaky smile, and he accepts my help in standing.
After each giving Nipper a quick but thorough belly scratch, her favorite, we hurry away from the stink of blackened Shade goo.
“Good to know you still trust me,” I murmur to Jax as we resume the search for Karston.
“Good to know there’s a better way to kill Shades than what we’ve been taught all these years,” Jax grunts, shaking his head as he studies Nipper. “Wonder what else King Wylding was keeping from us...”
I nod, not really listening because every time I push aside a branch or peer over a hedge, I half expect to see Karston’s lifeless body sprawled in the grass. The Shade we just killed might have gotten to him before we did, and my muscles are tensed at the possibility. Or worse—what if we find Hadrien standing over our fallen companion, laughing?
But when we circle back to the fountain at the garden’s center, Karston is sitting on its edge, swinging his legs and humming cheerfully as he takes in the sights, dutifully not tasting the flowing wine.
“Where were you?” I demand, rushing to his side with Nipper and Jax in tow. Without waiting for an answer, I throw my arms around him, giddy with relief that he hasn’t become a pile of bones on my watch.
“I got lost trying to follow you and Nipper,” Karston explains as I scrutinize him further. He looks completely unhurt, not even a scratch. “I guess I took a wrong turn somewhere. I passed this place”—he pats the fountain—“a couple times while I was looking for you, soI decided to sit here and wait for you to find me. I didn’t mind.” He flashes me a warm smile, the kind that makes my lips twitch upward of their own accord. I have to admit, he’s charming when he’s excited about something. “I knew you’d come, and besides, it’samazingdown here. Even more beautiful than I’d been told. Why...?” His gaze darkens. “Something happened to you, didn’t it?” He looks from me to Jax, his brows knitting in concern.
“Come on.” I grab Karston’s hand, pulling him down from his fountain perch. “You’re holding on to me the whole way back. I’ll explain while we walk.”
The gentle pulse of a gate draws me toward home, toward the living world, but I pause to look sternly between Karston and Jax. “And no one—I mean it,no one—is going into the Deadlands by themselves again. Ever. Understand?”
Karston promises right away. I knew I could count on him. He might not make a bad partner someday, especially after managing to survive the Deadlands alone on his first visit.
But Jax’s long pause before agreeing doesn’t convince me.
XVI
Kasmira and her crew don’t show up for the morning’s training session.
Maybe they had a late night in the city. After all, the Festival of Oranges was last night, although Valoria didn’t throw a party at the palace to celebrate—she’s too busy preparing notes for her second talk with Devran. Or maybe Kasmira lost patience with the way the trainees’ injuries still outnumber their victories. I’m barely hanging on to what little patience I have left myself. The only ones who seem to be making any notable progress are Meredy’s archers, and even that isn’t saying much—just that they’ve stopped hurting themselves and have started aiming toward the proper targets.
Still, it wouldn’t hurt to pay Kasmira a visit. I’m worried about her hand, and maybe I can convince her to let Danial take a look at it.
As I hurry through the city toward the harbor where theParadiseis anchored, I notice several shops whose insides are dark, their signs hung and doors barred. It’s enough to make me pause. After all, it’s midmorning, a popular time to do business. And although the day isa little overcast, the wind a touch too biting, that’s never been enough to keep people from going about their daily errands.
When I get to the docks, I’m relieved to find theParadiseswaying gently in the dark water as usual. But my pulse quickens when I don’t spot any sign of any life on board.
I run up the gangway, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat at a sudden sense of wrongness. But before my boots touch the deck, Kasmira cries out in a choked voice, “Sparrow—stay back!”
She appears from the darkness of the stairwell, leaning against a side wall for support. There’s a faint sheen of sweat coating her brow, and she shivers violently as she regards me. But what twists my insides into a hopelessly tangled knot is the coughing fit that suddenly grips her, rattling her chest until a blob of something thick and black leaves her lips.
That’s where the black fever gets its name. Not from the fever itself, but the black gunk it creates deep in a person’s lungs.
A few years ago, Jax barely survived it.
More often than not, it kills its victims—usually within a few days, but sometimes over a slow and painful process of weeks if the person is strong enough to fight it. Since no healer can cure it without dying themselves, and it’s highly contagious, the sick are left to their own devices.
The black fever strikes every winter, and though this is early in the season, it’s not unheard of. As it runs its course, it sweeps through the whole of Karthia, a dark time that used to keep us necromancers busy raising more Dead. Now that raisings are banned, this is bound to be the most tragic fever season in centuries.
Staring at Kasmira, I’m flooded with cold, but I somehow remember to cover my nose and mouth with my shirt. After watching Jax suffer with the fever, I never want to experience it firsthand.
