A gust of autumn wind whips the warmth of the festival bonfire onto my face as I bolt toward my friends. The Shade flicks its blackened tongue over dry lips, seemingly enjoying the way the princess raises her bloodied fists like she’s prepared to fight to the death. It’s distracted. Good. Time to make my move.
Darting between the Shade and Valoria, I brandish my torch as close to the monster’s face as I dare, startling it into taking a step back, toward the bonfire. I lunge again, sparks from my torch kissing the Shade’s putrid skin, and it takes another clumsy step backward.
The Shade snarls, a bony fist curled at its side. It seems to want to grab the torch from me, but it’s too new and stupid to be confident in its own speed and strength. I snarl back as I shove the torch closer, sending smoke up the monster’s decaying nose.
With a deafening screech, the Shade stumbles into the fire. I quickly step back, but as the monster falls, it manages to grab my free arm. I twist away, but its grip is too tight. It pulls me into the flames with the strength of several men.
Sparks fly as we roll into the heart of the blaze.
We land on top of each other, and as the Shade burns, so do I. Pain consumes me as my flesh sizzles, searing up my hands, my arms, my face. Searing everything. I wish to Death that I could float up out of my body, just leave this burnt shell behind.
I’m not sure which of us howls loudest.
Distantly, Evander yells my name, followed by something with a high, urgent ring to it. But the crackling fire, the Shade’s furious screeches as it burns, and my thudding heart make it impossible to guess the words.
Hands grip my shoulders, tearing me away from the Shade and the flames. Evander’s hands. He’s going to get burned, probably already is, and I don’t want him to know this pain. I try to shove him back, but he hangs on, and together, we free ourselves of the fire. I lie on my back, gasping, letting the cool flagstones of the courtyard soothe my hot skin. My skirts are blazing, and the smell of singed hair fills my nose and throat, choking me. But Evander, despite the burns on his arms and hands, beats out the flames around me first.
The Shade staggers out of the blaze a moment later on bony legs, its scrap of remaining flesh melting off like candle wax. It shrinks farther and farther into the stone floor as its legs burn to ashes on the wind. Soon it’s nothing but a puddle of blackened bone and rubble.
For a moment, there’s silence apart from the hissing and popping of the fire. The crowd collectively holds its breath, not yet ready to believe the monster is really gone.
“I did it,” I whisper to myself, stunned. I’ve killed my first Shade.
When Evander pulls me against his chest and shouts for Danial, I realize I’m shaking.
“You were lucky,” Danial says as he heals my singed face and arms, then turns to address Evander’s burns. “Your dress took the worst of the heat. But I’m afraid it’s ruined. There’s no magic anyone can work on that disaster.”
I nod, but don’t have the energy to talk as I rest in Evander’s arms in the middle of the courtyard. Palace guards rush over with buckets, first to put out the bonfire, then to douse the spot several feet away where the Shade dissolved into a pool of ash.
Gradually, once all the partygoers have been accounted for, my friends and Master Cymbre gather around me.
“That was a completely idiotic thing to do!” Simeon tells me, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Idiotic. Seriously.” He gives me a shaky grin. “Wish I’d thought of it.”
I grin back. “Just another day’s work, right?”
“Another day’s work, indeed. You were amazing, Sparrow,” Master Cymbre says shakily.
My friends echo her. And when Valoria kneels beside me and wordlessly throws her arms around me, I know for certain it was worth the risk.
Moments later, a few of the Wyldings poke their heads out of doors and windows, then send their staff to begin clearing up the tremendous mess.
“Look.” A fair-haired boy, one of the Wylding servants, sifts cautiously through the Shade’s ashes and holds up a gleaming chunk of gold. Even from several feet away, I can tell it’s a signet ring. “This belonged to Duke Bevan,” the boy says slowly, his brow furrowing. “But . . .”
Simeon locks eyes with me, alarmed. “How did the duke become a Shade?”
VIII
The nobles in the courtyard stare at me and my friends with a mixture of fear and dislike. The same nobles who, an hour earlier, merrily greeted us like old friends. Only Lyda Crowther doesn’t shrink from us, waving to let us know she’s all right before turning to help a girl in a party dress who’s limping. With a last look at Evander, she guides the child indoors.
One man whispers to a few of his companions, then steps forward. From where I sit, he looks like a giant bat, tall and gaunt in his black dress robes.
“That’s Count Rykiel,” Valoria whispers to me.
“Let me try to understand what’s happened here,” the count says, making each word loud and slow—no doubt for the benefit of those listening at the palace windows. “Duke Bevan went missing in Dyrn City. And we sent necromancers to find him. But they failed. Then the duke turns up here, many miles from home—”
“As a Shade,” another man finishes from behind the count. “Almost like someone wanted him to become a monster.” He locks his evergreen eyes on Master Cymbre, who presses her lips together like she’s holding back a retort. “Like someone wanted to use him as a weapon, and planned to unleash him when the palace was busy and crowded.”
Count Rykiel nods. “And let’s not forget, you were late to the party, Cymbre.”
The words spread a chill across my skin. The lack of emotion in the count’s voice tells me he really believes the woman I’ve known for most of my life is capable of murder.
“You’re supposed to keep control over the Dead. What happened?” A dark-haired young woman moves to the count’s side, turning Duke Bevan’s signet ring over in her shaking hands, making me wonder if she’s one of his descendants. “Let me guess. Are our newest master necromancers starved for business?” She glares at us through streaming eyes. “Did you set up this attack so we’d hire you to raise the victims, knowing we can afford to pay a pretty fortune to have our families together again? Perhaps I’m mistaken, but then, you’ll have to spell out your demands a bit more clearly.”
“Here’s a demand,” Jax growls, sauntering toward the young woman until they’re practically nose-to-nose. “Shut your mouth.”
Valoria sucks in a breath, and my pulse quickens as I follow her gaze to Count Rykiel.
“Are you threatening us?” The count’s eyes flash as he beckons to a group of nearby palace guards.
They march forward, shielding the count and other nobles from Jax.
The few Wyldings standing apart from the wall of guards quickly scurry away from us, to the safety of bows and blades and strength in numbers. Valoria and Hadrien’s three younger siblings, two boys and a girl, are among them.