I press my ear to the door and smile at the faint snoring coming from the other side. There’s no point waking him to help with the search. After all, the king’s guards have probably combed the palace from top to bottom while I slept off the potion and wine. Even if the guards have already found the missing Dead, I need Valoria to know that I tried. I’m not even sure why I care, only that I do.
Hurrying in the direction of her tower, I don’t take notice of the figure striding toward me from the base of the nearest stairwell until he’s practically touching me.
I gasp, inhaling the scents of rosemary and rue.
“Sparrow,” King Wylding says, gripping my shoulder with a gloved hand, “just the mage I was looking for. How are you faring?”
Though I can’t see his face, the way he squeezes my shoulder and tilts his head seems almost paternal.
I stand taller, putting my hand over his gloved one. “I’ll be all right.”
“Good. That’s good. I can always count on you, Sparrow, and that makes me the luckiest man in the kingdom.” He clears his throat and asks, “Did you see anything strange last night? Anyone who doesn’t belong here?”
I’m tempted to name Meredy and her pet grizzly. But the entire Crowther family has a permanent invitation to all palace festivities. And after meeting her, I doubt Meredy’s capable of the abduction of several nobles. I shake my head.
“Most of my kin, living and Dead, are keeping to their rooms today at my request. I’ve stationed extra guards outside their chambers, just as I’ve done for yours.” King Wylding was a bear of a man in life, one whose first death happened in battle too young, and his massive form is intimidating as he towers over me. Yet the rapid rattle of breath in his chest suggests that, for the first time in memory, he’s afraid. “Several of my relatives never made it to the celebration, and the guards can’t find a trace of any intruders.”
“I’ll search the Deadlands for you in case they’ve been killed,” I say. “Master Cymbre will accompany me.” I imagine a troubled look behind the king’s dark mask and wish I could better reassure him. “It might help if we could figure out why anyone would do this—for a hefty ransom?”
There are certainly a number of people in the Ashes desperate enough to attempt a kidnapping, but coming to the palace is a bolder move than any of them have attempted before. And then there’s what happened to Duke Bevan, though I’m not sure how the two events are related. The duke had plenty of enemies, as Jax pointed out, while I don’t think anyone had a grudge against Valoria’s mother or the rest of the Wyldings.
“Perhaps it is gold they want,” King Wylding says at last. “But all these madmen will get is the noose, once we find them.” He squeezes my shoulders. “I know you’ll help the guards bring them to justice and return my family. You’re a treasure to the Dead, my Sparrow.”
“Thank you, Majesty.” I bow, and heat creeps into my face. My head feels clearer than it has in days as I mull over what might have happened to the nobles. And a clear head is what I’ve been waiting for, which means it’s time.
Time for one last trip to the Deadlands.
“I shouldn’t delay any longer. I’m off to find Master Cymbre and begin the search.” I give the king another bow, this one of farewell, though he doesn’t know it. Now if I’m killed in the Deadlands, I’ll have the perfect cover. And even though I have no intention of knocking on Master Cymbre’s cottage door before I jump through the nearest gateway, I can’t be punished for the transgression if I’m dead.
Since when do you care about what’s forbidden by anyone? Evander teased me on the palace’s windswept hillside mere weeks ago. If only he could see me now, shattering rules at every turn for the sake of revenge.
“If you would, please tell Princess Valoria where I’ve gone and what I’m doing,” I say before continuing on.
“Sparrow!” the king calls, jarring me from my thoughts. When I turn back, he rasps, “Give Master Cymbre my best. Tell her to stay strong.”
I hurry away, marveling at how much the king cares for each of his necromancers, wondering how many more losses he and I will have to endure. How many more losses it would take to push him toward madness or the sort of carelessness that leads to becoming a Shade. I shiver as an autumn breeze hugs my shoulders.
Things are changing all around me, whether the king realizes it or not, and I’m afraid neither he nor anyone else seems to have the power to stop it.
The only thing I can prevent is any more death at the hands of the powerful Shade, so I quicken my pace on the brisk jog to the apothecary. After peeking through the windows and seeing no trace of Lyda, I buy enough liquid fire to light up the night sky over Grenwyr City, then stride back into the brisk afternoon in search of a gate.
Today, the city’s usually vibrant colors are muted—the pink flowering vines spilling over a shop window, the blue domed roofs of Death’s temple and convent, the yellow and orange sun-washed walls of craftsmen’s houses, the occasional tree full of white autumn blossoms bearing symbols of beauty and peace—they’re all paler than I remember, as if I’m seeing them through a foggy window.
Gateways to the Deadlands are nearly impossible to spot in daylight, even to a trained eye. But as I walk deeper into the warren of houses and shops, away from the sea, a telltale pull around my middle draws me toward an alleyway between a tavern and a boarded-up bakery just a few blocks from the Ashes.
Not exactly where I’d hoped to end up. Especially when I peek down the alleyway and the tugging sensation grows stronger, guiding me to the faintest blue haze that I can only see when I squint and tilt my head back.
Of course the gate has to be right on top of the tavern’s stinking trash heap. Pinching my nose, I place a foot on the soft, warm pile of discarded vegetables, rotting meat, and moldy black lumps that remain a mystery. The ooze at the center of the trash heap sucks at my knees as I climb higher. I’m going to sink through the middle if I’m not careful. Gripping the wall for balance, I put one foot in the gate and hoist myself up as the rubbish wobbles and rotten food rolls down the pile.
Breathing hard, I crawl into the solid tunnel opening.
There was no time to take a last look at the sky. No time to think up words of goodbye I could have said to Jax. Simeon. Valoria. Kasmira. Danial. Master Cymbre. Even Hadrien. To wonder why I feel so sick when I realize the list of names I’m leaving behind is so much longer than the list of ones I’m going to avenge.
But I made a promise. Evander’s and Master Nicanor’s lives will be the last this monster ever takes. Jax, Simeon, Cymbre, and all the other necromancers will be able to raise the dead again without the fear of losing the only life they get.
I can’t think of any greater cause worth dying for.