Dropping her hand, I shift my gaze to Lysander and the bloody mess he’s making of the rogue necromancer. I can’t believe Meredy’s trying to make me feel even more rotten than I already do after I came all this way to save her.
“I didn’t have to come at all,” I say softly. “And you don’t have to thank me, but how about being glad I’m here?”
“Why would I be glad?” Meredy’s breaths are becoming more rapid and shallow by the moment, but she’s not as far gone as I thought. If she’s busy arguing, I have this wild hope she won’t suddenly give up and die on me. “You can’t bring Firiel back. She’s made that clear. And you can’t stop me from dying. You’ve been no help at all.”
“You’re right,” I mutter. Part of me wants to give her a good shake despite the blood trickling out of her. “And without my help, you wasted all your money and got yourself killed for someone who didn’t want to live again, even if it meant a second chance at life with you.”
Meredy’s next words are almost too soft to hear. It’s only by watching the shape of her lips that I understand. “Go. Please, go away. I didn’t need you before, and I certainly don’t need you now.”
Heat rushes to my face. “Way to overestimate yourself, sweetheart.”
I expect another biting remark. But the spark of life is leeching from her eyes, swift as the sun once it touches the horizon. I scoop her into my arms, careful to avoid the deep gash in her side that will be her death wound if we don’t get to a healer soon.
Swallowing hard, I tear my gaze from the constellations of freckles dusting her cheeks and pray to Vaia yet again. This time, I beg that I won’t have to watch this girl, this echo of Evander, die in my arms.
I wish Jax and Simeon would hurry up. If they’re not back soon, I’m leaving without them. Meredy’s life depends on it.
I carry her over to Lysander, who’s still grinding the dead necromancer’s bones, and gingerly lay the now-unconscious girl over the bear’s back. Hopefully he’ll be willing to carry both of us to a healer if I ask politely.
As I grab hold of the bear’s loose chain, Simeon and Jax crash into the clearing, sweaty and winded and covered in scratches.
“We need to go. Now,” I shout. “What kept you?”
“The one called Vane. He got away,” Jax pants. “But the woman wasn’t as lucky. She was bleeding badly, so it was easy to pick up her trail.”
“And is she—?”
“I killed her.” Simeon’s face is eerily solemn, and I realize this is the first time he’s taken the life of a living person. “The whole way back, we’ve been trying to work out the meaning of what she said before she died.”
I frown at them. “Which was?”
Simeon and Jax exchange a glance, and Jax answers, “There will be others.”
XVIII
Three vials of calming potion first thing in the morning are all it takes for me to feel comfortably numb about yesterday’s rescue. To stop my hands from shaking, so I look almost normal when I make my way to the palace’s dining hall.
I haven’t even reached the marble stairs when I bump into Jax and Simeon, both wearing their swords and necromancer’s belts. “What are you two—?”
“Looking for you,” Simeon chimes in quickly, grinning at his own timing. “We ran into each other after breakfast and decided now’s the time to go looking for the rogue necromancer, Vane. We’ll start in the Ashes, since that’s where Meredy met him. If we wait too much longer, he might leave the city.”
“If he knows what’s good for him, he’s already gone,” Jax adds, his crystal-blue eyes flashing. There’s a stain on his tunic, something that dried sticky and shiny just beneath his master necromancer’s pin. He rubs it absently.
“What happened there?” I ask.
“Your friend Valoria spilled her breakfast on me.” He grins, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen someone jump that much at a simple hello.”
“And in other news,” Simeon cuts in, his voice rough from lack of sleep, “Danial might be moving back to Oslea thanks to our recent foray into the Deadlands.”
“What?” I put an arm around his shoulders.
“After all that’s happened, he thinks it’s too dangerous.” Simeon rolls his eyes, but the gesture does nothing to hide his pain. “I told him about rescuing Evander’s sister, and he told me to leave the Shade-baiter to you and Jax. He said if I don’t, I might lose him for good.”
Jax spits on the polished tile floor, showing exactly what he thinks of that.
“I shouldn’t have asked you to come,” I say quickly. “I knew Danial was scared for you. I knew he didn’t want you going to the Deadlands, but—”
“You did the right thing. I won’t abandon my family, not even for the handsomest face in Karthia.” With a great shuddering breath, he seems to bury his misery deep and return to his usual good-natured self. “So, are we going to stand around discussing our feelings all day, or do you want to go get your sword and join us, sister?”
“You both realize Vane is probably hiding in the Deadlands somewhere, right?” As I say it, both Jax and Simeon frown slightly, and I relent. “We can check the Ashes first, though. I’ll be quick,” I promise as I spin around and run back to my room.
I grab my sword off the desk, and right as I pull it from its scabbard to check it over from yesterday’s fight, someone knocks briskly at the door.
“Simeon! I said I’d be right back.”
But the knock comes again.
Meredy Crowther is in my doorway, wearing Evander’s smile, holding out a bunch of fiery poppies whose bright petals mean consolation. “Thank you,” she says tersely as she steps past me, entering my room again without invitation, “for saving my life.”
She thrusts the flowers at me, and I take them with my free hand, studying her over the poppies. She looks almost as pale as she did when she was bleeding from the Shade-baiters’ attack, but her wounds are healed and her hair is braided into a neat crown.
“These are nice,” I mutter, bringing the flowers to my nose. “Really. Thanks.” It took courage to come here after the things we said to each other. I’ll give her that. But I have no idea why she’s still standing here, looking at me expectantly. “So . . . are you staying in Grenwyr City for—?”
I feel something scurry over my hand. Several somethings. A shiny black bug drops from the bouquet onto my boot, and I stifle the urge to shout as I stamp on it. But when another bug crawls up my arm, I curse and throw the flowers across the room.
A stalk of deep purple foxglove, the symbol of insincerity, falls from the middle of the bouquet.
“Death be damned, these are infested! Where’d you find them? A dung heap?”
Meredy’s face flushes as she stamps on every bug she spots. “So burn them,” she mutters. “I wouldn’t have come here at all if my mother hadn’t dragged me the whole way and insisted I thank you. If you ask me, you don’t deserve any thanks. I wish you’d left me there to die . . .” She squishes the last bug, then frowns at me.
For some reason, the sight makes my temples throb.