“Ladies and gentlemen of Grenwyr City,” Hadrien shouts in a booming voice, spreading his arms to the crowd and drawing my attention away from Lyda. “Welcome! I, Prince Hadrien Wylding, have summoned you all here today for a demonstration of the greatest importance.”
Softer, to one of the guards, he snaps, “Drop the cover.”
As the sheet is whisked away from the cage, nearly everyone in the crowd gasps. Six shrouded Dead are cowering inside, gags tied over their masks to muffle their shouts. Two of them wear tall golden crowns set with five gems each, for Vaia’s five beautiful sets of eyes: a glittering sapphire and emerald, a smoky quartz crystal, polished jasper, and turquoise.
The king and queen.
“Now listen up!” Hadrien yells to make himself heard over the shouts of the people. A few citizens tentatively step forward, and the guards take aim with their bows. Something tightens in my chest at the sight of Karthians facing senseless murder, but Hadrien holds up a hand to still the archers’ volley.
“Necromancers have been allowing the Dead to rule over Karthia for far too long. Have you ever wondered why the Dead have to be slain and brought back every few years? Why they have to wear those shrouds?” Hadrien pauses for effect. “It’s all to keep them from turning into the monsters they are inside.”
The crowd is nearly silent now. I clench my fists at my sides, shaking with a hatred I’ve never felt toward anyone but the Shade that killed Evander. I don’t know what Master Cymbre would do right now, but since she can’t give me a better plan, I’m going to shove my dagger so deep into Hadrien’s chest that he collapses on the spot.
“The Dead become monsters because it’s nature’s way of telling us they should never be brought back to the land of the living.” Hadrien’s eyes flash in triumph as he says it, though I don’t see anyone in the crowd nodding in agreement. “The necromancers’ magic is a dark magic. A corruption of the natural order. The Dead belong in the Deadlands. And Karthia belongs to the living!”
Silence blankets the crowd. Many people’s mouths hang open, while others turn away, heading back down the hill to their homes and their jobs.
“You don’t believe me?” Hadrien shouts at them. “Then allow me to show you the monsters that have been walking among us for far too long!”
He nods to one of the guards, who removes the king’s gag.
“Hadrien,” King Wylding says in a low voice.
It takes every ounce of control I have not to reveal myself. To run to the cage, to press my face against the bars and promise the king I’ll get him out of this somehow. I fumble to get a grip on my dagger without anyone noticing.
“Please, don’t do this,” the king continues in a shaky version of his usual rasp. “If you want me dead, if you really want me gone forever, then kill me in private. Burn my bones so my spirit has no home. But don’t make me a Shade right here, not where I could hurt my people. Their lives matter far more than mine.”
“You don’t care about their lives,” Hadrien snarls. “If you cared, you’d have stayed dead!”
“You think so?” the king says, anger warming his voice. “I thought you were smarter than this, Hadrien. But since you seem to need a reminder: I don’t enjoy being run through with a sword every few years. I don’t like being pulled from the peace of the Deadlands to this demanding, exhausting, messy life!” The king grips the bars of the cage with his gloved hands. “But I come back to Karthia because I have a duty to my people. No one knows them like I do. No one loves this land like I do. You think you can rule better than me after a mere eighteen years in the world?”
As the king and Hadrien growl at each other, I finally pull my dagger free of its sheath. It’s hard to tell through the narrow slits of my mask whether anyone spotted me, but no one’s coming after me, so I think I’m safe. I make my way to Hadrien’s side, steeling myself for what I’m about to do.
The time for questions is over. I don’t want to hear another word from him. He’s not the prince I thought he was.
Hadrien turns his back on the king and shouts something else to the crowd. I’m too focused on moving with him to pick out the words. I keep close to his side, with just enough room to hold the blade between us. As I’m about to thrust the dagger into his ribs, a guard pushes me out of the way.
I stumble back a few paces, winding up beside the cage.
“See the monster who was making your laws and watching over you?” Hadrien thunders.
“Hadrien, no!” the king cries.
Two more guards reach between the bars, ripping off the king’s shroud.
For a moment, I can see a faint impression of the handsome warrior King Wylding was in life. Though he’s shrunken in stature, though his shaggy dark hair is brittle and his skin is waxy, pulled tightly over his too-thin face and limbs, his brown eyes are as bright and alive as Hadrien’s. Then the change begins. His mouth grows wider, his teeth sharpening. His bright eyes shrink back into his skull until they’re nothing but sightless black pits. His remaining flesh seems to wither before me, turning gray and stretching even tighter over his skeletal frame that grows taller, wider, suggesting great strength.
He throws back his head and howls, scratching the cage floor with his bony fingers, and it’s all I can do to stay standing.
His eternal reign is over.
The other Dead in the cage writhe, either in pain or fear. I can’t be sure. I drop my gaze, sickened by the monster wearing the king’s crown. The cries rippling through the crowd make what I’ve just witnessed seem even worse.
“The king loved his people, Prince Hadrien!” a merchant shouts from near the front of the crowd. “He fed soup to the poor and brought gifts to new mothers and wrote poems for the harvest festival! How could you do this to him? To us?”
It’s everything I wish I could say. Instead, I press my lips together to keep from screaming and concentrate on getting close to Hadrien again. I don’t want the guards to see the knife slide into his ribs until it’s too late for anyone to stop me or a healer to intervene. If I can attack soon, there’s still a chance I can save the queen.
The caged Shade howls, then crunches down on something. Many people scream. The king-monster must be feeding on the other Dead trapped in there with it.
“Remove the rest of their shrouds,” Hadrien calls to one of the guards. “And start passing out torches to the living.”
Raising his voice, he shouts at the retreating crowd, “You see? That monster was your king! This is what the Dead all become, if given the chance. But we can fight them, my friends! Together. With me on the throne, a living king. We’ll close Death’s convents and forbid anyone else from becoming a necromancer! We’ll reopen the temples of Change and finally thrive!”
There are too many guards at Hadrien’s side now. For the moment, I’m forced to clutch my dagger and glare at him from several paces away.