Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(18)

“I don’t see what Master Cymbre will be able to do, anyway. She’s not a bloodhound.” Evander frowns into his tea. “People seem to think that just because we raise the dead, we can solve all their problems when the Dead don’t act exactly the way they want.”

Everyone nods. It’s not the first time we’ve complained about this.

“So what are we supposed to do about Master Nicanor’s funeral? Delay it until she returns?” I wonder aloud. “And hunting down the Shade that—?”

“Sparrow. We have more to worry about than just some Shade.” Simeon runs a hand through his shaggy hair. The circles under his eyes are dark as the bruises we used to give each other at sword practice.

Even Jax looks ill, almost like he did last winter after beating the black fever. “We went to Master Nicanor’s cottage early this morning, to find something nice to bury him in.” His voice is taut as he fights to keep it from wavering. “The place was wrecked. Papers everywhere. A smashed plate of supper on the floor. Scratch marks on the doorframe.”

I shiver again. “Could it have been a vandal? A farmer’s son?” I have to ask, even if it’s unlikely. After all, Master Nicanor had just started tending the massive graveyard outside Grenwyr City, the one used by merchants and wealthy farmers. “A couple of boys messing around, looking for spare coins when they saw Master Nicanor had gone out for the evening?”

“Nice try, sister.” Simeon leans forward. “But I don’t think so. I can’t think of anything that would cause Master Nicanor to go into the Deadlands alone. I think he was taken against his will.”

“Exactly. Think about it: Who would he have needed to raise so badly that it couldn’t have waited until Cymbre could come with him?” Jax demands. “Why wouldn’t he have just asked us to raise the person for him?”

“Okay. Let’s assume someone forced him to go to the Deadlands against his will.” Evander’s eyes are narrowed in thought. “Why did he come out alone, then? What happened to the person who took him there? Everyone knows Shades will devour anything in sight, so . . .” At the look on Simeon’s face, he loses the thread of his words.

“You don’t have to watch what you say around us. We know what the Shade did to Master Nicanor.” Simeon grimaces, and I reach behind Jax to pat his shoulder. “We were in our rooms at the palace when they brought him up. We saw the—ah—”

“Mangled body,” Jax finishes for him, unflinching. An outsider probably wouldn’t guess he’s in pain, but the way he’s quietly grinding his teeth tells me he’s just managed to channel it into quiet fury. “So I say we hunt this damned Shade. Today.”

Between the flowers on Cymbre’s table and the glimpse I had of a giant Shade in the Deadlands grove, I’m not sure we should go anywhere right now. “Does anyone have a plan, then? One that doesn’t involve us all dying?”

Evander looks up, his gaze unreadable. “Me,” he says simply. “I’ll cut it to pieces, and then you all will burn it.”

No one’s better with a sword than Evander. There’s no denying it.

“We both saw it. The monster that killed Nicanor.” I describe what I saw in the shadows, how quickly it moved. “It won’t stand a chance against four of us, though.”

I hope I sound more confident than I feel.

“If we can catch it, that is,” Evander whispers.

Simeon leaps to his feet and starts pacing. “I don’t think any of us should go into the Deadlands until Master Cymbre’s back. Killing the Shade won’t explain why Master Nicanor’s cottage was torn up. Maybe Cymbre can help us get answers.”

“There’s so much about this I don’t like,” Evander agrees. “And Cymbre said to wait in her note. She’ll be back tomorrow, in time for the Festival of the Face of Cloud.”

Jax catches my eye and shrugs, his powerful shoulders bunching. “I still say we kill it now. If we wait for the Festival of Cloud, what’s to keep us from waiting for the Festival of Moon three days later?”

I almost grin. He’s right, there’s a festival in Karthia at least once a week, and not just for Vaia’s five faces. The king observes all the festivals started before his reign, celebrations honoring everything from the sea to marriages to red fruits. With the Dead walking among us, reminding us of our mortality—and their very presence meaning a Shade could attack at any time—it’s no wonder we need an excuse to throw a raucous party every few days. The Festival of Olive and Tomato is actually my favorite, but Vaia’s festivals are always grandest.

“Cymbre might be mad for a bit, but she’ll thank us when she calms down,” Jax insists, drawing me back to the present. “This monster murdered her partner, my mentor, damn it!” After a moment of quiet, he asks more calmly, “What do you think, Sparrow?”

“I . . .” Three pairs of blue eyes watch me as I stall, thinking furiously. Like Jax, I think slaying and burning the monster will ease a little of everyone’s pain—that is, if it doesn’t kill us first. But Evander and Simeon have a point: There’s more to what’s happening than just a Shade, and Cymbre will help us figure it out. “I say we wait for Cymbre. That way we can attend the festival.” I force a grin. “One last chance to eat, drink, and generally make fools of ourselves, just in case we don’t all make it back from Shade-hunting alive.”