Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(22)
“Not the duchess?” I ask, surprised.
Master Cymbre shakes her head. “She’d rather not be raised again, now that her husband’s gone. I don’t understand it.” Her steel-blue eyes look faded, like whatever she’s seen lately has leeched the color from them. “She finally has a chance to live the way she never could, without that brute breathing down her neck and controlling her every move, and now she’d rather stay in the Deadlands. I suppose that’s one way to have peace, but—”
“What about Master Nicanor?” Simeon interrupts. “Do you know why he was in the Deadlands when he’s supposed to be retired? Or why his cottage was wrecked?”
“No. That’s why I wanted to talk to you all. To gather what you know.” Cymbre bows her head, a familiar gesture. She doesn’t want us to see her expression. “And I think it’s better that I look into his death alone. It may not be my job to keep you all safe anymore, but I intend to try.”
“Not a chance,” Jax growls, his crystal eyes flashing. “That Shade is mine. I’m coming to the Deadlands with you.”
“Me too.” Simeon crosses his arms. “As soon as the festival ends, we hunt.”
I glance at Evander, who shares my frown. Master Cymbre’s always had the answers to our problems. A book, a potion, a sharp but well-intentioned word of advice. Something about knowing she feels as lost as we do unsettles me worse than the memory of Nicanor’s death. I wonder if we were ready for the title of master. Or if anyone ever is.
“Evander?” Jax locks eyes with his friend, then turns to me. “Sparrow? What do you say? Five master necromancers against one Shade? I know it won’t bring Master Nicanor back or help us find our missing duke, but . . .” He grins darkly. “It’ll feel damn good.”
“We’re in,” Evander and I agree at the same time. The red, pink, and white flowers spelling out a warning in Cymbre’s cottage flash to mind, but I don’t mention them. No one needs another reminder of the danger.
Master Cymbre twists the end of her braid around her fingers, a habit that’s probably far older than me. “I still don’t know.” If anything, she looks more troubled than she did before we promised to help. “None of you are allowed to die before me, understand, unless I’m killing you myself for disobeying orders. That said . . .” She gazes at each of us in turn. “We can hunt together tomorrow, at dusk. That gives you each time to change your minds and back out if you should come to your senses. Agreed?”
I exchange a glance with Simeon, and we both nod. Then Evander does, too. Jax makes a grunting noise, his way of accepting terms he doesn’t like.
As if also in answer, a scream tears through the courtyard from somewhere behind us.
“Hear that?” Jax cocks his head, grinning at Evander and elbowing him in the ribs. “That’s the sound of your mother and Prince Hadrien making sweet love, Master Crowther.”
Master Cymbre shakes her head, scowling at Jax, and turns toward the sound. Her expression quickly changes, her eyes widening.
Evander and I whirl around in unison. Stumbling into the courtyard by way of the garden archway is a Shade, one the size and height of an average man—or it would be, if it wasn’t hunched over, its bony knuckles dragging the ground as it shambles toward the party.
Drawing his sword, Evander charges toward a group of young nobles cowering on the far side of the bonfire in the courtyard’s center. They’re pressed against one of the palace walls, too stunned and full of wine to flee the Shade that’s alternately shuffling around and gazing off into the night, no doubt seeking a gate to the Deadlands.
Jax, Simeon, and I spring into action, guiding confused and frightened people toward the palace doors as the monster begins its hunt.
It’s a new Shade, judging by the way it still looks and smells like a hunched, rotting corpse: its face, only vaguely human, is sunken and skeletal, with black holes where its eyes should be. Its skin is ashen, dangling in tatters, its limbs in various states of decay. I have to fight not to gag as it turns toward me and seems to meet my gaze with its empty eye sockets. Then it shrieks, its jaw unhinging as it reveals a mouth full of sharp yellow teeth that devour bodies and spirits alike.
The creature bounds toward me, passing Evander and the frightened nobles, giving the bonfire a wide berth. Then the wind shifts and the Shade pauses, sniffing the air in the young nobles’ direction. Its cracked lips curl with what can only be thirst. Releasing a snarl, the monster changes course and stalks back toward them.
The more corpses and spirits Shades devour, the taller and stronger they become. This party will be like a buffet for the hungry creature, and then we’ll have an even bigger, harder-to-kill problem on our hands.
Heart hammering, I feel instinctively for my blade, but my hand closes over layers of soft skirt in place of my weapon. I don’t have time for this. Evander needs backup now. Glancing hurriedly around for something sharp, my gaze lands on the feast tables. I grab a knife from an empty platter just as Jax and Simeon run to Evander’s side, their blades drawn.
“Get the Wyldings into the palace!” Master Cymbre shouts over the din. “We need fire!”
Someone cries out. Then, on the ground near the snarling creature, a figure crumples in the grass. Some poor soul is dead.
Raising his sword, Evander attempts to create a barrier between the stunned Wylding relatives and the Shade. It releases a low growl, like a hound relishing the moment before a kill. Its skin, cracked and oozing, reeks of decay so strongly that the stench assaults me from halfway across the courtyard.