Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(24)
“Another day’s work, indeed. You were amazing, Sparrow,” Master Cymbre says shakily.
My friends echo her. And when Valoria kneels beside me and wordlessly throws her arms around me, I know for certain it was worth the risk.
Moments later, a few of the Wyldings poke their heads out of doors and windows, then send their staff to begin clearing up the tremendous mess.
“Look.” A fair-haired boy, one of the Wylding servants, sifts cautiously through the Shade’s ashes and holds up a gleaming chunk of gold. Even from several feet away, I can tell it’s a signet ring. “This belonged to Duke Bevan,” the boy says slowly, his brow furrowing. “But . . .”
Simeon locks eyes with me, alarmed. “How did the duke become a Shade?”
VIII
The nobles in the courtyard stare at me and my friends with a mixture of fear and dislike. The same nobles who, an hour earlier, merrily greeted us like old friends. Only Lyda Crowther doesn’t shrink from us, waving to let us know she’s all right before turning to help a girl in a party dress who’s limping. With a last look at Evander, she guides the child indoors.
One man whispers to a few of his companions, then steps forward. From where I sit, he looks like a giant bat, tall and gaunt in his black dress robes.
“That’s Count Rykiel,” Valoria whispers to me.
“Let me try to understand what’s happened here,” the count says, making each word loud and slow—no doubt for the benefit of those listening at the palace windows. “Duke Bevan went missing in Dyrn City. And we sent necromancers to find him. But they failed. Then the duke turns up here, many miles from home—”
“As a Shade,” another man finishes from behind the count. “Almost like someone wanted him to become a monster.” He locks his evergreen eyes on Master Cymbre, who presses her lips together like she’s holding back a retort. “Like someone wanted to use him as a weapon, and planned to unleash him when the palace was busy and crowded.”
Count Rykiel nods. “And let’s not forget, you were late to the party, Cymbre.”
The words spread a chill across my skin. The lack of emotion in the count’s voice tells me he really believes the woman I’ve known for most of my life is capable of murder.
“You’re supposed to keep control over the Dead. What happened?” A dark-haired young woman moves to the count’s side, turning Duke Bevan’s signet ring over in her shaking hands, making me wonder if she’s one of his descendants. “Let me guess. Are our newest master necromancers starved for business?” She glares at us through streaming eyes. “Did you set up this attack so we’d hire you to raise the victims, knowing we can afford to pay a pretty fortune to have our families together again? Perhaps I’m mistaken, but then, you’ll have to spell out your demands a bit more clearly.”
“Here’s a demand,” Jax growls, sauntering toward the young woman until they’re practically nose-to-nose. “Shut your mouth.”
Valoria sucks in a breath, and my pulse quickens as I follow her gaze to Count Rykiel.
“Are you threatening us?” The count’s eyes flash as he beckons to a group of nearby palace guards.
They march forward, shielding the count and other nobles from Jax.
The few Wyldings standing apart from the wall of guards quickly scurry away from us, to the safety of bows and blades and strength in numbers. Valoria and Hadrien’s three younger siblings, two boys and a girl, are among them.
But Valoria doesn’t follow. She loops her arm through mine, making it clear that she’s not about to leave the six of us—me, Evander, Cymbre, Danial, Jax, and Simeon—any more alone than we already are.
“No one around here is thinking logically,” Valoria mutters. “Master Cymbre is the only necromancer who went to Dyrn City.” She raises her voice like she wants the rest of the palace to hear her. “Assuming the duke became a Shade, and she’s to blame, she doesn’t have the strength to drag him all the way here. And if she paid someone to help her—which sounds even more ridiculous—where would she have hidden the duke that no one would’ve heard him screeching before the party?”
“Even if Cymbre were capable of something like that, which I highly doubt she is . . .”
Prince Hadrien emerges from the palace and sweeps into the courtyard, turning to face us without a single glance at his relatives. “The other necromancers had nothing to do with it. They’ve been enjoying the party all night, just like the rest of you.”
I never thought I’d be this glad to hear the prince’s voice.
“I trust our mages. Every last one.” Hadrien puts one hand on Master Cymbre’s shoulder, the other on Evander’s. “And so should you.”
But the prince’s relatives don’t seem willing to take his word on the matter.
“Do you have anything to say for yourselves?” the dark-haired young woman with Duke Bevan’s ring sneers. “Or will you just let the prince and princess speak for you?”
“I have a few words,” Simeon shoots back. “You can all go straight—”
“I can’t believe this,” Evander interrupts, glowering at the many accusing faces directed our way. “Sparrow just saved your lives, damn near getting herself killed in the process. How can you think we had anything to do with what happened here?”