Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(26)

“No room for mistakes,” I murmur. “All we have is now.”

The necromancer’s ultimate sacrifice, always in the back of our minds.

“Exactly. And it would be the worst mistake of my life not to spend every day I’m given with you and the Dead who need me.”

He pulls me tightly against him, and for a moment we say nothing, united by our love of the job and so much more.

“What are you getting at?” I say at last, drawing back to look into his eyes again.

Evander smiles, grimly determined. “We’re going to move to our rooms at the palace, whether my mother likes it or not. We’ve put off starting our lives together long enough on her account.” He traces a thumb along the edge of my jaw, making me all the more impatient for his kiss.

“But what about your dream of seeing other shores? What about the island?” There’s no way I could go with him now, not with everything that’s been going on.

“Avenging Master Nicanor’s death and finding his killer before anyone else gets hurt is far more important.” He tilts his head. “You of all people should know—”

“Of course I know.” For the first time tonight, my grin doesn’t feel forced or unnatural. “I just wanted to hear you say it. But, Van . . .” I put a finger to his lips to keep him from interrupting. “Something doesn’t feel right.” I glance to the spot where the Shade burned, a dark stain on the gray flagstones, then back to Evander. “What if we’re up against something we can’t handle?”

“Odessa. Sparrow. I’ve met a few people who couldn’t handle you, but never the other way around.” Evander holds up his hands, and I link my fingers through his. “It’s the killer who should be worried. Not you.” He leans forward until our lips almost touch. “So after tomorrow evening’s trip to the Deadlands, we’ll head to the manor to pack our things, and then it’s off to the palace. What do you say? One last job before our life together really begins?”

“One last job,” I echo.

Evander smiles hungrily, and pulls me toward our palace rooms, the ones I’ve always wished we’d use. “Consider tonight a practice run.”

*

The next day, the five of us wait on a hill overlooking the sea, just out of sight of the palace, watching for the last smoldering ember of sun to dip beneath the horizon. For the gates to shine their seductive blue, calling us into the Deadlands.

Jax paces restlessly over a bed of wildflowers—late-season marigolds. With no graves in sight, they aren’t a warning from the Deadlands of grief to come, but perhaps a sign that nature somehow understands our sorrow and wants to acknowledge it.

Swinging his sword like he’s practicing for a sparring match, Jax grumbles, “It’s not fair.” He turns, slicing upward at an imaginary monster. “Evander’s got Sparrow, which means he’ll find the Shade first. And he actually saw the blasted thing, so he’ll recognize it when he sees it. The rest of us”—he pauses, gesturing to Simeon and Master Cymbre with his blade—“are about to have the most boring stroll of our lives. I don’t see why we have to split up.”

“To cover more ground,” Master Cymbre answers, never taking her eyes from the sea. “You know how vast the Deadlands are. Now, does everyone have a whistle? And the liquid fire potions I bought us? And enough honey, in case you get hungry?”

Simeon wiggles his eyebrows and winks at me, but I know he’s as grateful as I am that Master Cymbre’s thought of everything.

As the sun disappears, Jax calls, “There’s our ride to the Deadlands!” He points his blade toward a glimmer of blue on the crest of the next hill.

We begin to climb, a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach growing stronger with every step. Even once we kill the Shade, we won’t have all the answers. We won’t know what brought Master Nicanor into the Deadlands that night. Or whom.

No one breathes a word until we’re near the gate.

“Whistle if you even think you sense the Shade,” Master Cymbre commands, turning to Evander and me. She’ll be traveling with Jax and Simeon, acting as navigator. She’s not me, but she’s better than either of them at sensing the Deadlands’ subtle shifts. When we nod, she gives us a tense smile and murmurs, “Well, good luck.”

She kisses my cheek, then Evander’s, and strides through the gate.

“Just so you know, I’m going to find the monster and burn it before you’re two steps out of the gate.” Jax slaps Evander on the back, and Evander punches him in return.

They can joke around all they like, but I can’t bring myself to join in. We’ve all watched the masters kill a Shade or two during training, and now I’ve fought one on my own. But the Shades that have lurked in the Deadlands longest are far stronger than newly made ones like Duke Bevan from last night. The oldest Shades are towering, terrible corpses rotted past recognition, things that stalk the deepest corners of a nightmare.

Simeon rolls his eyes at Jax and Evader’s bizarre male punching ritual, then gives me a quick hug. “See you in a blink, sister.”

He and Jax disappear through the gate, leaving Evander and me alone on the hill. I sense something staring at us from the berry bushes and catch sight of a creature’s liquid brown eyes. They blink once, then vanish. Reminded of the way the Shade watched us from the shadows not long ago, I grab Evander’s hand and pull him back before he steps into the gate.