Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(27)

Evander stops and follows my gaze. A mother deer and her two fawns prance out of the bushes.

His lips quirk as he studies me. “Hey. Sparrow.” He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me tighter than last night’s laced-up party dress. “I know you’re not afraid of deer. What’s really bothering you?”

I shake my head, unable to put my unease into words. Instead, I force a smile. “Just thinking about facing another Shade so soon. Especially since it’s probably grown stronger while we were worrying about Duke Bevan and the festival yesterday. But . . . we’ve got this, right?”

After last night, I’m all the more eager to move into those palace rooms.

“We’ve got this.” Evander presses his lips hard against mine, stealing my breath and sending heat through me. He draws back, grinning like he did the time we hiked to the top of a mountain just outside the city to catch the sunrise. “Now come on,” he says, giving my hair a playful tug. “We’ve got to find the Shade before Jax.”

I give him a look. “Did you two—?”

“Make a bet?” Evander winks, then draws his sword. “Absolutely.”

We march through the gate’s intense glow and emerge into a field of poppies bordered by distant mountains. The blossoms’ lurid red color reminds me once again of Master Nicanor. I shake my head to clear it, then touch the whistle around my neck as I search the shadows. The liquid fire potion sits on my belt beside the usual vials of blood, milk, and honey, its presence giving me confidence in the near darkness.

Out of the corner of my eye, something white flits across the field. I tense and grab my sword, Evander’s name on my lips. But it’s only a woman’s spirit trailed by several little ones in flowing dresses. I don’t see any death wounds, which means they were probably victims of a fever. The little ones stick close to their mother, gathering flowers to pass the time.

As Evander gazes around the field, I close my eyes, feeling for malice or unrest, any stain on our otherwise calm surroundings. The pathways in the Deadlands call to me with a restlessness deep in my bones that somehow pulls me toward the spot where I’ll find the spirit my client needs. And when it’s time to leave, the gates reel me in with a faint tugging around my navel that guides my steps until I see the familiar glow.

But I’ve never been able to sense a Shade, contrary to what Jax seems to think. And tonight is no different.

A long, shrill whistle blast cuts across the field, and my pulse quickens.

Evander and I sprint toward the sound, keeping to the footpath between the poppies where there aren’t any holes to fall in or tangled roots to trip over. The whistle seems to have come from the east, but I don’t feel the Deadlands pulling me in any particular direction, so we slow our pace to a jog as we wait for another sound, another sign.

The mountains loom ahead of us, their rough peaks blue-black and ringed with mist in the permanent twilight. As we draw nearer, a narrow ravine takes shape, cast entirely in shadow by two high slopes. It appears to be the only way forward, unless the landscape shifts or we find some grappling hooks for climbing the sheer mountain faces.

“What do we do now?” I pant, resting with my hands on my knees in the mountains’ shadow. “I wouldn’t go in there”—I point to the ravine—“for all the gold in Karthia.”

Evander opens his mouth to answer just as the whistle blares again, so close it’s almost on top of us.

“Master Cymbre? Simeon? Jax?” I shout into the ravine. They should be able to hear my call, given how close the whistle sounded.

But no one answers.

Maybe the landscape on the other side of the mountain has shifted from one valley to another, and our friends are suddenly miles away.

“I don’t like this,” Evander murmurs. But his nerves don’t show. His hands are steady on his blade as he peers into the ravine. “I hate to say it, but I don’t see any way around this. If they’re in trouble and we don’t hurry, we’ll never forgive ourselves.”

“Right.” I nod, even though gazing into the ravine makes my stomach flip. I hate not being able to see where I’m going. “You’re right, of course.” I clutch the liquid fire potion in one hand, and my sword in the other.

Evander starts toward the ravine, but I gently push my shoulder into his chest to hold him back. “Wait. Sparrows first.” I give him the best smile I can manage. There’s no way I’m letting him head into the uncertain darkness and danger before me when I’m the stronger pathfinder.

Slowly, I begin the descent, keeping a hand on the nearest cold rock wall for support. Tiny bits of stone tumble down ahead of me, jarred loose by my first tentative step. I try to listen for the moment the stones stop skittering, to gauge the distance to the bottom, but the darkness swallows up the sound of their fall much too quickly for my liking.

I count my steps, ten total, before Evander’s voice reaches me.

“Try to feel your way along the walls,” he calls as the blackness presses closer around me. “And remember to breathe, Sparrow. I’m right behind—”

His words are cut short by a jagged, guttural scream.

I whirl around, gazing upward to the ravine’s entrance.

Silhouetted against the twilight, Evander dangles in the air, a large, bony hand plunged right through his middle. Scarlet seeps from the wound, and as my head spins, as I fight not to fall to my knees at the sight, something makes the shrill whistle we heard before.