Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(31)
The fist of grief wrapping around my neck silences me for a moment, and the shadow of Evander on the bed flickers beneath my gaze.
“They’re having your funeral tomorrow,” I continue shakily, “and I’m sorry, but I’ll have to close my eyes when they put your coffin in the ground. It’s too much like saying goodbye. And I can’t do that. I won’t.”
Evander was a necromancer, a cruel little voice in the back of my mind points out. He’s gone, no matter what you think you’re seeing.
I wonder if it’s like Master Cymbre says—that our spirits travel on to whatever comes next, the place beyond the Deadlands where all spirits eventually go. But for all I know, Evander blinked out of existence when the Shade sliced through him.
The shadow Evander on the bed flickers again and disappears.
A low groan escapes my throat.
“You know what else isn’t fair about all this?” I say, my voice hollow in the empty room. “You left Karthia without me, right after you’d decided to stay.”
And I can never follow, on foot or by ship.
I run my hands through my hair, clawing at my scalp, trying to silence the wretched voice in my mind that keeps getting louder.
For the rest of my life, I could journey into the unknown world, small or vast or whatever it may be, and not find a trace of Evander anywhere but in my head.
But the only place I want to go now is the Deadlands, where I like walking the paths. Where I have unfinished business.
“And here’s what hurts worst of all,” I whisper to the empty bed where just nights ago, Evander kissed me until our lips were warm and swollen. “You’ll never hear any of this, because you’ve vanished and I have to carry on alone.”
Without my best friend. Without half of my heart.
“I wish you could tell me where to go from here, Evander.” I slump in the chair. My head feels too heavy to be supported by my body any longer. “Or how to get my heart to stop repeating your name.”
I touch the two gold pins on my worn black tunic, two sets of Vaia’s blue eyes, the eyes of Death immortalized in sapphires. My own necromancer’s pin and Evander’s. I can’t remember who gave it to me, but I’m never taking his pin off so long as I wear mine.
Everything I do is for both of us now.
X
The night of Evander’s funeral, as those finished paying their respects are leaving the graveyard for Lyda’s manor, I climb to the highest point in Grenwyr City. Partly because I can’t stand the thought of ever setting foot in the Crowthers’ home again, even to collect the few belongings from my drawer, and partly because the steep walk reminds me of how much Evander loved to hike. Besides, I can’t go back to my palace room to sleep. Not until Danial delivers more of the bittersweet potions that lull me into a dreamless haze where I float for hours, high above the nightmares’ grasping fingers, sometimes watched over by that silent shadow of Evander that only seems to appear when there’s potion in my veins.
Fastening my cloak tighter to guard against the bitter night’s wind, I sweep left out of the graveyard’s main gate, away from the fading murmurs and sobs of the mourners. There’s a single hill that peeks up above the palace and offers a bird’s-eye view of the sea and the entire city, and that’s where I’m headed.
King Wylding hates the unnamed hill, because he doesn’t believe anything should be taller or more imposing than his family’s ruling seat. I’m not sure I like it either. It makes me think nature wanted to remind the king that there will always be some things outside his control, just as some things are maddeningly outside mine.
Jax and Simeon follow me up the hill at a distance, trailed by Danial, who’s still in his healer’s whites and who gasps for breath like he’s never hiked before. He comes from the flattest part of Oslea, where there aren’t many hills to speak of.
Behind Danial, so far down the path that the babble of their voices is barely noticeable, Kasmira and her crew make a slow ascent to join us. I was surprised to see them at the funeral, as I never got the impression any of them were close with Evander. But Kasmira, who sat right beside me despite a lot of grumbling and muttering from the nobles, tugged a lock of my hair and whispered, “It’s not the dead we came for, lovey.”
The moment I reach the top of the hill, I sink down on the flat, worn boulder Evander used to claim as a seat whenever we came up here, and stare at the starry sky. Jax sits far apart from the rest of us, his back rigid and his expression unreadable. He’d known Evander even longer than I did.
I roll onto my side, the boulder digging into my ribs, to watch Kasmira and her crew make a bonfire on the middle of the hilltop. A tall, stately woman named Dvora drops an armful of kindling in the space the men have cleared, and Kasmira pulls out a piece of flint and a dagger to create the first spark of flame.
“Master Cymbre should be here.” Simeon watches the kindling catch fire, his face as lean and hollow as an elf’s in a children’s tale.
Danial puts an arm around Simeon’s shoulders and draws his sandy-haired lover against his side. “I’m sure she’s remembering Evander in her own way tonight,” he murmurs. “I went to give her something for her headache earlier, and . . .” His voice grows so soft, I have to strain my ears to catch the last words. “She feels like his death is her fault.”