Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(42)

She has Elibeth’s eyes. Lyda’s swanlike neck and ivory skin, though hers is dusted with light brown freckles, and a white scar—four jagged lines like claw marks—covers much of her left cheek. And—though it’s tight and wary and only lasts a second, I’d recognize it anywhere—she has Evander’s smile.

Meredy.

“Your hair was brown the last time we saw each other,” I murmur.

Meredy nods solemnly. “I was ten years old and had a terrible gap in my teeth the last time we saw each other, too. A lot’s changed in six years.”

I lick my dry lips, wanting to gaze past her in hope of glimpsing Shadow Evander, but something about this girl demands my entire focus. “Where have you been all this time?”

“The northernmost wilderness of Lorness.” Meredy tips her chin up as she adds, “Learning from one of the greatest beast masters of the century. But that’s finished now, and I’m a master. Like you.”

My heart’s hammering so hard I’m dizzy. “You finished training a year early?”

She arches a brow. “Is that so hard to believe? I’ve only been back in Grenwyr City for a day, and I’ve already heard they call you Sparrow because you seem to effortlessly fly between this world and the other. Yet you don’t think I could be a great beast master?”

I don’t mean to offend her, but I’ve never met anyone who finished training early. The apology that’s on the tip of my tongue dies as she gazes coolly up at me.

“You’ve got a scar that says otherwise . . .” I touch the spot on my cheek where hers is scarred. “What happened there?”

“It was a training accident,” she mutters. “What happened to your knee?”

“My own stupidity.” The moment I say the words, I regret them. I’ve made her give that tiny almost-smile again, the one that’s too sharp but still somehow an echo of Evander’s. I can’t do this. I can’t have these vivid reminders of him in my room, on my bed, reminders that can walk and talk and hurt me.

Meredy hooks her hair behind her ear. When it catches the light, it reminds me of the elderflower wine I drank at the party. “I’ll confess, I saw some of your trouble in the garden earlier. But I felt it best to give you time to collect yourself before I came around.”

“That was generous of you,” I say dryly, hoping I sound half as casual as she does. Leaning against the wall for support, I rub my temples. Surely she didn’t mean to, but she’s dredging up thoughts and memories I’ve been trying so hard to bury.

Meredy leaps to her feet, fastening her fur-trimmed burgundy cloak like she’s about to leave. But she holds my gaze and squares her shoulders. “It seems we’re starting off on the wrong note. I apologize for the lateness of my visit, but this can’t wait. I’ve come to secure your services.” She draws a lumpy bag from her cloak pocket, and the clinking sound it makes leaves no question as to what’s inside.

“I can’t raise Evander from the dead.” Each word opens a new wound as it leaves my lips. Curse Meredy Crowther for making me speak them. She looks as poised as her mother while I take a step back and accidently kick my sword across the floor.

Meredy moves forward, stepping lightly over the blade. Her voice remains low and clear. “I wasn’t asking you to.” She tosses the bag of coins onto my bed. “I’m no fool. I know necromancers can’t be raised, no matter how much we might wish otherwise.”

Do I wish I could raise Evander? To never see him, to never really touch him, to constantly fear that he could become a monster—we could never be like we used to. Not even magic can bring back what we had. Days ago, I’d have wanted to pull Evander from the Deadlands in a heartbeat, but now the idea feels somehow selfish.

“Odessa?” Meredy waves a hand in front of my face, snapping me from my daze.

“Sorry. What is it, then?” My hands are shaking from the lack of potion. It’s all I can do to keep from sliding under the bed and downing every last vial in front of this girl who’s practically a stranger.

“My girlfriend.” Meredy’s face is expressionless, as still as though carved from marble. “She died in a hunting accident. I want to bring her back from the Deadlands, and I’ll pay you whatever King Wylding would.” She points to the coins on the bed. “Name your price, and consider that the first installment. The rest will be delivered when I have Firiel back.”

Unable to fight the urge, I laugh. The kind of laughter that bubbles up from deep in the pit of my stomach and squeezes my ribs. Maybe it’s the absence of the potion messing with my head, but her request seems like a clever trick someone’s playing on me.

“I don’t see anything funny here.” Meredy crosses her arms. “I lost my brother and my love in a matter of days, and I’ll do anything to steal back even a little of what death has taken from me. Even if it means giving you my family’s fortune. In the few letters Evander sent me, he said you’re the best at what you do. And if he says so, I trust him.”

I swallow a delirious giggle. “First of all, I can’t go into the Deadlands without a partner. It’s forbidden, and I probably wouldn’t make it out, besides.” Rubbing some of the grit from my eyes, I blink at her. “Second, do I look like I’m in any shape to raise the dead just now?”