Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(43)

Meredy gives the slightest headshake. “For all I know, this is how you always look.”

“Does Firiel want to be raised?” I usually only ask a client that after I’ve accepted a job, but since Meredy showed up uninvited, I don’t see the harm in prying.

Frowning, Meredy says quietly, “We never discussed it. But I know her. I know she wants to be with me no matter the cost.”

It’s a familiar answer, one I’ve heard often. Sometimes, a spirit wants to come back, but not always. I want her to consider what she’s asking of the dead girl. “Would you want to be raised?”

It’s my job to protect the Dead, Evander would say, in our world and in theirs. And that means honoring their choice to be raised or not, regardless of their families’ wishes.

“Would you?” Meredy’s gaze never falters.

As I search for words, I think of thick layers of cloth having to be adjusted constantly. Of wearing sachets of herbs against my dead flesh to keep it from stinking at parties. Of the worst hunger I’ve ever experienced, of feeling that way constantly. Of craving food, touch, warmth. Of never sleeping, never dreaming. Of possibly becoming a Shade and losing the very essence of who I am.

I think of all the suffering before I think of the things I’d miss about this world: Fig jam. Sunshine. The sea. Kissing. Especially kissing.

“I doubt,” I say slowly, “it would be a life worth living. At least for me. But plenty of Dead are glad to make sacrifices to come back.” I shrug. “Not that I’ll ever have to decide.”

Meredy nods, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts. “So, will you help me?”

“No. Even if I could, I’m not interested. Sorry.” I pick up my sword, wincing at the stars that appear at the corners of my eyes when I straighten. “The next time I go to the Deadlands, it’ll be my last.” I swipe the coin purse off the bed and toss it at her. I can’t bear the thought of accidentally brushing her skin.

Meredy’s mouth falls open. “You were more than just his partner. Evander’s.” There’s no question at the end of her words. Without another glance at me, she bends to retrieve the bag of coins.

I gesture at the door with my sword. “There’s the exit, whenever you’re ready.”

She presses her lips into a thin line, the first real emotion I think I’ve seen from her. If I had half her self-control, maybe I could ditch my potion habit.

“Fine.” She starts toward the door but pauses to glance over her shoulder. “There are other necromancers who will take my money. I intended to honor Evander’s memory by coming to you first, but I see now that was a mistake.”

“A huge one,” I agree, jabbing my sword at the door again. “And stay out of the Deadlands!” I call after her. “Evander wouldn’t want you going there, especially not now. It’s more dangerous than ever.”

Meredy carries herself with a dancer’s grace, gliding through the door into the dim hallway. If she heard me, she shows no sign of it. “Come, Lysander,” she calls to someone out of sight. As Meredy strides briskly away, a massive brown bear lumbers in her wake. I must be really out of it to have missed the beast when I came down the hall. It pauses in my open doorway, and I freeze as it sniffs the room. My knees turn to water despite the sword in my hand.

“Lysander!”

With a deep grumble, the grizzly heeds Meredy’s call and vanishes.

I can’t slam my door fast enough. It’s rare that a beast master can keep control over such a powerful animal. And rarer still for any mage to finish training a year ahead of schedule. Meredy must be an extremely competent beast master. A mage with that much fang and muscle behind them could work security anywhere, from the gates of Noble Park to the king’s personal guard.

Grabbing a vial of potion from under the bed, I raise it to the still and silent room. “Here’s to your health, Meredy Crowther.”





XIV




I wake drenched in sweat, Evander’s dying screams echoing in my mind. Sunlight glares through my window, and every part of my body aches. Groaning, I bury my face in my pillow to hide from the sun a little longer.

This is all Meredy’s fault. I don’t know how, but her presence has to be the reason I’m hearing Evander’s screams again. This is the first night in weeks I’ve relived those gut-wrenching sounds, so vivid even the potion couldn’t dull them.

Tossing off the blankets, I throw on the first tunic and pair of trousers I find. Blood pounds in my ears as the events of last night come rushing back. The mangled bird. Valoria’s Dream City. The missing Dead nobles. The bear named Lysander.

I secure my sword and pull back my long hair, then reach for two vials of potion to get me through the morning. I’ll need its calming influence to help me keep both my promises today: First to Valoria, to help find her mother and the rest of the missing Dead. And then, to Evander.

The palace is strangely quiet as I step into the hall. I pause outside Jax’s door, trailing my fingers across the wood. My breath echoes in the emptiness.

I press my ear to the door and smile at the faint snoring coming from the other side. There’s no point waking him to help with the search. After all, the king’s guards have probably combed the palace from top to bottom while I slept off the potion and wine. Even if the guards have already found the missing Dead, I need Valoria to know that I tried. I’m not even sure why I care, only that I do.