Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(71)

“And a tour sounds like a lovely way to do that,” Meredy says, covering the awkward moment.

The worried look she gives me as we follow the baroness to the carriage house is the only way I know she doesn’t like this waste of time any more than I do.

Two hours and four sticky buns later, though, I have to admit, the tour around the valley isn’t so bad. There are pastures where sheep wander aimlessly like little white clouds, a small lake, and a wide green field where four weather mages stand side by side, dressed in slick, shimmering robes that remind me of fish scales as they cast a rainbow of light on their surroundings. Moving as one, the mages draw water from a passing cloud and shower the leafy green crops around them. It’s an incredible sight.

Meredy points out a baby calf, a tangle of ripe blackberry bushes, and a distant figure taking a naked dip in a pond, no doubt thinking himself unnoticed. We laugh as we spot a miniature horse chasing a donkey around a paddock, and it’s clear the tension has eased between us.

It feels strange to be laughing at all with King Wylding presumably still missing, but it’s not like we can leave the castle until Master Cymbre sees the healer again. Still, I fidget on the hard carriage seat as I think of how quickly a Shade could devastate this sleepy valley.

As quickly as the raven flies, as Her Majesty would say.

“We’ve been busy preparing for the big harvest,” the baroness says pleasantly from the opposite seat. “With our high number of gray-eyed citizens, Elsinor trains more weather mages than any other province.”

“Fascinating,” I murmur. Louder, I ask, “Do you know who the Shade used to be? The one we killed last night?” The baroness frowns, but I press, “Were any of your Dead reported missing recently?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Her smile is back in place, though her tone is cooler. “I’m sorry. It’s just that we’ve had so much death recently. So much destruction. I’d prefer to focus on happier things.”

“But where are the frightened villagers, the mourners?” Meredy asks quietly. “Where are the people mending fences?”

The baroness locks eyes with Meredy, evidently thinking how to respond. I don’t know why it should take so long unless she’s not telling us the truth, and I’m about to politely point that out when the carriage driver calls, “Lady Abethell! The signal fire!”

I lean out the window and follow the baroness’s gaze to a flickering flame at the top of the next mountain.

“What—?” I start to ask.

“A Shade attack in the next valley,” the baroness answers tensely, all her pleasant mannerisms gone. “We’ll head there right away. My guard will have seen the flare and know to meet us.”

The carriage veers wildly onto a new path, making Meredy slide into me. I steady her with an arm around her waist, but quickly pull away when a sudden heat pulses through me.

“Are you sure the Shade is in the next valley?” Meredy asks a moment later, sounding out of breath. When the baroness asks what she means, Meredy points out the window to another mountain.

Another signal fire glares from an outpost on high.

And on the mountain beyond that, so faint it could be a trick of the noon sun, another fire shines a plea for aid.

As the carriage rushes down the wide dirt path, I look out the windows on either side, and a heavy weight settles in my stomach.

There’s a signal fire lit on every mountain around us.

I wrap my fingers around the comforting hilt of my blade and whisper a prayer to Vaia as Meredy mutters something under her breath, perhaps summoning Lysander. But nothing prepares either of us for the grisly sight in the next valley.

For carnage and chaos unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

This isn’t a village in need of an army. This is a massacre in need of a cleanup crew.

The second the carriage halts, I throw open the door and scramble out. My boots slide in someone’s blood, and I lean against the carriage to steady myself as I struggle to make sense of what I’m seeing.

Hollowed-out buildings still burning. A smashed signpost. A stray horse shaking under the eaves of an empty blacksmith’s forge. And the corpses. All the corpses. Men, women, and children strewn across each other, like they were cut down as they tried to flee. The Shade didn’t even bother feasting on most of them. I think I see a few stray limbs, but I can’t bring myself to look close enough to know for sure.

The smell hits me in a rush, threatening to bring me to my knees.

And I let it. I kneel in the putrid mix of blood and mud.

We’re too late. Too late to help any of these people, and if the eerie wail rising into the clear sky is any indication, we’re too late to help those in the other valleys as well. Vane has to have been here, forcing the monster’s—or monsters’—every move with whatever power his unique Sight gives him. This feels calculated. Organized. No Shade would leave the Deadlands voluntarily, let alone wreak this much havoc without even eating its prey. And no Shade knows how to coordinate attacks on this scale.

Forcing another look at the wreckage, I promise myself I won’t stop chasing the rogue necromancer’s trail of victims until my hands are around his neck.

Meredy appears at my side and offers me a handkerchief. I dab my soaking face while she lets her own tears fall freely. It’s only when she takes my hands that I feel I can properly breathe again. She guides me back into the carriage, where the smell is slightly more bearable, though my head spins.