Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(81)

The last time I saw him, mere days ago in the throne room, Hadrien’s face was bruised just beneath his eye. Still, I want to hear Vane say it aloud. To hear Hadrien’s name spoken by someone who, in his final moments, has no reason to lie.

“Death be damned—say his name!”

But Vane is still and silent again. I shake his shoulders. He doesn’t move, his body limp beneath my hands.

He’s gone; his spirit has vanished, leaving behind the shell of a mage who could have done some good with his unusual power—protecting necromancers during their travels to the Deadlands, for one. But instead, he was loyal to Hadrien to the end.

And now, no longer under their master’s control, his Shades are free to hunt.

I hurriedly grab Vane’s silver mask and cloak, careful to avoid touching the part that’s wet with blood. They’re a reminder that Karthia’s enemies can be slain. That I can slay them, even the traitorous prince who was once, perhaps, my friend.

The lake becomes a blur as I sink forward in the sand beside the Shade-baiter’s body. I thought Hadrien loved me. I swear I heard caring in his voice that day in the throne room, but he sent me here to have me killed, away from my friends, from help.

I stagger to my feet. The world, my world, is falling apart, and I’m probably much too late to stop it—but I have to try. Even if I don’t know who or what to trust anymore.

A Shade howls in the distance, fighting with its companions as they feast on the body of the rogue necromancer who managed to flee farthest.

Gazing up the beach, I realize all the other Shade-baiters are either dead or gone. I don’t see Meredy, but Lysander’s chomping on one of the mangled corpses without a care, meaning she must be alive and unharmed nearby.

The spirits of the Deadlands haven’t yet lured her to taste their fruit or wade in their lakes, though they might, and I have no honey. We need to get out of here before the Shades run out of other bones to crunch.

I hurry to where Master Cymbre’s book is half-buried in the sand. My heart soars pitifully as I tuck the leather-bound poems into my front pocket for safekeeping, as though touching the battered pages will bring me closer to Cymbre. I pat the book, trying to tell my foolish heart it’s of no use.

A Shade howls again, and another one answers with a gleeful, lilting noise.

Shaking my head to clear it, I pick up my sword and call to Meredy, “We need to go!”

There’s a gate on the lake’s western shore. It won’t take long to reach, just a sprint down the beach, following the curve of the narrow stretch of sand.

“Oh good. There you are,” I say shakily as Meredy reappears beside me. I need her steady presence to help me focus as I lead us out of here. “Get Lysander. Hurry.”

But she doesn’t seem to hear me or even the Shades’ hunting cries as they start to close in, bounding on all fours like hounds instead of the humans they once were. With a vacant expression, she kneels by Vane and pulls the dagger from his flesh. She brings it to her lips and licks the gooey crimson mess from the flat of the blade.

“What are you doing?” I try to suppress a shudder.

She glances up, her eyes still blank, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing blood all over her face.

I reach for the dagger. She holds it out of reach, snarling like a feral dog. Then I remember: the effects of her magic. She was using Lysander like a puppet to hunt the other Shade-baiters, and now she’s become like a beast herself.

Vaia only knows for how long.

Lysander bounds toward me, whining softly and looking from me to the Shades. They’re coming toward us, swift gray shadows we can’t outrun.

But perhaps Lysander can.

Waiting until Meredy is distracted by her dagger again, I bash her on the temple. “I’m doing this for her own good,” I mutter to a growling Lysander. Then I throw Meredy’s limp form over the bear’s back. This time, it’s not Meredy commanding him to give me a ride, I realize as he lowers himself so I can climb on behind her. He’s trying to help me escape along with his master. That, or he knows he needs me to find the gate out of here.

The Shades spray sand everywhere as their skeletal feet hit the shore.

Lysander takes off in the direction I point. “Stay out of the water!” I yell as I hang on to his back with one hand and steady Meredy with the other, keeping Vane’s cloak and mask tucked securely under one arm.

The spirits in the lake are so far gone, they don’t even notice our passing as we race along the shore, steps ahead of our pursuers.

The water becomes a blur as Lysander pushes himself to run harder.

The Shades’ rattling breaths ring in my ears.

Without Vane’s power compelling them, the monsters won’t leave the Deadlands. If we can just get to the gate, we’ll be safe. They might try to go after the spirits in the lake instead, but there’s no time to worry or feel guilty about that now.

The blue glow washes over Lysander’s fur, over Meredy’s pale face. Her eyes flutter open, widening with horror at the sight of whatever’s right behind me, whatever’s breathing frost down my neck.

Lysander jumps into the gate. Our hushed breaths fill the dark tunnel.





XXVII




By the time we’re through the gate, our feet steady on the cold, firm ground of our own world, Meredy is herself again—groggy and paler than usual, but not about to chase down any of the nearby squirrels or rabbits for an early meal.