Reign of the Fallen (Reign of the Fallen #1)(9)
I blink, and it’s gone.
Shades always move faster than humans, but the speed with which this one disappeared makes me feel like bolting for the nearest gate. Only my legs have turned to jelly, and there’s no way I can go anywhere just now.
Meeting Evander’s worried gaze, I shake my head. It isn’t until Valoria’s back is turned that I mouth, “Shade. It’s gone now.” The blood drains from Evander’s face, and he meets my eyes as we exchange a wordless agreement: There’s no point unsettling Valoria any further by mentioning this.
Still, Evander guards our backs with his blade. Just in case the Shade decides to return.
Valoria tugs on my hand, drawing my gaze to the garden. It’s empty. No spirits stand around the giant marble fountain at its center, though the elderflower wine splashes merrily over the stone as always. My heart sinks at the sight.
Maybe all the spirits are gone because the giant Shade devoured them—the king included. But it’s such a terrible thought, I can’t bring myself to voice it.
“I thought you said he’d be here,” the princess whispers. Her tone isn’t accusing, but she shrinks against me.
“Maybe we need to spill more blood,” Evander ventures, taking a few steps into the silent garden. “Fresher blood, so they can smell it from farther away.” He holds up his left arm and lays the sharp edge of his sword against his pale skin.
Valoria sucks in a breath as I cry, “Don’t!”
Evander lowers his blade at the sound of my protest, having made only a shallow cut along his forearm.
I can’t stand to see a living thing in pain, least of all Evander. The nuns who raised me said I’d been that way since birth. Trying to put the wings back on a trampled butterfly. Tending the weakest plants in their garden. That’s what made me so well suited for walking in the Deadlands, they said. My love of life.
“I’ll do it,” I say quickly, raising my arm and my sword. “Valoria, take my vial of honey. If you start feeling dizzy, eat as much as you need.”
“Odessa, don’t you dare!” Evander growls as I grit my teeth and pull the blade across my skin. One quick slice, and I’m bleeding on the ferns and the big white lilies.
Normally the sight wouldn’t bother me, but today it makes me think of Master Nicanor’s ribbons of flesh. I fight to keep breathing steadily as Evander rushes to my side, covering the wound with a scrap of his torn shirt.
“That’s more than enough,” he says sharply, probably thinking we’ll attract that giant Shade with the mess I’m making. To my relief, the blood leaking from the shallow cut on his arm is already clotting.
“Just trying to help,” I gasp out as my knees buckle. I must’ve lost a bit too much blood. Valoria steadies me. I glance back over my shoulder and offer her a weak smile as Evander finishes tying my bandage. “You’re stronger than you look.”
Valoria’s lips twitch. “I know.”
“Death be damned.” Evander draws his sword again, a motion as fluid and natural as breathing. The few times I’ve seen someone best Evander in a sword fight, it was because he was too sick to know which end was the pointy one. “Looks like we’ll be taking the long way home tonight,” he grumbles, gazing at something behind us.
A hot prickle of fear stings the back of my neck as I whirl around, remembering the glimpse of rotten gray flesh in the shadows of the grove.
But the tightness in my chest dissolves. There’s nothing in the darkness. In fact, there aren’t any shadows at all. Instead, the silvery trees have been quietly replaced by a field of marigolds, just like the ones we crossed to get to the garden.
“How does an entire grove disappear like that?” Valoria asks.
“That’s how it is here.” I shrug. “Things are always changing. Moving themselves when you least expect it, just like the gates that let us in.”
“It’s why you’re lucky to be here with the Sparrow.” Evander shoots me an admiring glance. “Why we’re lucky,” he amends.
Already, a slight tug around my navel tells me that despite appearances, the gate isn’t so far away anymore. Since the grove shifted off to some other part of the Deadlands, more of the landscape has moved, too, and we’re suddenly much closer to an exit.
“There’s a gate at the back of the garden now,” I say, looking out across its wide expanse. There are dozens of fountains, bridges, and pathways to walk before we reach the new gate. “But we have to find the king first.”
“In that case, ladies . . .” Evander puts on a smile, but it wavers. “Fancy a nighttime stroll through this beautiful garden?”
We wind our way slowly past the fountain, pacing ourselves so Evander and I can gaze around tall statues and flowers in search of the king. The marble fountain and even some of the plants give off a muted glow that serves as our only source of light, and it’s a good thing, as no man-made lantern works down here.
“King Wylding,” I call softly, pointlessly. “Majesty?”
I don’t say it, not wanting to alarm Valoria, but I’ve never spilled that much of my own blood and not had at least a dozen spirits come out to fight over who gets to lap it up.
“This is beyond incredible.” Valoria plucks a stem of purple flowers and brings it to her nose—lavender, the symbol of serenity. The language of flowers is the same in this world as in ours, the only way the spirits can communicate with the living from here.