“What does that mean?” Kestin demanded, striding forward until he stood beside Darri again. Darri didn’t turn to look at him, even when his hand brushed hers. She stared at the Guardian’s mask.
The voice issuing from behind that mask was slow and reluctant. “It means, Prince Kestin, that the ghosts might al vanish. Or they might stay as they are.”
Darri, sensing something unsaid, demanded, “Or?”
“Or,” the Guardian said, even more slowly, “they might stay . . . but not as they are.”
Kestin drew back. “They could live again?”
“It’s not probable,” the Guardian said.
Darri could hear her heart pounding in her ears, like distant marching. Kestin whispered, “But you can’t tel us it’s not possible at al ?”
Darri looked sideways at Kestin; his dark eyes met hers, just for a second, and then they both snapped their heads around and stared at the Guardian. For a moment, before she remembered what it looked like, Darri wished she could see the face behind that mask.
“No,” the Guardian said, slowly and regretful y. “I can’t.”
Cal ie. The images flashed through Darri’s mind in a cascade, fever bright. Cal ie laughing, Cal ie twirling in the grass, Cal ie with the falcon’s claws digging into her arm. Cal ie’s grim dead face in the dark cavern. Cal ie alive again. Riding beside her, sunlight gleaming on her hair.
And if it didn’t work, at least her sister would be free.
“Tel me what to do,” she demanded, stepping forward. “Where—” But even as the word left her mouth, she realized that she already knew.
The older dead al come here eventual y, to stand guard, Clarisse had said. This was what they were guarding. “How?” she said instead.
“The spel has its limitations built into it.” The Guardian was so stil he might have been a statue. “The same things that destroy the ghosts can destroy the spel that created them. Sunlight and silver.” He took a step toward her. “The spel is in the caves beneath the castle, so sunlight is not an option. But we al know you have silver.”
Without thinking, Darri drew the coated silver dagger from her boot. Kestin made a smal sound, and she met his eyes. They were large and dark and shining. She couldn’t tel whether it was with fear or hope.
And she didn’t care.
“Wait,” Kestin said. “You can’t—not alone. That’s not a place the living should go.”
“I hear that a lot,” Darri said dryly. “But the dead aren’t there now, are they? They’l soon be at ending a rather important coronation.” She flashed a smile at him, and knew from the way his eyes widened that it was her old smile, reckless and heedless and uncaring.
Because she didn’t care. The danger to her wasn’t important. Only one thing was important, the same thing that had always been important: saving her sister. She felt as if she had been lost in a storm for days, and could final y see the road ahead of her again.
“Give them a good show,” she told Kestin.
Then she flat out ran through the golden antechamber, down the lamp-lit hal s. Somewhere to the left, she knew, was the entrance to the caverns, but she didn’t trust her memory of those labyrinthine passageways. She turned right instead, into a straight, wide hal of polished marble, heading for the stables.
Clusters of people stood in the hal , sipping wine and laughing. They turned in astonishment to watch her go, and she caught a glimpse of her reflection, wavering in the polished steel that lined the hal . Her face was set, grim and determined and devoid of hesitation. She recognized the expression: she had seen it on Varis’s set, grim and determined and devoid of hesitation. She recognized the expression: she had seen it on Varis’s face, dozens of times, when he set of for bat le. She had seen it that night in his tent, when he told her that Cal ie was being sent away and there was nothing she could do to save her sister.
She looked straight ahead and ran faster.
Chapter Eighteen
The underground passageways felt dif erent this time, vaster and murkier. They felt, Varis realized as he fol owed Clarisse past a cluster of bulbous rock outcroppings, empty. Even the long dead had ventured back among the living tonight, to watch one of their own become king.
It should have made him feel bet er. It did not. There was a ghost with him, after al , leading him farther and farther into the narrowing passageways, the hem of her violet gown going right through the rocks he kept stumbling over. The light of his torch cast moving shadows that played tricks on his mind. Curved hands, elongated arms, and grotesque faces slid past the wal s, wavering over the curves and cracks in the rocks. None of which was helped by his knowledge that there was another ghost fol owing them through the caves, watchful and angry.
I know which way to go, to catch his at ention, Clarisse had said as she fil ed a glass flask with wine from his goblet. He would never let me go into these caves completely alone. He doesn’t trust me.
An example, Varis suspected, that he would do wel to fol ow. Which didn’t make it any more sensible for him to be fol owing her into the realm of the dead, certain that she hadn’t told him everything.
Fortunately, he hadn’t told her everything either. He was helping her because he was fairly certain that he knew how to control her. If she had been anyone else, he would have been completely certain.
Clarisse came to a stop, so suddenly that he had to grab her shoulder to keep from col iding with her. Her shoulder was firm and solid beneath his palm, so he knew she had intended for him to grab her. She half- turned so that his arm was around her, then looked up into his face, lips half-parted.
Varis knew she was trying to distract him from something, so he dropped his torch at the first crack from above. Then he turned and ran.
The stalactites fel from the ceiling in a cascade of sharp stone, slamming into the ground in a thunderous cacophony. One hit his uninjured shoulder, and he hissed and stumbled. But he didn’t have at ention to spare for the pain. He crouched low and ran, and when the second stone shard grazed his hip, he lunged low and threw himself as far forward as he could.
A fal ing stone thudded hard against his foot, and then he was rol ing on pebble-strewn ground. The cavern was suddenly silent, the crash of stone gone, and aside from two painful bruises, he was fine.
An ice-cold hand grabbed him by the back of his tunic and pul ed him to his feet. Al at once the caves were fil ed with light; he saw Clarisse standing in the center of a cavern fil ed with broken rock, one of which had fal en point first through her. It was stil standing upright, quivering in the center of her translucent body.
Clouds of dust rose around her legs, and her eyes were alight with exhilaration.
Varis kept his gaze on her, not bothering to struggle or try to look behind him. His only move was to grab the neck of his tunic to keep it from digging into his throat. The scent of decay seeped through the air around him, like clammy fog against his skin.
“This is your of ering?” The voice was low and gravely, nothing like the unearthly rumble he had faced down with the Guardian. “Your reason for triggering the spel ’s defense?”
Clarisse lifted her eyebrows. “Would you have preferred his sister? I think it’s safe to say he’s the more dangerous of the two.”
“He’s not the one speaking to the Guardian,” the Defender snapped.
Clarisse smoothed down her flawless hair. “He figured out the truth about the spel , and that the Guardian brought him here to break it. I had no choice.”
Varis let go of his tunic and lifted both his arms above his head. The silk neck dug into his jugular; he jerked his head back before he could choke and snapped his shoulder blades together. He dropped right out of the tunic, rol ed as he hit the ground, and came up with his back against the jagged wal .
The Defender looked like a man, as Clarisse had predicted he would. She had also said he looked like a dif erent man every time she saw him. Tonight, apparently, he was a thin, dark-skinned man with a face that was al smooth lines and angles. The man didn’t turn to look at Varis; he merely let the tunic drop disdainful y to the ground.
“Are you more comfortable now?” Clarisse asked Varis.
“Yes,” Varis said, taking a deep breath. “Actual y, I am.”
“Wel , good for you.” She looked again at the Defender, whose lips were curved upward. The expression had the appearance of a human smile, yet there was nothing human about it.
He likes to act alive, in front of the living, Clarisse had said. He pretends it’s for their sakes, but it’s real y for his.So far, she had predicted everything correctly—except for the minor mater of the stalactite trap, which she had neglected to mention. Varis’s heart pounded with fear and excitement both. The stone’s edges were sharp against his bare skin.
Clarisse walked through the broken stones toward them, her hair sparkling with rock dust. Her eyes blazed in the dusty gloom. “Do I get to kil him?”
“If you wish,” the Defender said.
“If you wish,” the Defender said.
Clarisse swung her head around to look at Varis, whose breath tangled in his throat. He truly had no idea which one of them she was going to betray.
“If I do,” Clarisse breathed, “he’l come back.” Her eyes looked like they were on fire. “That should make for an interesting few centuries. Do you think I can stay a step ahead of him?” She uncorked the flask, took a swig, and lowered it; the swift, unsteady movement made the wine swirl through the glass flask, sediment whirling up into the liquid. She grinned as she extended it to the Defender. “It’s good wine. You should reestablish trade with the Green Islands, once you’re in charge.”
Varis might have spared himself the ef ort of control ing his expression. The Defender didn’t even glance at him. He kept his deep-set eyes on Clarisse as he accepted the flask. “I haven’t had wine for years.”
“Wel ,” Clarisse laughed again, so easily even Varis almost believed she didn’t care, “it’s not a bad vintage to start with.”
The Defender’s smile was a tiny bit closer to human this time. He took the flask from Clarisse, tilted it back, and drank.
The Guardian’s scream echoed through the corridors: hol ow and endless and terrible. It froze the courtiers mil ing in the marble hal outside the throne room. It froze Cal ie, who was leaning against the wal being ignored by the courtiers.
It didn’t even slow Darri down.
Cal ie turned her head just in time to see her sister racing down the marble corridor, the hem of her yel ow skirt stil dark with blood, the Guardian’s scream fol owing her down the hal . The courtiers watched her go, wide eyed. No one was sure what was happening, and no one stopped her.
Cal ie didn’t know she was going to do it until she did: reach out with one hand and grab the trailing edge of Darri’s silk sleeve. Her sister could have easily pul ed away and kept going. Instead Darri stopped and whirled.
“What did you do?” Cal ie demanded.
“I don’t know,” Darri said. “He didn’t start screaming until I left.”
“And what,” Cal ie said, aware of al the eyes on them, “did he do?”
“Nothing. We chat ed.” Darri, too, glanced around at the courtiers. For the first time, none of them faded, even though many of them were dead. Taunting the foreigner, apparently, was less fun now that they had seen what she was capable of. “Why should he do anything to me? I kil ed Cerix at his request. And this country is a bet er place without him.” She grinned, suddenly and savagely. “This country wil be a far, far bet er place by the time I’m done with it.”
“What are you—” Cal ie began, but then a murmur rippled through the corridor. She looked up and saw Kestin approaching the main entrance to the throne room. The prince met Darri’s eyes, and it seemed to Cal ie that something flashed between them. Darri’s grin widened, and Kestin gave her a smal , sharp nod.