They sat in silence as the lit er jolted along the path. Darri kept her hands tightly folded around the parchment in her lap, wondering when the ride would end and she could step out into the sun; while beside her, Kestin stared straight ahead into the darkness he could never escape.

Varis brooded as he rode, casting dark looks at the lit er his sister shared with Prince Kestin. He admired the prince’s courage in riding out in sunlight; it was a bold move, a statement that he had not left the living behind and could stil serve as their leader. Varis wondered if the prince was going through the motions of courting his sister in order to make a similar statement, or if it was just Kestin’s method for keeping her away from Cerix’s at entions.

The second-in-line to the throne rode directly in front of Varis, flanked by two lackeys, and al three were also glowering at the swaying lit er. They probably didn’t have political considerations in mind, though; the lit er, al the way in the front, was slowing everyone down.

Varis didn’t mind. Sunlight spil ed over the edges of the clouds, warming his skin and turning the foliage into shimmering designs of interlocking green and silver. He hadn’t realized how much the lack of daylight had been wearing on him. His shoulder throbbed dul y, but his heart was light. He had nothing to do until they reached the lake, so he could af ord to simply enjoy the breeze and the sunshine and the smel of the earth.

Moments like these, even back on the plains, were becoming rarer and rarer for him.

“Your Highness?”

Not to mention shorter. Varis turned to the gangly, red-haired man who had dropped back to ride at his side. Beneath his ridiculously wide-brimmed hat—Ghostlanders’ skin was, of course, unaccustomed to sunlight —his face was oily with sweat.

“Lord Cerix,” Varis said, nudging his horse to the side of the path. This was an opportunity he had been waiting for, so he squashed his annoyance. “I hope you’re enjoying the ride?”

“Quite.” Cerix adjusted his hat, the lace on his sleeves rustling in the breeze. “Although it is unfortunate that I am deprived of my true reason for coming, which was the company of your beautiful sister.”

“She was looking forward to it as wel .” Varis noted that Cerix’s at endants were glancing nervously over their shoulders at them. “Perhaps the two of you can ride together when the hunt begins.” It was a safe enough of er; there was no doubt in his mind that Darri would be halfway across the hunting grounds before Cerix had managed to so much as don a falconing glove.

“I certainly hope so.” Cerix sat back in the saddle. “It must be disheartening for her, having come so far, to find her intended dead. But as I’m sure you’ve realized, there are other options.”

Varis had a momentary image of how Darri would respond to a proposition from Cerix. The thought was cheering enough to help him overlook the would-be prince’s presumption. “I thought there might be.”

“Indeed.” Cerix’s lips skewed sideways, into what was probably supposed to be a sly smirk. “She may find herself queen of this kingdom after al .”

This was, in theory, why Varis was even talking to Cerix; but the fact that the suggestion had come so soon annoyed him. At least it answered the question of whether Cerix had arranged for Kestin’s death. This pompous fop was too stupid to have planned anyone’s assassination.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t have associates who were smarter than he was. Ahead of them, one of Cerix’s men had slowed his pace, subtly nudging his horse sideways. It wouldn’t be long before he was right next to them on the path.

Which meant Varis didn’t have time for subtlety. Luckily, he was fairly sure that handling Cerix wouldn’t require it. “I thought King Ais had proclaimed Prince Kestin his heir.”

Cerix made a dramatic motion with his hand, making Varis’s horse snort nervously. “King Ais is deluded if he thinks his subjects wil accept a dead king. We suf er the dead among us because we have no choice, but their decaying presence is a blight upon our kingdom. We wil never al ow them to try to take the place of the living.”

It was always disconcerting to discover that you shared opinions with someone you had no respect for. Varis smiled thinly. “Do you think Kestin’s death was arranged by the other ghosts, to place one of their own on the throne?”

Just then the retainer pul ed up alongside them. The horses jostled each other, even though the trail was wide enough for al of them. Varis’s mount whinnied.

“Lord Riald,” Cerix said, inclining his head. Then he focused again on Varis. “It is not beyond consideration.

The dead are so self-important, with their brooding and dark secrets, as if the living could never fathom their plans. But nothing stays secret for long. There are murmurs and whispers, if you know how to listen. The dead are plot ing something.”

“Something,” Varis murmured, “like selecting one of their own as king?”

“That’s part of it. But their design is darker than that. They wish to put themselves above the living, to make us dependent upon them. To destroy us, that they need not be reminded of what they have lost.” He jabbed his finger at Varis, who resisted an urge to draw his dagger and slice it of . “It is what they’ve always wanted; if not finger at Varis, who resisted an urge to draw his dagger and slice it of . “It is what they’ve always wanted; if not for the presence of the Guardian, they would have overwhelmed us long ago. But now, with the prospect of a dead king, they are growing bolder. There is no limit to how far they would go. And similarly, there must be no limit to how far we would go to stop them.”

Varis nodded and waited. But as Cerix opened his mouth, Lord Riald said, “You understand that we can say no more at this point.”

Varis cursed silently. Out loud he said, gravely, “Of course not.”

Cerix looked disappointed, and Varis resisted the urge to swear out loud. If he had pushed a lit le, Cerix might have been stupid enough to tel him everything, even against his fol ower’s advice.

The horses picked their way along the path. Up ahead, the murmurs of the other riders mingled with the plodding of hooves. Lord Riald looked past Cerix at Varis. “Perhaps,” he said, “we could hunt with you and Princess Darriniaka together this afternoon, and find an opportunity to talk?”

“That should be possible,” Varis lied. Now that he had got en a good look at Cerix, he had no intention of let ing the would-be prince anywhere near Darri until it was absolutely necessary. “It would be bet er if I spoke to my sister first, however.”

Cerix’s face twisted in annoyance. “I am sure she would welcome the company of a living man, after being forced to spend an hour cooped up with a ghost. I am surprised, Your Highness, that you permit ed it.”

Spirits. Al iance or no, Varis couldn’t imagine marrying his sister of to this buf oon. Darri would probably slit his throat within two days of the wedding.

Though if she did, Cerix would come back for her.

His internal amusement died as swiftly as it had arisen. Ahead, the trail narrowed; he used the excuse to pul in front of the other two horses, before he forgot himself and said something impolitic to Cerix. Or, more likely, did something.

If it was necessary, he told himself, Darri would marry Cerix. If his father’s plan worked, then after the wedding they could do whatever they liked: kil Cerix, replace him with a Rael ian, or simply declare the marriage nul ified. The celebration itself was the important thing. If it came to it, he would tel Darri everything, and even she would understand what had to be done.

Or it would have to be made clear that it wasn’t up to her.

A task he didn’t look forward to at al . Darri was a problem, in more ways than one. Ever since her tantrums upon Cal ie’s departure, the two of them had lived in an icy state of mutual avoidance. On the ride to Ghostland that had been impossible, and her obvious disdain had begun to grate on him. They had been close once, before she had become so smal -minded and irrational.

Perhaps if he promised her that Cal ie could leave . . . He found himself nodding as the trail widened again and he reined his horse in, waiting for Cerix and Riald to come up beside him again. She would do it, in that case; she would go along with their father’s plan, no mat er how base and treacherous she thought it was. Much as she would hate to admit it, Darri was a lot like Varis. She had decided to make her goal the welfare of a single person rather than an entire nation, but that didn’t mean she was any less ruthless about it. And he could use that to his own advantage.

Because as distant as they had grown, there was one thing about his sister he knew without a doubt: to save Cal ie, Darri would stop at nothing.

Chapter Twelve

When she final y stepped out of the dark lit er, which by then was uncomfortably hot and stuf y, Darri breathed deeply and, for no particular reason, laughed aloud. The lit er rested beneath the heavy foliage of three trees, and a thick black canopy had been set up to further block the sun. Beyond the canopy, though, the bright blue sky was half-covered with feathery white clouds, and the wind raced along the top of the lake, making the silver-blue ripples dance. Darri stepped out of the shade and felt the sun warm her skin.

Kestin, stepping out of the lit er after her, gave her a quizzical glance from the shadows. Darri grinned at him, and after a moment he grinned back. Every other person in their party took note of the interaction, including Varis, but Darri was too heady with sunlight to care. She stretched, her cramped muscles uncoiling, clean fresh wind sweeping through her hair. Al she needed was a horse beneath her, and for just a few moments life could be perfect.

“Wil you have your man bring my bird?” she asked, not caring if it was rude.

Kestin gave her an unreadable look—envy? disappointment? disapproval? She turned quickly away, knowing she shouldn’t care what he thought. If only she could invite him to ride with her— The unbidden thought made the entire sky less bright. He couldn’t ride with her because he was trapped in his death. How could he bear being cut of from sunlight and freedom? And how much worse it must be for Cal ie, who had grown up in daylight, racing across the plains . . .

The servant with the falcon was standing over her; how long had he been there? Darri jerked herself back to the present and took the bird. The falcon turned its head and looked at her, its bleak eyes never once losing their fierce glit er. Another servant brought her horse, which was wearing a Ghostland saddle with a pommel- torch—unlit, of course, and therefore nothing but a rather ridiculous-looking inconvenience. Darri frowned, then decided she wasn’t going to care.

She didn’t join the party of nobles flying their birds near the shore of the lake—something she would doubtless hear about from Varis later. But that was later. Right now the grass bent ahead of the wind in dark green waves, making the whole shoreline shimmer. The stretch of empty space between the lake and the woods looked almost like the plains back home. Darri wheeled her horse and gal oped straight across the grass, the falcon’s jesses slapping against her wrist. She flung her arm out, releasing the bird into the sky.

The falcon caught a wind and soared, jesses dangling beneath its outstretched wings. It spiraled up into the air, higher and higher, as if it would never stop—and then, with heart-stopping suddenness, folded its wings and plummeted.

Darri raced after it. She was fiercely glad that it had gone in the direction of the rocky foothil s to the north of the lake, leaving the hunting party even farther behind.

She was less glad when she reached the spot where the falcon had dropped and found herself facing a cluster of thickets. She pul ed her horse up, waiting. After several moments, she swore under her breath and dismounted, not terribly surprised that a Ghostland falcon would be too il -trained to bring back its prey. Al the same, returning without the bird would reflect badly on her own skil s—in Varis’s eyes, certainly, and probably in Kestin’s as wel . She looked around at the sky, and then, guided by instinct, at the thickets.