Author: Leah Cypess

The fat man who had been kil ed last night had been Duke Salir the Twenty-first. Darri thought she was successful in hiding her automatic revulsion. She was more interested in what this boy could tel her—and in wiping that grin of his face—than in the fact that he should have been buried centuries ago.

“You seem to be having trouble keeping up,” the boy went on. “Why do you think that is?”

The hunt was long gone, but that didn’t seem to concern him. What had he been doing, a boy who didn’t have to worry about fal s or chest-high branches, hanging al the way back with the bumbling novice? The answer was obvious, and the absence of a torch only confirmed it.

“What interests me more,” Darri said, “is why you are fol owing me.”

He didn’t even try to deny it. “Maybe your sister asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“I doubt it.”

“Wel , that’s smart of you.” The first intel igent thing she had done, his voice implied. He leaned forward and stroked his mount’s neck. “Why would Cal ie imagine you would come along on a hunt reserved for the and stroked his mount’s neck. “Why would Cal ie imagine you would come along on a hunt reserved for the dead?”

“What?”

He gave her the smug grin of a child who had pul ed of a successful prank. “Only the dead hunt at night. Do you think the living in Ghostland are suicidal?”

Darri’s horse snorted and shuf led his feet; she knew she should calm him, but her at ention was on Jano. “I was invited!”

“Oh, real y? By whom?”

“I don’t know. My maid—”

“Meandra.” Jano straightened in the saddle. “She is a very good maid, but about two hundred years ago she made the mistake of having an af air with someone high above her station. His wife was not pleased.”

This was not a prank. This was a trap.

Darri touched her heel to her horse’s flank just as the boy leaped at her, a reckless leap that would have broken bones if his had been solid. But he was only solid for a moment, just long enough to knock her sideways; then she felt his body fade away, warm flesh turning to a cold fog that sank into her skin. That feeling, as much as the blow, was what made her let go of the reins.

For the second time in ten years, and in five minutes, Darri fel of her horse. This time, when she scrambled to her feet, she was too late. The boy was floating in midair, slapping the hindquarters of first his mount and then hers. The horses took of in a spurt of dust, forcing Darri to jump back. She grabbed for the reins and missed, and horsehair whipped across her face in stinging lines. The last thing she saw, before the light disappeared, was Jano’s grin as he looked down at her; then, with the torch gone, it was too dark to see anything.

His voice emerged from right next to her ear. “Don’t worry about your steed. We rarely lose horses on the hunt.”

He was close enough to touch her again. Darri bit down a scream and whirled away. Her breath sounded panicked, and she knew he could hear it. She imagined his smile. “Why are you doing this?”

“Oh, come on. That’s rather obvious, isn’t it?”

“Don’t kil her,” a feminine voice tril ed. “Yet. We agreed we would kil them al together.”

This voice came from behind Darri. She started to turn, then stopped with her foot digging into the ground.

She didn’t want Jano at her back. But she couldn’t see him in the thick blackness. He could be anywhere now, and she didn’t know how many of them were closing in around her.

A faintly sour scent wafted past her, and she heard twigs crackling. She turned again, this time in the direction of the sound.

Varis had once told her what it felt like to ride into an ambush, the sudden realization that you were in a trap designed to end with your death. He had said it sharpened every sense. But what use was that when she couldn’t see?

She was a Rael ian princess. She had no fear of death. She told herself so firmly, but was stil glad of the darkness to hide her shaking. “Why?” she said as steadily as she could. “Who are you?”

A torch blazed up in the boy’s hand, revealing a golden-haired woman with eyes that shimmered green even in the dimness. Darri spared the woman only a glance before turning to the man who stood next to her.

Varis looked as terrified as she felt, which under other circumstances would have made her feel bet er. He met her eyes for a second before looking back at the woman, with a sick horror that immediately told Darri what she wanted to know.

“You’re dead too,” she whispered.

The woman smiled. “Oh, yes. Your brother found that out while he was taking certain . . . liberties . . . with my person. I’m afraid he was quite distressed.” She smirked, catlike, and looked at Jano. “You owe me for that, by the way. I can stil smel his puke.”

“So can I.” Jano made a face. “And why should I owe you anything? This wasn’t my idea, Clarisse.”

Darri looked around, not bothering to be surreptitious about it. They were in a smal clearing, surrounded by grim gnarled trees and a darkness so thick it felt solid. The torch cast flickering light over tangles of roots and rocks and brambles. Even if she knew where to go, there was no way she could outrun a ghost who could simply float over al those obstacles. And apparently Varis hadn’t thought to bring his silver dagger along on this lark.

She couldn’t run. She couldn’t fight. She cleared her throat. “Then whose idea was it?”

The ghosts both looked at her, surprised and—she hoped—disappointed. They wanted her terrified. She was, but she shoved it deep and faced them. Diplomacy had never been among her talents, but right now it was her only chance.

“I don’t see how that information is of any use to you,” Jano said.

“I don’t see how our deaths wil be of any use to you,” Darri retorted. “Unless you’re trying to give my father an excuse to at ack your kingdom.”

“That would be fun,” Clarisse said. “Nothing keeps you sharp like the constant threat of invasion.”

Darri glanced at Varis, who stared at her dumbly, then tried again. “Or are you trying to keep us from taking Cal ie home?”

Cal ie home?”

“Actual y,” Clarisse said, “I thought Cal ie was going to be with you. I guess we’l have to take care of her later.”

Rage surged through Darri in a wave of heat, harder to hide than the fear. She forced it down—forced them both down. She had to think.

Jano went red. “I couldn’t find her.”

“Very convincing, Jano. I’m beginning to suspect you actual y like your lit le barbarian amusement. Do you think she’l never find out it was you who kil ed her siblings?”

Jano brushed twigs out of his hair and scowled. “I don’t want her to have to watch. I find it annoying when the living cry.”

“Real y?” Clarisse said. “I rather like it.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Darri said.

“Don’t be.” Clarisse jerked her head at Jano, who pul ed a knife from his belt sheath. A silver knife, which he held gingerly by its wooden handle. “I don’t think I’l be disappointed for long.”

Wrong. Darri stood perfectly stil as Jano approached; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Varis step forward, but neither ghost so much as glanced at him. I wil not cry. I wil not scream. I wil not disgrace myself. She would die like a Rael ian princess.

Like a Rael ian . . .

“Wait,” Darri gasped. “If you kil us, won’t we . . . come back?”

“That’s the way it works,” Jano said cheerful y. He put the torch down careful y on a rot ing tree stump, then turned back to face her with the knife held low.

If she hadn’t already been saturated with terror, that thought would have made things worse. Varis made a strangled noise, and she heard the hiss of steel as he pul ed a knife from his boot. If he was fast enough, he would turn it on himself before they got to him.

“If I do come back,” Darri forced out, “I’l avenge myself. I’l come after both of you.”

“You can try,” Clarisse said. “It’s a bit dif icult to destroy a ghost. Somehow I doubt either one of you wil be any more competent dead than you are alive. And no one wil care enough to help you.”

“My sister Cal ie wil ,” Darri said.

There was a startled silence, and then Jano laughed.

“Your sister Cal ie,” he said mockingly, “wishes you had stayed with your horses where you belong. Or hadn’t you noticed that she’s not exactly tagging about after you the way she did on the plains?” He laughed again, probably at the look on her face. His laugh was shril and childlike, but also triumphant. “Oh, yes, she told me about you. Her beloved older sister, so brave and fierce. Who never hesitated to speak her mind, who once chal enged a warrior to save a lame horse, and yet who made not one move to stop her sister from being sent away—”

“That’s not true!” Darri shouted, for a moment forget ing her impending death. “I begged him to leave her—I threw myself at his feet, I threatened him—nothing made a dif erence! What could I have done?”

“You could have of ered to go yourself,” Cal ie said.

They al whirled, ghosts and living alike. Cal ie sat astride a squat roan horse, her gown hiked up over her knees. She had stopped her mount just at the edge of the trees. If Darri hadn’t been shouting, they probably would have heard her coming.

“Cal ie,” Clarisse purred. “How nice to see you.”

Cal ie ignored her and looked straight at Jano. “Playing a practical joke on my siblings, Jano?”

There was no way she could believe that. The knife was pointed straight at Darri. Jano looked at Cal ie, and she looked back, and for a moment the night swal owed up their silence.

“Yes,” Jano said final y. “Sorry, Cal, but I couldn’t resist. They’re such easy targets.”

The knife slipped behind his back. Clarisse hissed between her teeth and rose into the air, floating a few feet above the ground. Varis backed away from her, so fast he tripped over an exposed root and nearly fel .

Jano laughed jarringly, but Clarisse kept her eyes on Cal ie. “They’re not the only easy targets here.”

Cal ie narrowed her eyes right back. “No. They’re not.”

“Do you have silver on you, lit le girl?” Clarisse’s golden hair flared out around her head. “Obviously not, or you would have drawn it by now. What did you think you would achieve by coming here?” She turned to Jano and held out her hand. “Give me the knife.”

“Jano,” Cal ie said.

The boy didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed on Clarisse.

Clarisse descended slowly, until her shoes barely touched the ground. She glided toward Jano. The dead boy didn’t move. Clarisse smiled and took several more steps.

Darri threw herself at Varis, col iding into him just as Clarisse turned and struck. Clarisse’s blade passed through Darri’s hair; she felt a quick, cold tug as a few strands were severed from her scalp, but there was no time to think of that. She rol ed in a mound of ferns and mud, and was on her feet by the time Clarisse recovered enough to face her. The steel dagger in the dead girl’s hand was long, thin, and straight.

“I knew you had to have a knife of your own,” Darri said triumphantly. “I knew you were just trying to distract us.”

distract us.”

“How nice for you,” Clarisse said, her blade tracking Darri’s every motion. “Too bad you don’t have a knife of your own.”

A good point. Darri drew her dagger at last, ignoring Clarisse’s scornful laugh. She knew it was useless, but it made her feel bet er to have it in her hand. Behind her, Varis leaped to his feet.