Author: Leah Cypess

“Jano. Don’t,” Cal ie said. “Please.”

Clarisse glanced at her—an obvious opportunity for Darri to strike, so Darri didn’t. “Don’t bother, Princess.

He might have some sentimental at achment to you, but he doesn’t dare disobey. Do you, boy?”

“Jano!” Cal ie said again.

The boy swal owed hard. “I can’t help you. Cal ie, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” Clarisse snapped. “Do what has to be done. Or do you want to explain your failure to the Defender?”

Jano’s hand emerged from behind his back. It was stil holding the wooden-handled silver knife. Clarisse smiled like a cat and circled around, pinning Darri and Varis between the two of them. Varis put his back to Darri’s, and she felt his shoulder blades go rigid.

“I won’t forgive you,” Cal ie spat. “Not ever. I’l hate you forever.”

Jano threw her a stricken look and vanished. The silver knife dropped soundlessly into a patch of ferns.

Darri whirled, just in time to parry Clarisse’s thrust. Varis moved with her, protecting her back. The dead girl laughed and fel back, undismayed. “I should have known bet er than to count on Jano. Then again, Cal ie, so should you. Did you real y think he would have the courage to turn on me? If you came to save your siblings, you should have brought some help.”

“I know,” Cal ie said. “I did.”

Clarisse looked at her in earnest this time, and Darri lunged. Her dagger hit solid skin, slicing right through the white flesh above Clarisse’s lacy neckline. She dropped back, feeling a surge of triumph that died when she realized there was no blood on the blade.

Clarisse glanced down at her smooth unbroken skin, then up at Darri. “That stung a bit,” she said. “What was it supposed to accomplish?”

“It was supposed to sting,” Darri snapped.

“Wel done, then.” Clarisse raised a mocking eyebrow. “Now, I believe Cal ie was in the middle of pretending there’s someone hiding in the woods?”

“Not someone,” Cal ie said. “And not hiding.”

No, they weren’t. Al at once Darri could hear it: first rustling in the bushes, then distant murmurs, and then —coming swiftly closer—frantic barking.

The hunt was on its way.

“I drew of some of the hounds,” Cal ie said. “They’re headed straight here. I’m sure some of the hunters are fol owing.”

“I had bet er make this quick, then,” Clarisse snarled, but Cal ie laughed.

“I don’t think so. My sister may not be able to hurt you, but I assure you, she can keep out of your way for quite a while. Long enough for the hunters to arrive—and if that many people see you kil her, the Guardian wil hear about it.”

For a moment Clarisse’s beautiful face was ugly with fury; and it was that, rather than Cal ie’s words, that gave Darri sudden hope.

Clarisse lifted her arm and threw her dagger. Darri leaped to one side, Varis to the other. Darri heard a thunk as the point plunged into a tree.

“See what I mean?” Cal ie said, but she was talking to empty air. Clarisse was gone.

With a furious snarl and crashing of twigs, a thin brown dog dashed from the trees, nose low, tail streaming straight out behind him. The sounds of the hunt were clearer now, hoofbeats and barks and gleeful shouts.

“We should probably,” Cal ie said, “get out of the way.”

Once they had retreated to the thickness of the forest, Cal ie didn’t look at them. She leaned over and stroked her horse’s neck, calming him as he strained toward the sounds of the dogs. By then Varis had regained his composure. He whirled on Cal ie. “Why were they trying to kil us?”

“I don’t know,” Cal ie said, not turning.

“How did you know where we were, then?”

“There was a clear trail, if you were looking for it.”

Varis glanced once at the tangled darkness around them. “Why were you looking for it? How did you know we were in trouble?”

Cal ie hesitated a moment this time. “I was warned.”

“By whom?”

“I don’t know who he was.”

“How can you—”

“Thank you, Cal ie,” Darri interrupted him. Varis shot her a glare, which she ignored. “Thank you. That was bril iant.”

bril iant.”

Her sister sat up in the saddle and looked straight ahead, at the impenetrable darkness of the night forest.

“Best I could come up with.”

“Why didn’t you bring silver?” Varis said.

Cal ie final y turned and gave him a slow, incredulous look. “You’re right, that was stupid of me. My humblest apologies.”

Varis didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. He just stared at his youngest sister suspiciously— suspicious of what, Darri couldn’t begin to guess—before snapping, “That ghost said someone cal ed the Defender was behind this.”

“So she did.” Now that Cal ie was looking at them, Darri could see, by the torchlight, how tight her sister’s face was. Not angry, or scared, just . . . tight. As if she was holding herself in, away from them. “I’m glad to hear you were actual y aware of what was happening. From the way you were just standing there most of the time, it was hard to tel .” Varis flushed, and Cal ie gathered up the reins. “I understand why you would want to be angry at someone other than yourself. And I would love to be that person, just for old time’s sakes. But we had bet er start back to the castle.”

“No,” Darri said. She found, somewhat to her surprise, that she was on the verge of tears. “We’re not going anywhere until you tel us what happened to you.”

Cal ie favored her with a cold look. “What makes you think something happened to me?”

“Because you’re not acting like yourself.”

“Like myself? You don’t know who that is. What makes you think you know how I act?”

“Because I remember.” Darri stepped closer to the horse, twigs crunching beneath her feet. “I remember you, who you real y are. Four years is not enough to change that.”

“Maybe not for you. For me, it was a very long time.”

“Long enough to make you hate me?” Darri’s voice caught, and she had to pause before going on. Cal ie’s face was grim and remote. “I spent every second of those years thinking of ways to save you. That’s why I’m here now. I—” Her voice caught again, but this time she forced the words through it. “I love you, Cal ie.”

Cal ie held stil , eyes wide with an emotion Darri couldn’t identify. Varis looked faintly disgusted. Darri waited in the rustling silence, her eyes on her sister’s face.

Which, after several long moments, shut down. It was like watching flesh turn to wood: whatever expression had been in Cal ie’s eyes vanished, her lips flat ened, and she said with a complete lack of expression, “That’s nice. But we real y should head back.”

She might as wel have hit Darri; the sudden blunt pain, the inability to breathe, was the same. Darri folded her arms over her chest and said, “No. I’m not going with you until we talk.”

Cal ie raised her eyebrows, turned her mount around, and flicked the reins. Before Darri had time to react, the horse’s tail disappeared between the trees, taking the light of the torch with it. She and Varis were alone in the woods, the shapes of the trees and of his grim face il uminated only faintly by the moonlight.

“I don’t think you thought this through,” Varis said.

“Be quiet,” Darri said shortly.

“I don’t suppose you know how to get back to the castle?”

“Of course I do,” Darri said, which was an absolute lie. She hadn’t been paying at ention to the trail, assuming she would be riding back with the rest of the hunting party; and she wasn’t used to wooded terrain, especial y not at night. She couldn’t even tel which direction they had come from. In the moonlight, the jumble of trees and rocks and darkness appeared identical every way she looked. At least the ghosts were gone.

Or seemed to be.

“We’re not safe here,” Varis said, reading her thoughts. Wel , they were rather obvious thoughts. “Those two —creatures—could return at any second. And thanks to you, Cal ie’s not here to stop them.”

“Cal ie couldn’t stop them a second time, even if she was here,” Darri said. “Were you there? She doesn’t have silver. Drawing of the hunt was genius, but the hunt is gone.”

Varis’s eyes narrowed. “The ghost boy vanished when she told him to stop.”

Darri thought of the look that had passed between her sister and the dead boy before he disappeared. “I think,” she said reluctantly, “that they’re friends.”

Varis stared at her. “But he’s dead!”

“So are a lot of people,” Darri said. “It doesn’t seem to mat er much to these Ghostlanders, does it?”

“Cal ie is not a Ghostlander.”

Darri gave him a look of scorn that she didn’t real y feel. She hadn’t seen it either, even though it should have been obvious from the moment Cal ie looked away from her across a room ful of perfumed nobles.

Should, in retrospect, have been obvious even before she saddled up her horse to ride to her sister’s rescue.

Why had it never occurred to her that Cal ie might not want to be rescued?

Looking around at the towering dark trees pressing in on them, Darri found that she stil couldn’t quite believe it. She remembered racing her sister beneath an azure sky, remembered lying with her in the long grass, the two of them imagining pictures in the shifting shapes of the clouds. If Cal ie wanted to remain in this unnatural land, where she would rarely see a clear swath of sky, where trapped spirits were forced into a foul pretense of life, it was only because she had forgot en. Darri would have to remind her.

pretense of life, it was only because she had forgot en. Darri would have to remind her.

And if she couldn’t . . .

Darri’s jaw tightened. If Cal ie couldn’t be reminded, then Darri would just have to rescue her anyhow.

It wouldn’t take Cal ie long, once she was back on the plains, to remember how much she loved the sky and the grass and the wild winds. The sooner they got her away from the perversions of Ghostland, the easier it would be.

Cal ie might hate her at first—and what dif erence did that make, when she seemed to hate her already?— but she would realize, in time, that Darri was right, and be grateful for being rescued. This country was no place for the living.

Jano materialized when Cal ie was nearly home. Because she didn’t want to see anyone, she had circled around the gates and outer yards, and was trot ing alongside the remains of the vast stone wal that had once surrounded the back of the castle. The crumbling wal , a relic from a time before the presence of the dead made such defenses unnecessary, was riddled with gaps large enough to ride through.

One moment she saw only the weathered stones; the next, her view was blocked by the laughing form of a young boy in a dark gray riding outfit. Her horse balked, but Cal ie dug her heels in and kept going as if she hadn’t seen him. A moment later he was beside her, racing along the loose stones at a speed that would have been death defying in the living.

“How long are you going to be angry at me?” he asked.

“For trying to kil my family?” She saw a gap and turned the horse with a light touch of her foot. “It may take a while.”

He hopped of the edge of the wal , blocking her way. “Oh, come on. I stopped when you showed up, didn’t I? Clarisse would gladly have kil ed al three of you.”

“I’m overwhelmed with gratitude.” Another nudge of her foot, and her horse snorted and surged forward.