Author: Leah Cypess

Jano went translucent right before the gelding’s broad chest would have hit his face, and stood there smirking as she rode through him. Cal ie slowed down, ful y intending to turn around and tel him exactly what she thought of his childish tricks; but before she could start, he was on the horse behind her, squeezing her forward in the saddle with his arms around her waist.

Cal ie stif ened. He must have leaped back on the wal and swung himself onto the horse as she went by; another move only for those who had no life to lose. “Get of !”

“Calm down, Cal ie.” His arms tightened. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

Back when she had first arrived in Ghostland—after the first wave of shock had passed, but before the desperation and fear had begun to recede—Cal ie had developed an infatuation with Jano. She had known he was dead, which doubtless would have horrified Darri—she had horrified herself—but she had been so alone.

The castle had seemed a craggy dark prison fil ed with shadowy people and expressions of scorn, and Jano had made everything bearable by making fun of it.

The infatuation was long gone; it was quite ridiculous now that she had grown older than him. He barely reached her shoulder. But Jano, curse him, never tired of teasing her about it. The only defense was to ignore him until he moved on to other pursuits.

But Cal ie wasn’t in her most patient mood, so she jabbed backward with her elbow as hard as she could.

He faded, of course, and laughed as she struggled to regain her seat. She reined in her horse and twisted around to look at him.

“Why,” she asked, “did you have a silver knife?”

He went solid again, his arms stil pressing into her sides. “They’re pret ier.”

“They’re il egal. And dangerous for a ghost to carry. And you didn’t need one for my siblings.”

He shrugged. “I was told to bring it.”

“By whom?”

That got no answer. Cal ie went straight to her next question. “Who is the Defender?”

His eyes widened. “How did you—oh. Graveyards. Clarisse.”

“Who is he?”

Jano swung one leg over the back of the saddle and slid to the ground. “If that’s the price of your forgiveness, I’l survive without it.” He stared up at her, the worry in his eyes contradicting his perky tone.

“Cal ie, take my advice. Forget you ever heard that name.”

The castle loomed over them, dark and craggy. “Since it’s the name of the person who ordered you to kil my sister, I don’t think I can.”

“You have to.” He put a hand on her reins; she flicked them away with more force than was necessary, making her horse toss his head in protest. “It’s not a name the living were meant to hear. It’s dangerous.”

Dangerous for him. Cal ie wasn’t deluded for a second into thinking the worry was for her. “Wel , if you won’t tel me, I’l just have to ask someone else.”

Jano swore at her, lengthily and inventively. Cal ie waited until he was done, then said, “Or we can make a deal.”

Only twice before had she got en the bet er of Jano. This time, her satisfaction was tempered by the fear in his eyes. She didn’t think he was faking it. “I liked you bet er when you were innocent, Cal ie.”

So had Darri. Too bad for both of them. “Where can I find him?”

So had Darri. Too bad for both of them. “Where can I find him?”

Jano closed his eyes, like someone preparing to jump of a clif . “You don’t know what you’re get ing involved with.”

“I wil if you explain it to me.”

His eyes popped open. Now he looked like someone who had already jumped, watching the ground rush up at him. Not for the first time, she wondered how Jano had died. “I can’t.”

Cal ie narrowed her eyes. “I already know he exists. When I go looking for him, I’l be sure to tel everyone I heard about him from you.”

“I don’t think you would do that.”

Unfortunately, he was right. Cal ie made her voice as hard as she could. “Are you wil ing to bet your existence on that?”

“I don’t see that I have much choice.” Jano stepped back. “I’ve told you enough. More than enough. It’s unfortunate that you heard his name, and even more unfortunate that you’re too stubborn to be smart about it.

But if you develop some brains in the near future, you’l take my advice. Forget what you heard.”

Cal ie sighed. “I assume you’re going to fol ow that dire warning with a dramatic disappearance.”

He didn’t smile. But he did take the trouble to turn and walk away, not disappearing until he reached the gap in the wal .

Cal ie’s fists clenched so tightly on the reins that her mount nickered and backed up in protest. She took several long breaths, then turned her back on the forest and guided her horse toward the castle.

Chapter Five

The first thing Darri did, when she stepped into the banquet hal the next evening, was look around for her sister: first a quick sweep, then a slower one when it occurred to her how easily Cal ie would blend in with the Ghostland women. Both revealed the same thing: a roomful of kohl-rimmed eyes staring at her, a few giggling maids floating near the ceiling, and no Cal ie.

The second sweep also revealed two empty seats at the king’s table, on the dais near the back of the hal .

Darri stopped short. “We’re sit ing with Prince Kestin?”

“We have to.” Varis took her elbow and tugged her farther into the room. “We can’t ignore him. He’s the crown prince.”

His voice was firm, but lacked its usual contemptuous edge. After his humiliating performance on the hunt the night before, Varis had been subdued; he hadn’t even pressed the point that it was he who had found their way back to the castle. Nor had he made any mention of the dagger-bearing belt she had strapped defiantly around her gown. Instead of finding it a relief, his restraint made Darri’s skin prickle.

She pul ed her elbow away from his grasp. “I won’t be courted by a dead man.”

“Of course you won’t,” Varis snapped. “I wil talk to Kestin and let him know no marriage is possible. But you can’t insult him by refusing to speak to him.”

“Real y?” Darri said, and he turned and looked at her. His jaw twitched. Right after Cal ie’s departure, their father had invited the son of his best commander to court Darri; Darri had refused to say a word to him, had not even acknowledged his presence, until their father threatened to marry her of to a shepherd instead. Then she had suggested improvements to her suitor’s riding technique. It had taken a herd of horses loaded with gifts to redress the insult, and Darri had spent the rest of the summer gathering horse dung.

But this time, the consequences of rudeness wouldn’t af ect only her. They would af ect Cal ie, too.

Reluctantly, Darri mounted the dais after Varis. Only King Ais and Prince Kestin were seated there, one at each side of the large, square table. Kestin was watching her with his eyebrows slanted; when she met his gaze, his face smoothed over swiftly. Gingerly, Darri took a seat at his side.

The prince leaned over and smiled at her. “Princess Darriniaka. I hope you are enjoying your time here so far?”

“Tremendously,” Darri said. “I had a particularly exhilarating time on the hunt last night.”

Varis choked on his soup and shot her a warning look. Darri picked up her own spoon and smiled at him sweetly. She knew ful wel that Varis didn’t want to talk about the ambush, or anything related to the deads’ opposition to the Rael ian presence.

“The hunt?” Kestin leaned back. “You were on—”

“It was very exciting,” Darri said. She waited until Varis picked up his spoon again, then added, “Do you know where my sister is? I was expecting to see her here.”

This time, Varis managed not to choke, though he did glare at her as he swal owed.

Once again Kestin’s eyebrows plunged down, this time long enough for Darri to pin down his expression: he was assessing her, trying to figure her out. Wel , that was fair enough. If he hadn’t been dead, she would have been doing the same.

Whatever he saw, Kestin seemed to approve. His lips curved upward as he looked down at his own soup without touching his spoon. “Cal ie doesn’t take part in many of the social activities at court. I’m sorry to say that people weren’t very friendly to her when she first came here.”

“They wil be kinder to you,” King Ais put in, making it sound like a proclamation. The king was a short man with a long, hol ow-cheeked face and a close-cut beard. His eyes were smal and tired. “My son wil see to it.”Kestin didn’t look at his father, but his shoulders stifened. Darri resisted the urge to point out just how much she didn’t care whether the members of this court were friendly to her. She said instead, “I would be grateful for that.”

“It wil be my pleasure,” Kestin said.

A quiver of disgust ran through Darri, but she was able to force a smile. She had been courted many times before, and sometimes—when her father’s choices happened to be young and handsome and wit y—enjoyed the process. Even when they were old and dul , it hadn’t been too bad. She had taken none of them seriously, because none of them had been important enough for her father to force her to marry. And she had known she would never marry anyone of her own choice. Her future was something she refused to think about until she rescued her sister.

Kestin waited until King Ais had turned his at ention to his soup; then he said in a low voice, “Forgive my father’s presumption. I do not assume that you wil accept my suit.”

Across the table, Varis was talking to King Ais; over the noise of the rest of the banquet hal , Darri could only make out the vaguest murmur of their conversation, which meant Varis couldn’t hear hers, either. She said, “That’s good. Because I’m not going to accept it.”

Kestin choked on his wine. For a moment she thought he was angry; then she realized he was laughing.

Kestin choked on his wine. For a moment she thought he was angry; then she realized he was laughing.

“Real y?” he said final y, put ing down his goblet. There were purple stains at the upturned corners of his lips. “And yet I’ve barely said a word to you. The women here don’t find me unat ractive, but perhaps on the plains women value dif erent things in a man.”

Like having a pulse? Darri just looked at him.

“Truth be told, I would rather wait a few years and marry your sister.” The prince flashed a conspiratorial grin, one that probably had a great deal to do with Ghostland women’s high opinion of his looks. “I would stil be the same age I am now, you know.”

Darri lifted her goblet to her lips; upon consideration, instead of sipping the wine, she drained as much of it as she could. Kestin’s eyes gleamed—he knew the ef ect he was having on her. Suddenly furious, Darri straightened and looked straight at him. Without flinching, she said, “Yes. I do know. And you should know that my brother won’t force either of us to marry a dead man.”

Kestin put his goblet down on the table, his grin suddenly gone. Out of the corner of her eye, Darri saw Varis watching them anxiously; but King Ais was stil talking, and her brother had no way to intervene.

Kestin wiped of his mouth and leaned forward, his black hair swinging across his cheek. “Are you so sure?”

“Yes,” Darri said, but al at once she wasn’t. She glanced away from Kestin at Varis. His bloodshot blue eyes seemed smal and faded after the impact of Kestin’s dark gaze, his mouth grim and uncompromising. He looked at her as if he didn’t much like what he was seeing.

It had been a long time since she had truly known her brother, if she ever had. He spent his life fighting and scheming and kil ing. She had no idea what he was capable of; and, obviously, he hadn’t fol owed through on his assurance that they would be leaving soon. Maybe he would wed her to an abomination, if he deemed it necessary.