Nightspell (13 page)

doorway, surprise wiping his face blank. That reprieve lasted for only a second; then he sighed loudly and

leaned against the doorpost.

She had been prepared for his expression of resigned irritation. It pricked her pride al the same, and she

had to force out the words she had come to say. They left a bit er aftertaste on her tongue.

Varis folded his arms over his chest. “You need my help? For what?”

“To find out why we’re being at acked.”

He dropped his hand to his side. “Ah.”

The dismissiveness contained in that syl able could have irritated a far more patient person than Darri.

“Don’t you want to learn what the Defender wants from us?” she snapped. “We don’t know where the next

at ack wil come from. We don’t know how to defend ourselves.” We don’t know if he’s already succeeded in

kil ing one of us.

Cal ie couldn’t have died much before Kestin, not if nobody in the castle knew about it yet; which meant

that she, like Kestin, had died just about the same time that King Ais invited a new pair of foreigners into the

kingdom. Cal ie’s death, Kestin’s death, the at acks on the Rael ians—those three things had to be connected.

Al Darri had to do was unravel the motives behind one of them, and she would have her answer to al three.

She hoped.

Varis didn’t move from the doorway. “I have my own ways of looking into it.”

Darri grit ed her teeth. “Believe it or not, I can help you. I know things that you do not.”

He tilted his head back, looking amused. “Such as?”

Darri hesitated. With just a few words, she could knock that skeptical expression right of his face.

But she couldn’t betray Cal ie to Varis. Not even after al that had happened—and no mat er what

happened. The bat le lines between them had been drawn far too long ago. She bit her lip.

Varis unfastened his cloak and tossed it into the room. It landed over the back of a chair. “I’m a warrior,

Darri. People have tried to kil me before. I’ve learned not to overreact to it.”

“They tried to kil your sisters—” Darri broke of . The sense of futility was so familiar she could barely

breathe. “You would have cared once.”

Something flickered on his face—or, more likely, in her imagination. For a moment he looked like the

brother she’d once had, who had wanted to protect her, who had cared what she thought of him.

Then he stepped toward her, his mouth grim, and the il usion vanished. But something was stil wrong.

Darri remained on the bed, even when Varis made an irritated gesture toward the door.

He was lying. Much as she hated her brother, wanted to think nothing good of him, she knew him too wel

to believe it. He was a perfect Rael ian, and her people didn’t forget. Rael ians were taught that it was worth

years of ef ort to avenge the slightest wrong. Varis would never let an at ack—on himself and his family—go

years of ef ort to avenge the slightest wrong. Varis would never let an at ack—on himself and his family—go

unpunished.

Darri pushed of the bed and stalked across the room. She shoved the door closed, then walked around Varis

to face him.

“We’re going to take vengeance on al of them,” she said. “Aren’t we?”

Varis’s eyes narrowed faintly. Darri raked a hand through her hair, yanking through its tangles so hard it

hurt.

“That’s the reason we’re stil here, even though Prince Kestin is dead,” she said. “If we can’t form an al iance, we’l find a way to conquer al of Ghostland. That’s why it doesn’t mat er to you which specific Ghostlander

was behind the at ack.”

Varis smiled at her blandly. “You’re very imaginative, sister.”

But Darri, fol owing her own train of thought, felt herself go pale. “It’s not instead of an al iance, is it?

Conquest was always Father’s plan. You would have had me marry Kestin if he was alive, to lul them into

thinking we wanted peace. And then at acked anyhow.”

Varis looked uncomfortable, and Darri knew she was right. Her brother wouldn’t have liked that plan, but

he would have gone along with it if their father commanded it. She took a quick stride forward, so that there

were only inches between herself and her brother. “That’s why we’re being at acked; because some of the dead

know why we’re here. They’re defending themselves.” His pale blue eyes looked down into hers. “You could

have warned me.”

“I wanted to,” Varis said. And then, just as something fragile within her leaped into hope: “I would have, if I

thought you could be trusted.”

“You’re the one who broke the trust between us,” Darri said, so viciously that she almost expected him to

step back. Instead he shook his head, a sad, disappointed movement that made her want to hit him.

“Darri—” Varis began, but it ended in a choke. He pitched forward and slammed into her.

A sharp sizzle of pain ran across Darri’s neck. Her skin recognized knifepoint a moment before her eyes took

in everything else: the ghostly shape that had exploded from inside the door onto her brother’s back, pushing

him forward onto her. And the long dagger jut ing through Varis’s right shoulder, the tip of which had grazed

the side of her neck.

Darri ducked under Varis and rol ed to the side, just in time to avoid the thrust of the second blade. She

kicked up as she rol ed, connecting with the weapon in the now-solid hand. The dagger flew across the room

and hit the wal , and Jano’s ghost tackled her.

She was ready. This time she wasn’t alone and unprepared in a dark forest. Darri thrust her legs upward

with every bit of strength in her. Jano’s body turned to mist, but not fast enough; not before she had kicked

him, sending him flying over her head. His hazy form went right through the bed board and halfway into the

mat ress.

Darri moved with the force of her kick, rol ing over and onto her feet with an ef ort that wrenched her back.

Blood dripped down the side of her neck, but not enough to concern herself with. She shot a quick glance at

Jano, caught in a tangle of translucent boy and opaque bed, then raced across the room and scooped up the

dagger she had kicked out of his hand.

Jano floated right up through the bedspread and went solid. “What do you plan to do with that—tickle

me?”

Darri ignored him and slid to a stop in front of her brother. Varis had pul ed himself into a sit ing position,

leaning against the closed door, blood spreading across his upper arm. He met her eyes and nodded. Darri

stepped behind him, grabbed the hilt, and pul ed.

She grunted with the ef ort, but Varis made not the slightest noise. The dagger pul ed through his flesh with

a sucking sound. Varis immediately tore of the blood-soaked sleeve and wrapped it tightly around the wound,

twisting the ends under his armpit with a deft one-handed motion. Then he stood up.

Darri felt that standing up was taking stoicism a step too far. She shook her head at him, and he grinned

faintly. The two of them strode side by side into the center of the room, facing Jano.

“That was a wasted ef ort,” Jano said. He stood on the bed with his feet braced wide apart. “You do

remember the way things work here, right? You can’t use those against me.”

Darri passed the clean blade to Varis, who reached his uninjured arm across his chest to take it. “We know,”

she said. “But now you can’t use them against us. I invite you to try to at ack us unarmed.” She grinned, every

muscle tense and ready, and felt Varis’s identical readiness beside her.

“Or you can run along,” Varis added. Blood stil seeped through the silk of his sleeve, but he appeared to be

in no pain at al . Darri, who had been knifed once, knew that couldn’t be true. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Darri tried to catch Varis’s eye; when he wouldn’t look at her, she looked around the room, trying to figure

out where his silver dagger might be.

“You Rael ians are such a disappointment,” Jano sput ered. His face had gone beet red, which only made

him look more like a child. “Even from barbarians, I expect some capacity for thought. You real y believe I

can’t at ack you?”

“Do you have ghostly powers we don’t know about yet?” Varis managed to sound like he was sure of the

answer to that question.

“Idiots.” Jano moved so fast his hands were a blur. “I have another dagger.”

“Idiots.” Jano moved so fast his hands were a blur. “I have another dagger.”

The blade flew straight across the room. Darri grabbed Varis’s wrist and yanked, pul ing him downward.

The third dagger sliced past her arm, leaving a sharp line of pain and a trail of blood. But instead of hit ing the door, it made the distinctive sound of a knife striking flesh.

“Ouch,” Clarisse said behind them.

Darri whirled. Clarisse stood in front of the door with the hilt protruding from her chest, sticking

incongruously out from the lace that lined her bodice.

Clarisse sighed, reached up, and pul ed the blade out. It came smoothly and soundlessly, without any gush of

blood. Clarisse frowned down at the rip in the front of her dress, and a moment later it was gone.

Darri glanced over her shoulder at Jano, who was so insubstantial she could barely see him. There was no

way she and Varis could fight both of them—not when Clarisse had a weapon. Darri struck out anyhow, aiming

her bloody steel blade at Clarisse’s wrist. At the last moment she changed direction and struck instead at the

weapon in Clarisse’s hand.

Clarisse didn’t fal for it. She drew her hand back, and Darri’s blade sliced uselessly through the air. Darri

staggered, of balance for what could have been a fatal moment, then whirled in a circle and threw.

Clarisse lifted her other hand and flicked her fingers. Darri’s dagger hit hers and sent both crashing to the

ground, along with a thin swath of violet silk cut from Clarisse’s sleeve.

Clarisse blinked at the fal en daggers, then let out an aggrieved sigh and folded her arms across her chest.

“Right,” she said. “I keep forget ing that doesn’t work anymore.”

Darri stood panting, legs so taut they shook. She wanted to dive for the two weapons lying at Clarisse’s feet,

on the of chance she could snatch them before the dead girl did. But that moment when Clarisse had avoided

her strike, when Darri had been of balance, her entire right side undefended—that moment should have been

fatal. Clarisse could easily have stabbed her before she recovered.

Instead of lunging for the daggers, Darri regained her breath and said, “Why are you here?”

“To finish what we started,” Jano snarled—at Clarisse, not at her.

“Oh,” Clarisse said, glancing up at him. “That plan’s been changed. Sorry, Jano—did I not tel you?”

Jano glared at her, fists clenched at his sides. “Then what are you doing here?”

Clarisse brushed an invisible speck of dust of her sleeve. “I’m here to talk to Prince Varis.”

Jano and Darri both looked at Varis, who was crouched on the floor in readiness to at ack. He rose slowly to

his feet, like a snake uncoiling, his eyes fixed on Clarisse. “Why?”

Clarisse’s gaze dropped, and her voice softened. “Because I couldn’t stay away.”

Varis snorted a laugh, then winced and pressed his hand to his shoulder. Clarisse looked at the dark blood

soaking through the white silk and lifted an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you have that bound?”

“Thank you for pointing it out,” Varis said through grit ed teeth. “I haven’t had the leisure just yet.”

“Then I’l leave you to it.” She knelt smoothly to retrieve her dagger. “When you’re done . . . can I assume

you know where my old rooms are?”

“Yes,” Varis said shortly.

Clarisse held her smile and his gaze. Then she stepped around Varis and held a hand out to Jano, who was

now standing at the foot of the bed. “Let’s go.”

Jano folded his arms across his chest. “Why should I listen to you?”

“Because,” Clarisse said patiently, “it wil be easier than fighting me.”

“I’m hundreds of years older than you,” Jano spat. “What makes you think you can fight me?”

Clarisse considered for a moment. Then she smiled, but her teeth weren’t teeth; they were fangs, long and

white. Her figure blurred and changed; her fingers lengthened, sharpened; her hair loosened from its coils and

formed lashing tendrils.

Jano stumbled back, and Clarisse landed on his chest, throwing him to the ground. She crouched over him,

stil wearing her rose-colored gown, a horrible mixture of human and beast. The sight of her—of the thing she

had become—made bile rise in Darri’s throat. She swal owed hard, feeling it burn its way through her body.

Clarisse’s hair writhed around her head, whipping at Jano’s face. She snarled, a purely animal sound, and

tore at his throat. Jano’s body turned to mist, and Clarisse’s fangs hit the floor. She snarled again as Jano rol ed out from under her and leaped away, the slashes on his face disappearing as he straightened.

Clarisse rose to her feet, and by the time she was standing she was human again: tapered fingers, finely

boned face, blond hair fal ing neatly around her cheeks. When she smiled, her teeth were smal and straight.

Only her eyes stil glowed, so bril iantly green it was as if they were lit from within.

“Spirits,” she said breathlessly. “That’s my favorite part of being dead.” She whipped her head around to

look at Varis, lifted her eyebrows at the horror on his face, then looked back at Jano. “Can you change your

body that much, lit le boy? Because if you can, a fight between us might be fun.”

Jano stared at her, eyes wide, lower lip jut ing out. Then he shot through the air to the door, going through