Nightspell (27 page)

Cal ie was. She skidded to a stop and gasped out, “What did the Guardian tel you?”

The prince jerked his head down and looked at her. For a moment he just stared, his eyes shockingly bright.

The prince jerked his head down and looked at her. For a moment he just stared, his eyes shockingly bright.

Then he said, “Leave us.”

At once the throne room felt echoingly empty. Cal ie didn’t have to look up to know that the ghosts were

gone—but she did anyhow, and felt a lightness in her chest at the sight of the clear air around the stone pil ars.

Kestin didn’t look up. He kept his gaze where it had been: on Cal ie.

“What did Darri ask him?” Cal ie demanded. It was unthinkable for her, foreign nuisance that she was, to

talk to the crown prince in this tone of voice. She stepped toward him, fists clenched at her sides. “Where did

my sister go?”

Kestin hesitated, then shrugged and bit his lip on a smile. “Your sister,” he said, his voice low but clear, “is

ending the spel .”

Cal ie froze in place. “Ending?”

Kestin sat down careful y, placing both his hands on the golden arms of the throne. “This is what the

Guardian has wanted al along: for the spel to end. It’s why he convinced my father to bring you to Ghostland.

It’s why your siblings are here. So that death in our country can final y happen the way it’s supposed to.”

Cal ie opened her fingers slowly, pressed them hard against the sides of her legs. “But what wil happen to .

. . to the dead? The ones who are already here?”

“We don’t know. We might vanish.” He leaned forward, and suddenly there was nothing regal about him; he

looked like a hopeful child. “Or we might live. Real y live.”

The hope that sang through Cal ie then was sudden, and sharp, and it hurt more than anything had since . . .

since the moment she had seen her own corpse bloated with water and smeared with mud.

Graveyards. She had forgot en how much the living cared, and how much it hurt.

And until this moment, she hadn’t realized that she had forgot en.

She drew in a breath so sharp it should have hurt too, but didn’t; and she let the hope go. She knew, as the

Ghostlanders did not, what a stark dif erence there was between life and death.

“It’s not possible,” she said.

Kestin sat back, eyes stil alight. “The Guardian said that when the spel is broken, it wil once again change

the boundary between the living and the dead.”

Cal ie shook her head, so violently she felt her hairstyle shift. “The dead are dead.”

“But what if we don’t have to be?” She heard in his voice the same pain that thrummed through her. “She

might end our existence, yes. But she might give us more than mere existence. She might give us life.” He

aimed his dark eyes at Cal ie. “We don’t know what wil happen when the power in that spel is released. We

could be what we were, not the hol ow monstrosities we are now.”

Hol ow monstrosities. If his adoring subjects could hear him now. Cal ie’s fingernails dug into her palms.

She released them slowly. “Where is the spel ?”

“In the realms of the dead.”

“She went alone to those caves? They’l kil her—”

“Don’t be so melodramatic.” Kestin careful y adjusted his crown. “The dead aren’t there. Not tonight. For the

first time in centuries, they have something to celebrate.” He glanced up at the empty ceiling. “Even if they

went straight back, they won’t get there in time to stop her.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid. But hope could do that to even the smartest people.

Kestin was silent, his lips smiling but his eyes guarded. Cal ie took another two steps toward him and

stopped right at the foot of the dais’s velvet-coated stairs. “Don’t you see, Your Highness? The Guardian lied.

He of ered Darri something she wanted so desperately she would believe the impossible. My life.”

“You don’t know that.” Kestin shook his head. “You’re just guessing.”

“So are you.” She pointed a finger at him. “And you’re guessing with the existence of every ghost in this

castle.”

Kestin stood up. His crown shifted backward on his head. “Why do you care? You’re Rael ian. You think the

ghosts shouldn’t exist. Your thinking that is the reason the Guardian brought you here!”

You can pretend along with the rest of them, Darri’s voice whispered in her mind. Cal ie stared at Kestin. He

was right. She didn’t think the ghosts should exist.

But they did exist; she knew that with a bone-deep certainty that Darri could never understand. She thought

of Jano, of his bit erness and pranks, of the sly jokes that had helped her survive her first year here. She

thought of Lady Velochier with her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. She thought of Clarisse, heady with

her newfound power, fighting to remain in this world. And then she looked at Kestin, dead and regal, glaring

down at her with eyes like black fire.

This was why the Guardian had brought Darri here. Because he had known Cal ie could never destroy her

friends and acquaintances, people she had known for four years. People who shouldn’t exist, but did.

“You can’t let her do this,” she said.

“Yes I can,” Kestin said. “If you were dead, you would understand.”

She didn’t even flinch at that. She said, “I would. But not al of them do. Nobody is asking them if they want

to vanish and be nothing.”

Kestin’s lips thinned. “Nobody asked them if they wanted to be here in the first place.”

Cal ie stepped back. She was wasting her time. He wouldn’t accept what she was tel ing him. Not when he

Cal ie stepped back. She was wasting her time. He wouldn’t accept what she was tel ing him. Not when he

had just accepted hope, for the first time after weeks of hopelessness.

He would come around to it eventual y; he was too smart not to. Maybe in a few minutes. Maybe in a few

days, or weeks, or months. It didn’t mat er. She didn’t have that time.

“Al right, then,” she said, angry despite herself. “I’l stop her myself.”

She half-expected Kestin to try and prevent her, but the dead prince didn’t move or ut er a sound. He stood

and watched, his eyes bleak, as she whirled and ran across the marble floor.

Chapter Nineteen

Varis’s first move, once he and Clarisse were alone in the cavern, was to retrieve his tunic and slip it over his head; not out of modesty, but because the simple, practiced movement made his hands stop shaking. By the

time he turned to face Clarisse, he was able to appear perfectly calm.

Until he saw the stone shard in her hand, and realized what should have been the obvious answer to the

question of who Clarisse was going to betray.

Both of them.

Clarisse lifted the shard and threw it. He whirled to the side, and the pointed stone whizzed past his ear and

ricocheted of a rock. Clarisse knelt, picked up another, and stepped closer.

Varis drew his silver knife, and she shifted her hold slightly, so that she could use the stone to block a throw.

When he just stood there, the knife smal and useless in his hand, her lips curved into a smile.

“A dilemma, isn’t it?” she said. “Throw it, and you lose your only defense. But I don’t intend to get close

enough to let you use it any other way, before I kil you.”

“I don’t think,” Varis said, “that you’re going to kil me.”

“You don’t?” she said, pleased. “Spirits, I’m good.”

Varis’s stomach twisted. You have no idea what she real y wants from you, Cal ie had said. “What would you

gain? You have what you want. The Defender is gone, and the way is clear for you to be the leader of the

dead.”

Clarisse’s smile was sharp and hard-edged. “That did work out quite wel , didn’t it?”

“Then why kil me?” Varis said.

Her eyebrows arched. “The correct question is, why not?”

“It’s not that simple. You tried to kil me before, on the hunt, and I don’t believe it was just because the

Defender ordered it.” He risked a step toward her. She didn’t move back. “I think it was because if I was kil ed

in Ghostland, my father would direct al his ef ort toward vengeance. Between that and the succession dispute,

it would be years before we recovered suf iciently to cross the Kierran Mountains.”

Clarisse moved then, her hand tight on the stone; and for a moment he thought she had thrown it. He

stumbled to the side before he realized that she had only raised it defensively, as if it was he who had thrown a weapon.

“And why,” she said, her eyes like green fire, “would I care about that?”

“You’re trying so hard to care about nothing,” Varis said, “that there must be something you real y do care

about. Someone, would be my guess.”

She lowered the stone shard, just low enough to give him a clear view of her face. She was so furious she

couldn’t hide her anger, and al at once he was sure he was right.

“I used to care about nothing.” She stepped forward, sliding her feet over the rough stone ground, until she

stood right before him. “It’s not as easy as you would think, but I did it. I broke of al connections with

everything I ever had cared about. I died, which was rather extreme but did seem to work. And then you

came.”

He lowered his knife, not too far, but far enough that it wasn’t directly in her line of view.

“I didn’t even realize, at first, why I was so fascinated by you.” Her face went flat. “You’re something I’ve

spent my whole life guarding against. A threat to him.”

He nodded. “To your brother.”

She actual y flinched. “How do you—”

Varis met her fierce, dead green eyes. “The portrait in your room. His daughter looks just like you.”

Clarisse’s eyes widened. She was motionless for almost a ful minute. Then she said, “Why would any of this

stop me from kil ing you?”

“Because eventual y—sooner rather than later—we wil cross the mountains, and we wil conquer his land.”

Varis took a deep breath. His father was not going to like this. “If I am alive, I wil see to it that your brother lives. I swear. He and his daughter both.” He waited a beat, then added, “I say nothing about his wife, you

understand.”

She wasn’t even pretending to breathe; her chest didn’t move at al when she spoke again. “You also say

nothing about why I should trust you.”

“You’ve traveled through the plains. You know my people’s honor.” He lowered his knife al the way, and

knew she noticed the motion, though her eyes never moved from his. “Al you have to do is let me go. I’l be

out of your kingdom as fast as I can. And I’l see to it that your brother is safe.”

Something flickered in her eyes when he said “your kingdom.” She stepped back and lowered the stone

shard, and he forced himself to keep his breathing even. “Al right,” Clarisse said. “We have an agreement.”

“Shal we seal it with wine?”

Her lips formed a straight line; wel , it hadn’t been a particularly funny joke. “However, it applies only to

you.”

you.”

“Only to—” And then he understood. “No. Leave my sisters alone.”

“Too late, Your Highness.” She tossed the stone to the ground, and it rol ed into a dark crevice. “It won’t

benefit me much to be ruler of the dead if neither I nor they stil exist.”

“What are you talking about?”

She blew out a short breath. “The Guardian brought you and your sister to this country to end the spel that

keeps the dead here. I’m not going to let that happen.”

“I won’t let it happen,” Varis said. “I’l take Darri with me, as soon as I leave—”

“Too late, I’m afraid. After her dramatics during the dance, I assume she found out from the Guardian where

she has to go, and what she has to do.” Clarisse lifted an eyebrow at him. “Why so distressed? She was never

anything but an inconvenience to you anyhow.”

“She’s my sister.” He had no doubt that Clarisse was tel ing the truth: that Darri was down here in the caves,

that she was trying to end the spel . And that she was about to die. “If you kil her, I’l tear this country down.

I’l grind silver into the soil. I swear it.”

Clarisse blinked at him, completely unconcerned. “Why? You don’t love her.”

“I don’t like her,” Varis snarled. “I do love her.”

Clarisse drew her lips back, and behind them, her teeth were curved into fangs. For a moment she stood

poised, staring at him. Then she turned and walked right into the wal to their left. The hem of her gown was

the last thing to disappear, a trail of violet on the dark rocks.

Varis swore loudly. He sheathed his dagger, then reconsidered and drew it again.

The spel ’s defense, the Defender had cal ed the fal ing stalactites. Which meant Clarisse had been leading

him in the right direction. Her walking through wal s might have been just a flair for the dramatic, or a

shortcut through these labyrinthine caves. And obviously, Darri was headed to the spel by some other route.

But if he kept going the way they had been headed . . .

He knew immediately that it was a foolish thought. He could so easily get lost. He could wander down here

forever, and die where there was not even the faintest breath of wind to carry his spirit away. Already he felt

the terrible silence closing in around him. His heartbeat sounded like the march of an army, somewhere far

above where the living belonged.

Besides, there were probably other defenses. And even if he did get to the spel , he would be far, far behind

Clarisse; too far for Darri to stand a chance.

He swore again and strode forward, kicking broken stones out of his way as he walked through the darkness

and toward his sister.