Nightspell (7 page)

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.

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