Author: Leah Cypess

Varis opened the door instantly. He had taken of his cloak, and looked rakishly disheveled in a black tunic.

Behind him, in the center of his room, he had set up a smal table with two goblets of wine.

“Expecting someone?” Cal ie said.

Varis gave her an unfriendly look, then—suddenly remembering what she was—turned away. Cal ie saw him swal ow hard and slowly turn back, his eyes coming to rest somewhere on her forehead. She made herself stand stil , pretending she didn’t care.

“What are you doing here?” Varis asked final y.

Cal ie walked past him and sat defiantly in one of the two chairs he’d set out, knowing it wasn’t meant for her. She stretched out her legs, not quite sure why she was posturing, trying to ignore the way his eyes skimmed away from her face as he turned. “Darri just kil ed Lord Cerix.”

Varis’s eyebrow twitched—for him, the equivalent of his face going dead white. “She what?”

“In the middle of the dance floor. It was quite the at raction.”

“Spirits,” Varis mut ered.

Cal ie took a deep breath. “She did it to get the Guardian’s at ention, because she thinks he can defeat the Defender. You have to help me stop her. She’s going to get herself kil ed.”

“You think I can stop Darri from doing something crazy? Things haven’t changed that much since you left.”

Varis drummed his fingers on the wal behind him, then final y looked directly at her—for just a moment before his eyes skit ered away. His voice was oddly subdued when he said, “Is she stil . . . around?”

Judging from the hint of shame in her brother’s voice, “she” meant Clarisse. “Yes.”

Varis’s shoulders relaxed, though he tried not to let it show, and Cal ie sat up straight. Maybe he didn’t care about Darri, but Cerix’s death had to have repercussions for whatever Varis was planning. Varis had never placed any person above the greater good of his tribe; Cal ie, unlike Darri, had always understood that about him. It made no sense that he suddenly cared more about an assignation than about their father’s plans.

Unless this particular tryst was connected to those plans.

An awful suspicion blossomed in her mind. Keeping her eyes on Varis, she crossed her ankles, lifted the An awful suspicion blossomed in her mind. Keeping her eyes on Varis, she crossed her ankles, lifted the nearest goblet of wine, and swirled the dark red liquid in the glass.

“I know Clarisse is beautiful,” she said. “But everything she says is a lie. You have no idea what she real y wants from you.” She raised the goblet to her lips.

With a speed she hadn’t seen in years, Varis was at her side, lifting the goblet from her grasp. One red drop splashed over the side and landed on her sleeve; the rest of it sloshed wildly, barely missing the rim. By the time Varis put the goblet back down, his hand perfectly steady, the wine had set led into a gentle swirl.

“I didn’t pour that for you,” he said.

She tilted her head up, and their eyes met. He was angry, and irritated, and a lit le bit afraid. But behind al that, too implicit to even be noticeable—except that she would have noticed its absence—was a sense of kinship.

She was stil his sister. And he knew it.

Varis wrenched his eyes away, and Cal ie was glad for that. She didn’t even want to guess what might be in her own.

“How ungracious,” she said. “Don’t worry, I was just leaving. I wouldn’t want to miss the coronation.”

She got to her feet, thinking about Clarisse; about her first miserable year here, when she had sought so desperately for Clarisse’s at ention and been so scornful y ignored. Not a crime punishable by death . . . and she knew, as Varis did not, how alive the dead could feel.

So she thought instead about the fact that Clarisse owed her loyalty to Cal ie’s kil er. And that this was as close as Cal ie would ever get to taking vengeance for her murder. Her Ghostland and Rael ian instincts merged for one savage moment that was blissful y free of doubt.

“Enjoy your company,” she said as she turned to the door. “I’m happy to leave you to it.”

Clarisse entered Varis’s room by walking through the closed door rather than by opening it. That was Varis’s first clue that this meeting was not going to go exactly as he had planned. The second was when Clarisse looked at the two goblets on the table and laughed.

The third, and worst, was when Jano stepped through the door beside her.

Varis was sit ing on a wooden chair, a book open in his hands. He turned a page, set his thumb on the text, and looked up, making no ef ort to hide his annoyance. “I don’t recal inviting anyone but you.”

“And quite flat ering that was,” Clarisse murmured, stil visibly amused. “Nevertheless, Jano has something to add to this discussion. And he does have a taste for good wine.”

Varis’s brow creased. While he was staring at Clarisse hard, trying to figure out how much she knew, Jano walked past both of them and plopped inelegantly on one of the chairs.

“Your sisters,” he announced, “are both crazy.”

“Astonishing insight,” Varis said. He looked back at Clarisse. “Is this another ambush?”

“No.” Clarisse sighed. “You need to stop harping on that. Tonight we want to help you.”

Varis closed the book with a thud. “Help me with what?”

“With conquering Ghostland, of course.”

Varis put the book down on the table, al owing no expression at al to cross his face, mental y checking his weapons. He had a coated dagger in his boot and several silver ones hidden within easy reach.

Clarisse walked across the room toward him. Her eyes measured the space between them, as if he was prey.

“That is your plan, isn’t it?”

“Right now,” Varis said, “I’m more interested in what your plan is.”

“My plan,” Clarisse said, “is to do something about being only the second most powerful creature in this castle.” She stopped several yards from him and brushed a stray curl away from her forehead. “I’ve had just about enough of that position to last me for eternity.”

Varis slid his hands onto his knees. “How can you do anything to the Defender? He’s immune to silver and sunlight.”

“That was a lie.” Clarisse held out her arm. “Stab me.”

“What—”

“Just do it.”

He hesitated for only a second. Then he said, “With pleasure,” and lunged forward.

The silver knife sliced through Clarisse’s skin. Clarisse smiled and jerked her arm upward. The blade went through her forearm and out the other side; Varis staggered slightly before he straightened, the ridges of the dagger hilt pressing into his palm. Clarisse’s arm remained upraised, whole and uncut. Her smile was a bit strained, but triumphant.

“We can become so insubstantial that even silver won’t touch us,” she said, running a finger proudly over the unblemished white skin of her arm. “We can do it to only part of our body at a time. Some of us, that is.”

Jano brought his chair back down with a thud, then leaned forward and stared at Clarisse with his mouth hanging open. “I don’t know anyone who can do that.”

“I know,” Clarisse said, a bit smugly.

Jano looked at Varis, and Varis met his gaze. It was oddly dif icult to do; there was something about the boy that sent chil s up and down his arms.

that sent chil s up and down his arms.

After a moment, Jano transferred his at ention back to Clarisse. “How long have you been able to?”

“This was my first time.” She laughed, her teeth flashing white. “I’m glad it worked.”

Jano slapped his hands down on his knees. “How did you know it was even possible?”

“I’ve seen the Defender do it. Many times. He does it with sunlight, too.” She laughed again, in sheer delight.

Now, unlike in the banquet hal , she looked truly alive. “That reminds me. I’l have to try sunlight next.”

“But I cut you,” Varis said. “In your room. And it hurt you.”

Clarisse’s fingers froze on her arm. She looked at him through narrowed eyes; he was prey now, no question about it. “Because I wasn’t ready for it. I can’t defend against silver if I don’t know it’s there. . . .” She stopped, lips parted, and looked at him.

“What?” Jano demanded, sit ing up straight.

“So,” Varis said, watching Clarisse. “The Defender, too, could be kil ed by silver. If he didn’t see it coming, and didn’t know to defend himself against it.”

“My prince.” She let her arm drop, and he found himself returning her smile. “I am so very, very glad you came to this country.”

“What are you two going on about?” Jano demanded, his eyes narrowed. He folded his arms against his chest and gave Varis a sulky, unfriendly look. “This is nothing new. We know about your coated silver daggers.

Give one to us, and we’l use it against the Defender. You won’t have to worry about his opposition, and we won’t have to obey him anymore. Everybody gains something.”

Clarisse tilted her head back. “Let’s seal it with a drink,” she said. “There are only two goblets, which does present a problem, but I’m sure we can—”

Jano reacted, predictably, like a child. He snatched up one of the goblets and lifted it to his mouth.

He was stil smirking when he vanished.

It was that quick: one second he was there, the next he wasn’t. The goblet fel to the floor, but Clarisse’s slender hand snatched it up a second before it would have hit. She must have started moving even before she had finished talking.

“Now you know it works,” she said, quite calmly. “What was in it, by the way?”

Varis looked from the empty space where Jano had been to her face. “Silver powder,” he said.

“A poison that would kil only the dead. Ingenious.” Clarisse straightened the goblet—some of the dark red liquid had already splashed onto the wooden floor—and placed it on the table, exactly where it had been.

“Were you planning to use it at your sister’s wedding feast? For the toast, I’d imagine, so that we would al drink it at once.”

That had been the plan, treacherous and base and dishonorable; but there was nothing in Clarisse’s voice except admiration. He stepped back and leaned against the wal . “Possibly. It would have to be al of you, or at least most of you, at the same time. I can’t think of anything but a wedding toast that would work that way.”

“And in the meantime you were going to test it on me?”

He started to flush, remembered who he was talking to, and said calmly, “You practical y invited me to.”

Her admiration didn’t dim in the slightest. “I wanted to know what other weapons you had brought with you. I was a lit le concerned that you were too taken with my beauty to seize the opportunity, but I gambled on that barbarian ruthlessness I keep hearing about.”

“And you brought Jano along as a substitute?”

“It was bet er this way.” Clarisse stretched her arms over her head. “I did Jano a favor, real y. He was terribly tired of existence.” She touched the rim of the goblet with her finger and sighed. “Is this real y a Green Islands vintage? What a waste.”

“I have more,” Varis said.

“Wel .” She swiveled slowly and looked at him. “I don’t think I should be accepting wine from you, under the circumstances. But I do have another idea.”

Chapter Seventeen

Darri had no idea where the Guardian was leading her, but she didn’t care. She probably had just started a war, but she didn’t care about that either. She didn’t even care—much—about the horrified looks that fol owed her as she walked out of the hal behind the Guardian, blood sticking her gown to her calves. It was clear that if not for the Guardian, they would be dragging her across the marble floor in the direction of the dungeons.