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The undeads’ unnatural steps, almost falling with each movement, lit a fire, thawing the cold inside.Whose Spirits had they forced inside these bodies to do their dirty work?What if someonelike my mother was shoved into such a monstrosity? Had hanging one single fingerbone in the Grove been enough for her to gain the Goddess’s and Temple’s protection? Or had I been praying for years to a Spirit who labored in the dark under Tal?
Morovara had said the Temple tried to care for the world’s Spirits when they arrived in Tal, but what about those who died in our own streets? Those taken to the plague pyre outside instead of Temple District?
Watching their swaying step, something inside me clicked. The plague was a poison but targeting the poor had not made sense. It created chaos and anger but surely there were easier ways to do that—the only thing it did for sure was send the bodies to the pyre, bypassing the temples for fear of infection. Perhaps, this also made the Spirits free for claiming. Perhaps, they were enslaved as well as murdered.
Skirr, skirr, skirr.
I moved with no more thought than they, trusting those around me to steer me right while my mind reeled.
The recently dead are easier to control,Lumi had said.
How many had Ealhswip killed? How many undead servants did she have? Or, more urgently, how many did she need?
Dimitri’s hand tensed. The caravan had stopped before a sigiled wall. The food could be on the other side. Answers.Ealhswip.
We were too far away and blocked by the animated corpses to see the priestess clearly. Moving closer on silent feet, Dimitri pushed past Yahontov. I would not have believed someone raised in a palace could sneak like this. There must be stories behind his quiet steps. Tales I wanted to learn when we made it out of here.
At the border of the blue mage light, we stopped, Koshka pressing her shoulder against mine.
This close, the putrid smell of rotting flesh clung to the air. The priestess’s white robe swirled, the red mark on her chest visible, the hood raised, hiding her face.
Her magic spun like an invisible whip against my senses.
She was not opening a door.
Not delivering the food.
Not anymore.
As one, the undead dropped their burdens and turned. Matted hair and torn clothes. Stains of old blood blackened. Eyes filled with Ealhswip’s blue fire met mine. Spirit-light escaped through slack mouths.
My legs locked, and my magic screamed in distress. The glowing eyes did not blink.
Once, they had been three men and two women, fellow Talians. Now, they were a trap, and glimpse into our future if we did not get away.
“For our true ruler!” the priestess shouted. “No one escapes.”
And again, they moved as one.
Yahontov shoved us back as he raised his long sword. A wind howled through the previously still air. Koshka drew her knives. It was too narrow for Dimitri to draw his own sword.
I had no weapon. No magic against the dead, as if Lumi and I were two sides of the same coin, our abilities never touching.
Yahontov’s first swing lodged the sword in an undead man’s chest. The living corpse struggled, seemingly unfeeling, but at least blocked the path of the rest.
She cannot be killed, that’s what Lumi said when she told me why she needed information on von Lemerch. I now knew why.
I backed away, pulling Dimitri with me.
“The dead cannot be killed,” I said and shared my certainty with them. There was no time for explanations.
Koshka nodded while still throwing her right knife. With athunk, it stuck through the eye of a woman. A perfect throw. A meaningless waste of a knife.
The wind helped Yahontov hold them back. Then the impaled man pushed himself further up the sword. The others pressed on behind. No matter how strong Dimitri’s bodyguard was, this could only end one way.
“Disengage and run,” Dimitri ordered, coming to the same realization. “Get yourself out and carry the news back to the palace.”
Koshka threw a second knife and pulled another from her boot in one smooth motion. “We’re sworn to you. Get out of here if you want us to go.”
