Page 180 of What Blooms from Death

I braced a hand against the battlement, nonetheless, peering in the direction Bastian was pointing in.

Fear squeezed the breath from my lungs as I caught sight of ghostly white figures in the distance—shades. They had gathered in countless groups along the expansive fields encircling the palace, their ethereal forms twitching with unnatural movements, dancing like pale ribbons caught in a restless wind.

“They’re getting closer every hour,” Bastian said. “The wards that Calista put into place are beginning to fail, and now they can sense the life we’ve been protecting within our oasis. They likelysense you and your power, as well. I doubt they understand what’s happening here, but it draws them in, all the same.”

An unsettling question occurred to me. “How did they end up outside of these walls in the first place? How did Calista—and the leaders who served alongside her—decide who would be protected within this sanctuary, and who would be left out?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve spent hours scouring all of the literature and notes we could find about the shades, but there’s nothing conclusive about her decision-making process.”

The question continued to eat away at me, until a horrible sound—a low, unearthly hiss—rose from the crowd of shades, jolting me back into the present.

“There are so many out there,” I said, hugging myself against the chill that rippled through me. “Enough to cause problems if they get inside, even if they aren’t sentient and organized...”

My brother nodded in solemn, silent agreement.

It explained why both the gatehouse and the rampart we stood upon were more heavily secured and guarded than I’d ever seen them.

Such defenses had been unnecessary ever since Calista’s magic had made this refuge impenetrable and impossible to overtake, or evenfind. As a result, the structures themselves were in varying states of disrepair. All day long, there had been a flurry of activity around them—attempts to reinforce crumbled sections, to cover openings, to shore up weak points. Not just against the shades, but against whatever other calamities awaited in the days to come, whether by Lorien’s hand or otherwise.

The preparations continued, even now. The thumpingand clanging of tools echoed in the eerie, foggy night, along with the sound of footsteps and the shouting of orders and plans.

It made me want to imagine this palace in its prime, back when Rivenholt was a proper kingdom surrounded by otherproper kingdoms. It must have been a grand sight, at one point—all these towering walls, majestic arches, and imposing fortifications. I wondered briefly at the history of Noctaris and all its secrets, the untold stories woven into ancient stones like the ones we walked upon. There was still so much to learn about what had been lost, and what we might still be able to salvage in the future.

Yet my gaze never strayed far from the present situation. “Our walls are being reinforced here, but what about Tarnath?” That royal city would be overrun in no time, should the shades manage to flood into its streets.

“The citizens have been warned not to leave their homes. Eamon and a few of the other feyth like him are heading up efforts to reinforce things. There are old, lesser remedies to fend off shades, too—special herbs and salves that can be burned, charms that can be fashioned from blessed obsidian and bone. They don’t last indefinitely, but they should buy a little time.”

My gaze drifted back to the shades, whose movements seemed increasingly desperate.

“What will become of them, even if we manage some sort of victory?” I wondered. “They’re different from the wraiths who are partly sustained by the flames in places like Erebos, or the more protected shades we revived at Graykeep, right? They’ve been wandering in the Deadlands for so long, bereft of all magic…will they be able to return to human existence, if so much has been lost, evenwiththe aid of the Aetherstone’s magic?”

Bastian didn’t answer right away, but I could tell by the way his jaw tightened and his fingers twitched restlessly against his crossed arms that he was giving the question serious consideration—and the tired lines around his eyes suggested it wasn’t the first time he’d wondered about it.

“It’s…daunting to think about, isn’t it?” I said, my voice hushed.

“It is.” His eyes closed for a moment, as if he was searching his mind for some last lingering shred of optimism. “Brynn came back, though,” he eventually said.

“Yes, but she didn’t wander out in the Deadlands for very long, compared to many who have been out there since the initial fall of Noctaris. And she had Aetherkin parents, besides.”

Bastian sighed, but he didn’t disagree. He watched me for a moment before giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze. “We’ll find a solution for all the fallen beings of our kingdoms, whatever their state, when we reach that point. One step at a time, hm?”

“I suppose.”

His troubled gaze swept over our surroundings. “The sky is honestly the more disturbing thing to me at the moment. And also…that.” He directed my attention to a distant stretch of ground, where I saw a crack starting to form. Still small, barely noticeable, but it seemed to grow even as we watched.

The very world threatening to break apart, right under our feet.

I gripped the stone battlement more tightly. “The darkness, the breaking, the failing wards…is it all simply because Grimnor has been stolen from us? Was so much of Calista’s protective spell truly reliant on that blade? Or do you think Lorien has done something else within Nerithys…something to speed up the decay of this realm?”

Bastian shook his head. “I wish I knew. I think both things are likely playing a role, but to what extent…I can’t say.”

Neither of us could.

We were only guessing at what we truly faced, and it was maddening—like trying to suit up for battle in an armory that was pitch dark.

But I’d told him everythingIknew, at least. Everything Lorien had tauntingly shared while in the swords’ chamber.

And, in exchange, Bastian had released Aleks from the dungeon. Although he’d refused to let the Light King move freely through the palace, as he once had, we’d reached a compromise: Aleks was now considerably more comfortable, tucked away in a small room in a forgotten corner of the palace. That room was still heavily guarded, but at least he was safe. He’d been moved covertly, too, so most of our would-be allies still believed he was in the dungeons.

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