“I’m getting the hang of this ghost thing,” Ren told him. “Learning via trial and error. At first I could only go where Logan sent me, but sometimes where he sends me lets me cross paths with people other than those he intended me to see. I figured out that, once someone has seen me, I can go back to visit them at will. You saw me earlier. So now you’re on the list.”
“Lucky me.” Connor went to the wall and took down a long sword. Brandishing the weapon, he asked, “So you want me to save your sister. Can you tell me where she is?”
“No.” Ren watched Connor cut the air with sweeping strokes of his blade. “But she already has.”
Connor stopped swinging the sword. “You’ve got some misinformation there. Adne didn’t leave a note. She just left.” He could hear the resentment in his voice.
Ren managed to give Connor a sympathetic look. “We’re dealing in subtleties, man. I’m talking about clues, not a sign in neon lights. Think about what Adne’s been going through. What she’s done recently. The choices she’s made. Follow Adne’s lead and you’ll find her.”
“Do all ghosts talk in riddles?” Connor asked. “Or do you just like pissing me off?”
“I like pissing you off,” Ren answered. “But the riddles aren’t my choice. I’m toeing the line here, but I can’t cross it. If I could tell you everything I know, I would. But I’m not free.”
“Sorry,” Connor muttered, passing the sword hilt from hand to hand.
“Don’t be,” Ren said. “You should get angry. It will help you find Adne.”
“Has Logan hurt her?” Connor asked. He didn’t want to voice the question, but suddenly it was there and he couldn’t hold it back.
“Logan isn’t the real threat to Adne,” Ren replied. “She’s a danger to herself in ways she doesn’t realize. We’re losing her.”
Connor wheeled around and ran the punching bag through with the long sword.
“Oh, good,” Ren said as Connor jerked the blade free. “I was worried that bag was going to take you.”
“I am not losing Ariadne,” Connor said in a voice sharper than the sword edge.
Ren nodded, then flinched as if something had hurt him. “I have to go.”
“Go where?” Connor looked at the space around Ren, hoping that he might see or sense whatever force was affecting the spirit. But Connor found nothing.
With a brief nod of understanding, Ren said, “See you around.” And he was gone.
THOUGH GENERALLY disheartened by all that had transpired in the past hours, days, even months, Sarah tried to focus on the small and very recent improvements in her circumstance. She had graduated from bed rest to a rocking chair and she’d been moved from Adne’s room to her own. Taking the stone off too soon, it turned out, had been a bad idea. Disrupting the draw of the curse from her body had allowed it to take hold again. Now Sarah’s blood felt like sludge and the Elixirs had her drinking a tea that tasted like dirt. Sarah half suspected that they could have just used a stone again but that the dirt-tea was retribution for failing to follow their original instructions.
When the door to her room opened, Sarah expected it to be Tristan returning. Instead, a group of heavily armed men stomped into the room and took up sentinel-like stances on either side of Sarah’s rocking chair. Another man entered a moment later, and while he wasn’t boasting the same amount of steel as the others, this last man had a more imperious bearing.
“Sarah Doran?” the man asked Sarah.
Sarah set down her cup of tea. She didn’t like the way her hand had begun to shake. “Do I know you?”
“My name is Holt,” he said. “The Pyralis Guide.”
“It’s an honor to meet a Guide,” Sarah said, out of sheer politeness. “And yes, I’m Sarah Doran.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us,” Holt told Sarah. “You need to answer the charge that has been brought against you.”
“The charge?” Sarah couldn’t believe that she’d heard him right.
“Treason.”
Sarah didn’t know what was worse, the word itself or the way that saying it had made Holt smile.
ETHAN WAS EYEING Connor with suspicion. “Something’s different about you. You seem . . . like you.”
Connor barked a laugh. He hadn’t realized how far from himself he’d been until Ren forced him to face it head-on.
“I had a close encounter,” Connor told Ethan.
They were taking inventory of armor and weapons while they waited in Haldis Tactical for Anika to arrive.
“You had what?” Ethan asked.
“A close encounter,” Connor said. “With a ghost.”
“Close enounters are with aliens,” Shiloh interjected as he stowed a pair of short-handled sickles boasting wickedly curved blades in his pack. “Not ghosts. You’re mixing up your paranormal beings. That’s sloppy.”
Ethan grinned at Connor. “I like this one.”
“Just don’t forget that he’s taller and better-looking than you,” Connor reminded him.
“Excuse me?” Shiloh said.
“And he’s really cute when he blushes,” Connor added. “Just look at that. Can you blush like that?”
“Leave him alone,” Sabine chided Connor. “Or you’ll be one Striker short on this mission.”
“He can take it,” Connor told her. “Can’t you, Shiloh?”
“I couldn’t say,” Shiloh said. “I’m too busy being cute while blushing.”
“Yeah.” Connor looked at Ethan and nodded. “I like him too.”
“Shut the door!”
Connor looked up and saw that Anika, Tristan, Tess, and Mikaela had run into the room. Tess slammed Tactical’s door and brought down its heavy wooden bolt, sealing them in.
Tristan glared at Anika, spewing curses. “I have to go back!”
“And do what?” Anika shouted at him. “Tell me how you can help your wife by storming the stockade alone.”
Tristan seethed but held his tongue.
“Huh,” Connor said to Ethan. “That can’t be good. I didn’t even know the door had a bolt.”
“Neither did I,” Ethan said.
“We don’t have much time.” Anika waved the Strikers and Sabine over.
“What’s wrong?” Sabine asked.
“Holt’s making his move,” Anika told them. “And it’s much worse than I expected. He didn’t wait for the next meeting of the Council. He and his lackeys are making arrests. It’s only a matter of time before they come here looking for us.”
“Arrests?” Ethan’s brow knit together. “For what?”
“For nothing,” Tristan snarled. “He’s taking down potential threats to his political ascendancy. That’s all.”
“He’s bringing charges of conspiracy, insurrection,” Anika replied. “And treason. They took Sarah Doran first and they were trying to arrest Tristan when we intervened. I don’t know how many of you he’ll come after, but there’s no doubt that I’m one of his targets.”
“We’re just going to let him do this? Stand by while he tries to usurp you? While he throws people in prison?” Connor demanded of Anika.
“Thank you. That’s what I’ve been saying since Holt made his move,” Tristan said to Connor, but Tess shook her head at them.
“It’s already done,” Tess said. “Holt’s calling the shots and there’s nothing we can do about it for the time being. As far as the Academy is concerned, we’re at damage control. Let us handle it. You need to focus on the mission.”
“I don’t understand why anyone would follow that blowhard.” Connor slammed his fist into the wall and winced. The punching bag had a lot more give.
“Because blood wants blood,” Sabine replied. “Holt’s shown us that he can turn the Searchers into a mob. They got a taste of destruction and they want more. Mindless but purposeful violence is the easiest to promote.”
“So we’re just going to fall in line?” Ethan frowned. “We’re not going to fight back?”
“This
fight isn’t yours, not right now,” Anika said. “I truly believe that the elder Searchers will prevail in this matter and that reason will trump Holt’s power grab. But you can’t afford to waste time on Holt. Your battle is elsewhere.”
“Really, Anika?” Tristan asked. “Don’t you think getting your house in order takes precedent over what’s happening with Logan?”
“You’re not seeing past Sarah’s involvement,” Anika chided gently. “And that’s understandable, but you know better than anyone, Tristan, what Bosque is capable of.”
Tristan started to object, but then his shoulders slumped. “Yes. I do know.”
“Speaking of Bosque and Logan,” Ethan said, “any progress on where this battle of ours will be happening?”
“Connor.” Anika turned to the Striker.
“What?” Connor said, surprised that the Arrow was looking to him for an answer.
“You’re the closest to Adne,” Anika continued. “Do you have any idea of where she might be going? Where Logan would be taking her?”
Connor ruffled his hair, nervous but resolved. “I’m not sure. Hang on. There might be one thing . . .”
“I’ll take anything,” Anika said.
The sound of voices came through the door, followed by a commotion as whoever was outside discovered that the way in had been blocked.
“I think we’re out of time,” Tess said. “Connor?”
“The necklace,” Connor told them. “Eira’s necklace. Sarah said that it meant Adne must have some sort of connection to Eira.”
Sabine began to nod. “What did Adne say when we first found the box? Something about Logan going back.”
“Back to the beginning,” Ethan said.
“The beginning,” Sabine repeated. “Back to Eira, the first Keeper.”
“Okay, that’s a who.” Tess glanced nervously at the door, from which shouts and pounding fists emanated. “Do we have a where to go with it? Because I don’t think the pitchforks and torches outside are going to wait much longer.”
“Tearmunn,” Anika said.
“What’s Tearmunn?” Sabine asked with a frown.
“It was a Conatus fortress in the Middle Ages,” Anika said.
“A fortress?” Shiloh piped up. When they all looked at him, he smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. It just sounds cool.”
“It’s a ruin now. I can’t say for sure what you’ll find there,” Anika told them, and Shiloh managed to look sincerely disappointed. “Most of the structure was destroyed in the early years of the war. But Tearmunn is the site where the first Rift was opened.”
“Okay, I’m in,” Connor said. “That’s as good a guess as any.”
“Sure.” Ethan was nodding. “So this ruin. Where is it?”
“Scotland,” Anika said. “In the Highlands.”
The pounding at the door had transformed into a ramming sound, shoulders being thrown heavily against the wood.
“Do they not realize that they could just get a Weaver to open a door and come in that way?” Sabine asked.
“The Weavers don’t like Holt,” Mikaela said in a tiny voice.
“What?” Anika asked the girl.
Ducking her head at the sudden attention, Mikaela said, “We don’t like Holt. He’s a bully and he only cares about fighting. Weaving is an art. It requires thoughtfulness and grace. Holt doesn’t understand that.”
Tess and Anika exchanged a look. “Well, that’s something.”
Encouraged by her elders’ approval, Mikaela added, “The Scribes aren’t his biggest fans either.”
“Thank you, Mikaela.” Anika smiled at the girl. “That gives me something real to work with.”
“It could prove vital. If Holt has been strong-arming with only a handful of Strikers at his back, he really is only playing at power,” Tess said to Anika, then turned to the diminutive Weaver. “Now, Mikaela, make us a door. Take us near Kyle of Lochalsh. I think we should regroup and find a place to use as a base of operations before we end up in the middle of the wilderness.”
Mikaela nodded and began to weave a portal.
“What are Highland winters like?” Connor asked ruefully. “Balmy?”
“Don’t worry, Connor.” Sabine patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll just find you a sheep to cuddle up with. I hear they have lots of them in Scotland.”
Connor made a sour face. “When we find Adne, I’m going to tell her you said that.”
“Good for you.” Sabine laughed.
As a snow-covered landscape came into focus amid the shimmering threads of Mikaela’s weaving, Connor leaned over to Ethan.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna get a kilt,” Connor said. “I mean, hey, it’s Scotland.”
Ethan just smiled and shook his head, but Shiloh asked, “A kilt?”
“I’ve got great legs,” Connor said solemnly.
Shiloh looked to Ethan for a reprieve. “Is he always like this?”
“Yep,” Ethan said.
“Of course I am.” Connor grinned. “I’m a goddamn champion.”
“You’re a what?” Sabine asked.
“Close encounter,” Connor replied. “You wouldn’t understand.”
The portal now offered a clear view of a hillside with the glittering lights of a village at the base of the slope.
Tess hugged Anika. “Good luck.”
“You too,” Anika said. “Don’t contact us unless you have to. I don’t want Holt to come after you. I’ll try to keep him too focused on the problems here to even think about interfering with your mission.”
“So we’re on our own,” Sabine said, glancing at Ethan.
“No,” Anika answered. “You’ll have an original descendant of the Harbinger to help you find your way.”
“What?” Tristan stared at Anika. “I’m not leaving. Not with Sarah imprisoned and Holt running the show.”
“Sarah is my best friend. You know I’ll do everything I can to help her,” Anika told him. “It’s my task to face Holt and take him down. You’re the only one who actually knows Bosque. You’ll see things, put pieces together that the others can’t. You need to go with them.”
“She’s right, Tristan. I may be the Guide, but we need you to show us the way,” Tess said. “Anika will deal with Holt. We’ll stop Logan.”
Tristan’s face was drawn, but he nodded.
“She makes it sound so simple,” Connor said wistfully.
“Get going.” Ethan shoved Connor toward the portal. “Your kilt awaits you.”
Connor’s skin prickled as he stepped through the light-filled doorway, leaving Haldis Tactical behind. Though he’d been a Striker for years, Connor felt as though he were heading into the field for the first time. A mission without the backing of the Academy and its Searchers made this a new beginning for all of them.
She needs a champion.
That label still made Connor uneasy. It wasn’t a word he’d use to describe himself except in jest. But if that was who he needed to become for Adne’s sake, then that was who he would be. The thought gave him a bit of comfort. He might only be at the beginning, but a champion could see the battle through to the end.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m thrilled to continue writing in the world of Nightshade. Snakeroot wouldn’t have been possible without the aid of so many colleagues, friends, and family. My team at InkWell Management, Richard Pine, Charlie Olsen, and Lyndsey Blessing, do more for my books and my life than I could ever truly express. Every time I name Penguin Young Readers Group as my publisher, I feel overwhelming gratitude and pride. There could be no better home for this writer. Thank you to Don Weisberg and Jen Loja for your constant encouragement. I love popping in at 345 Hudson to catch up with the sales, marketing, publicity, and school and library teams, who do so much to bring my novels to life. Thanks especially to Shanta, Emily R., Erin, Elyse, Lisa, Elizabeth, Marisa, Jessica, Kristina, Molly, Courtney, Anna, Scottie, Laura, and Felicia. The beautiful paperback editions of the Nightshade serie
s are thanks to the lovely Puffin team, particularly Eileen and Dana. Thanks to Tara for being so, so excited.
Nightshade thrives under the guidance and support of Michael Green, who is taking me to a baseball game soon . . .
I am so glad Jill Santopolo is my editor and I’m beyond lucky that she’s also my friend and neighbor in New York. UWS FTW. Thanks to Kiffin and Brian, too, for all their work.
Writers need other writers with whom to be silly and neurotic: David Levithan, Eliot Schrefer, and Sandy London take exceptional care of me. Beth Revis, Marie Lu, and Jessica Spotswood keep me sane and honest. Elizabeth Eulberg and Michelle Hodkin take care of important shenanigans.
My family remains at the heart of my writing endeavors. Thanks to my mom and dad for weathering transitions and keeping joy in focus. This book is dedicated to my brother, Garth, and his wife, Sharon, who made me believe in love again and remind me every day that nothing is more precious than family.
Turn the page for sneak peek at
AD 1404—SCOTTISH LOWLANDS
EMBER BROUGHT HER sword down without warning and her aim was true. Her blade whistled through the air, hitting its mark and smoothly halving her adversary.
Her enemy might only have been a kirtle she’d outgrown and put to use by stuffing it with straw. Even so, the kirtle now lay in pieces, and bits of golden debris floated in the air around Ember as if celebrating her victory. With a yelp of joy she twirled around, brandishing her sword.
She held up the blade, letting its surface catch the sunlight. She was pleased, not only because she’d destroyed her poppet but also because her success meant she’d given her weapon the care it needed. Her sword was bright and sharp. The blade showed no signs of rust though she had to keep it hidden in the small niche she’d dug in this hollow, where it couldn’t be fully protected from the elements.
Ember brought the sword up once more and swung it down in a broad arc as her body turned, following the path of the blade. The effortless stroke ended abruptly when her sword met resistance. The sound of steel on steel rang in her ears a moment before the shock of impact jolted up her arm.