One Dark Window (The Shepherd King, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

Still, it was the first time I stopped fearing the Nightmare—the voice in my head, the creature with strange yellow eyes and an eerie, smooth voice. Eleven years later, and I don’t fear him at all. Even if I should.

Yellow girl, soft and clean. Yellow girl, plain—unseen. Yellow girl, overlooked. Yellow girl, won’t be Queen.

Nothing is free. Nothing is safe. Magic is love, but also, it’s hate. It comes at a cost. You’re found, and you’re lost. Magic is love, but also, it’s hate.

The Nightmare. My mouth opened, my childish eyes round. I knew enough of The Old Book of Alders to know this particular Providence Card was one of only two of its kind, its magic formidable, fearsome. Use it, and one had the power to speak into the minds of others. Use it too long, and the Card would reveal one’s darkest fears.

Eleven years, we’ve been together. Eleven years, and I’ve never told a soul.

“What’s your name?” Lie, the Nightmare whispered.

instant flashback to Edward in Bella's imagination in that scene in the city!

“Wait,” cautioned the one with the dagger. I could not see his face behind the mask, but his gaze held me pinned.

The highwayman with the dagger watched me with wide eyes and lowered his blade. He lowered it only a moment—but a moment was all the time I needed.

It looked just as it had that night eleven years ago when the fever took hold of me. It looked the same every time I asked the Nightmare for his help.

My magic moves, he said. My magic bites. My magic soothes. My magic frights. You are young and not so bold. I am unflinching—five hundred years old.

Twelve Providence Cards.

A heart of gold can still turn to rot. What he wrote, what he did, was all done for naught. His Cards are but weapons, his kingdom now cruel. Shepherd of folly, King of the fools.

“The Cards. The mist. The blood,” my mother had said, her voice so gentle it came as a whisper. “They are all woven together, their balance delicate, like spider silk. Unite all twelve Providence Cards with the black blood of salt, and the infection will be healed. Blunder will be free of the mist.”

“There once was a girl,” he murmured, “clever and good, who tarried in shadow in the depths of the wood. There also was a King—a shepherd by his crook, who reigned over magic and wrote the old book. The two were together, so the two were the same: “The girl, the King… and the monster they became.”

The Shepherd King had made seventy-eight Providence Cards in descending order. There were twelve Black Horses, held exclusively by the King’s elite guard—the Destriers. Eleven Golden Eggs. Ten Prophets. Nine White Eagles. Eight Maidens. Seven Chalices. Six Wells. Five Iron Gates. Four Scythes. Three Mirrors. Two Nightmares. And one Twin Alders.

The Hawthorn tree carries few seeds. Its branches are weary, it’s lost all its leaves. Be wary the man who bargains and thieves. He’ll offer your soul to get what he needs.

Emory and I swam upstream against a sea of servants carrying the next course on silver trays.

I love that wording!

“And I see your fingers, long and pale, covered in blood.” I froze—trapped by dread and the boy’s viselike grip on my arm. I tried to shake him off. When he did not let go, I raised my other hand, a hiss escaping my lips. I slapped him, hard.

Ravyn Yew. The King’s eldest nephew. My father’s successor—Captain of the Destriers.

THE MAIDEN Be wary the pink, Be wary the rose. Be wary of beauty divine, unopposed. Her thorns will grow sharp, She’ll eat her own heart. Be wary of beauty divine, unopposed.

Ione, colored by the brilliant pink of a Maiden Card, stared down at me.

“How do you know about the Maiden Card?” I clenched my jaw. “Did he give it to you? Hauth Rowan?” Ione brow furrowed. “I can’t understand why you hate the Rowans so much, Elspeth. Hauth has five hundred years of legacy foisted upon him. He needs support and understanding, not blind resentment.” Her voice, so soft, had hardened. “Or can you only think of yourself?”

The berry of rowans is red, always red. The earth at its trunk is dark with blood shed. No water, nor cloth, can lessen its spread. He’ll ask for a maiden… Then turn her heart dead.

“Then let me make my own choices.”

The Nightmare drummed his claws together. The Maiden is not just a Card of vanity. Magic is not for vanity. It is if it’s merely used to impress a Prince, I said, venom in my voice. He snickered. A deeply misunderstood Card, the Maiden.

It was darker than the Maiden, but just as strong. Dread curled my chest and I choked on air. I had seen that hue of velvet before. Burgundy—rich and blood red. The second Nightmare Card.

My eyes lowered to Ravyn’s belt. There it was, plain as day. The ivory hilt—the dagger he’d pressed to my chest. It’s him, I gasped. I assaulted the bloody Captain of the Destriers.

Ravyn raised his dark brows. “Yours isn’t a face I’d soon forget, Miss Spindle.” When he asked the question a second time, there was an edge to his voice. “What were you doing on the forest road?”

The smell of salt hit my nose, as if someone had thrust icy seawater into my face. I felt it in my ears—my eyes—my nostrils, into the roof of my mouth. I coughed, gasping frantically for air, my mind and body suddenly gripped by something I could not fathom. Wait, Elspeth Spindle, a deep voice called in my head. I’m not going to hurt you. I screamed.

When he reached out to touch my arm, I jerked away. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated. “You, on the other hand…” He wiped his bloody nostrils on his sleeve, wincing. “Fuck.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s twice you’ve handed me my ass and run off.”

The Nightmare watched Ravyn Yew through my eyes, his voice slick and untrusting. What creature is he, he asked, with mask made of stone? Captain? Highwayman? Or beast yet unknown?

“I’ll save you the trouble,” I said. “I have no magic.” I wouldn’t call the turn of his lips a smile. But it was perhaps the best he could do after the kicks I’d dealt his face. “You’re a decent liar,” he said, turning back to the mist. “You’ll fit right in.” Beast yet unknown, then, the Nightmare murmured.

The Nightmare’s voice pricked my ears. In the cold and the dark, the stone does not age. The light cannot reach where the shadows doth rage. At the end of the stairs, by rope or by blade, they take the sick children, to burn in a cage.

I was suddenly very aware of how closely we stood—the shape of his shoulder blades—the calluses of his fingers as he searched for the correct key. His cloak smelled of mist and cloves. It felt far too intimate, feeling his warmth. I tried to step back, but there was nowhere to go.

“Animals don’t like me,”

Not the dungeon, then. Don’t be so sure, the Nightmare said. There are many different kinds of cages.

Suppose you simply told him you can see Providence Cards? Or rather, that I see them. I stopped fumbling with one of the dust-ridden tomes on the shelf. Don’t be stupid. He may surprise you.

“I’m Renelm,” he said, narrowing them. “But Elm will do.” I knew who he was. I’d always known. Renelm and his older brother, Hauth, were the kind of Princes ripped from the pages of a storybook. Handsome, clever, unmarried. Only, in the Nightmare’s storybook version, they weren’t simply the kingdom’s beloved Princes. They were also its villains.

No peace will be known till the final Rowan is dead.

The Black Horse made its beholder a master of combat. The Golden Egg granted great wealth. The Prophet offered glimpses of the future. The White Eagle bestowed courage. The Maiden bequeathed great beauty. The Chalice turned liquid into truth serum. The Well gave clear sight to recognize one’s enemies. The Iron Gate offered blissful serenity, no matter the struggle. The Scythe gave its beholder the power to control others. The Mirror granted invisibility. The Nightmare allowed its user to speak into the minds of others. The Twin Alders had the power to commune with Blunder’s ancient entity, the Spirit of the Wood.

Magic came at a cost. If used too long, the Black Horse could make its holder weak. The Golden Egg led to all-consuming greed. The White Eagle’s courage was replaced by fear. The Prophet’s foresight made its user helpless to change the future. The Chalice’s truth serum turned into poison. The Maiden’s beauty chilled its user’s heart. The Well’s holder would be betrayed by a friend. The Iron Gate stole years from one’s life. The Scythe caused great physical pain. The Mirror lifted the veil between worlds, exposing a world of ghosts. The Nightmare revealed one’s deepest fears. And the Twin Alders… No one knew what happened if you used the Twin Alders too long. There was no record of anyone having done so.

The mirror... That seems important

“Haven’t done anything wrong?” I raised my brows. “I’ve broken the law—grievously.” But Ravyn merely shook his head. “Not everyone sees it that way.”

“You must swear, Captain, no matter the circumstance, you will never use that Nightmare Card on me again.”

Ravyn Yew. He was a strange man, the Captain of the Destriers. I’d expected someone in his position to be a bit less quiet, more abrasive—more brutal. I was happy to be wrong. Still, there was darkness in Ravyn’s quiet.

“Your uncle has given away his Nightmare Card to the King and struck an accord—without consulting me.”

“What about you, Captain? Are you too nice for your own good?” He watched me, something I could not read flashing in his gray eyes. “No, Miss Spindle,” he said. “I’m not nice at all.”

The Nightmare’s voice echoed through my mind. Nothing is free, he murmured. Nothing is safe. Magic is love, but also, it’s hate. It comes at a cost. You’re found and you’re lost. Magic is love, but also—

The same calloused thumb that had slid over my knuckles in Ravyn’s chamber caught the tear on my cheek—dragged it away. It was gone in a moment.

The Nightmare slithered across our shared darkness, churning against the current of Elm’s influence. It will be easier with me here, my dear. After all, the Scythe has no sway on me. I blinked. What? Why didn’t you say before? You did not ask.

The Scythe no longer controlled me. I was free to lie at will. But I didn’t. “Yes,” I said. “I swear.”