One Dark Window (The Shepherd King, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

He never told me how he’d moved my body, how he’d managed to save me that day. It remains one of his many secrets, unspoken, resting listlessly in the darkness we shepherd. 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.

It looked the same every time I asked the Nightmare for his help. I waited for the ink to burn off, grinding my teeth against the stinging warmth. Do you think they realized I’m infected? They’re Card thieves. Report you, and they report themselves. A few moments later, the warmth was gone, its ghost twitching up and down my arms. I leaned up against the brick wall and heaved a rattling sigh. Why does it burn every time? I asked. But the Nightmare had already begun to vanish into the dark chasm of my mind. 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.

darkness that bled out of the Shepherd King’s words. “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.” “But the Shepherd King did not lift the mist, nor heal the infection,” my aunt had said, her voice heavy. “The Spirit tricked him, telling him how to lift the mist only after he’d bartered his Twin Alders Card. Without his final Card, the Shepherd King could not unite the Deck. And so he never lifted the mist. No King ever has.” “No King ever will,” my mother had mused. “Not until someone finds the Twin Alders Card and the Deck is completed. Until then…” Ione and I had shared a somber glance. “The mist will continue to spread.”

“Besides,” Ione continued, “perhaps Hauth will be a different kind of Rowan King than those who came before him.” The Nightmare growled at the name Rowan, his claws scraping through my mind. I shushed him. “How do you imagine?” I asked. “He’s so magnetic—attuned. A true leader. Perhaps, under him, the Destriers will be a symbol of protection, not oppression. Perhaps he will be a King who does not hurt those who catch the infection, but lets them convalesce. A King of abundance, not fear. A better Rowan King.” I gritted my teeth. When I spoke, my voice was not gentle. “That Hauth Rowan does not exist, Ione. You’ve made him up in your mind.” My cousin’s arm slipped out of my grip. “If everyone was as distrustful as you, Bess, Blunder would never change.” My laughter was hollow. “Better distrustful than delusional.”

At my silence, the man raised his gaze, observing me for the first time. Like his younger brother, his eyes were gray and stood out brilliantly against smooth copper skin. He watched me down a long, formidable nose, his eyes searching my face. My breath faltered, a shiver crawling up my spine. Unmistakably handsome, he stood like one of the statues in his uncle’s garden—cold and smooth as stone. He did not introduce himself. He did not have to. I knew who he was. Ravyn Yew. The King’s eldest nephew. My father’s successor—Captain of the Destriers.