One Dark Window (The Shepherd King, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

To the quiet girls with stories in their heads. To their dreams—and their nightmares.

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.

took my charm, a crow’s foot, from my pocket and twisted it, the mist that lingered at the edge of the road clinging to me.

Destriers, the King’s elite soldiers.

My stepmother looked down her delicate nose at me, twisting the ends of her waist-length white hair around her thin, gnarled fingers.

She had all the appearance of a beautiful vulture, perched in her favorite chair. She sat, watching me with keen blue eyes, measuring whether I was worthy enough to consume.

It was the velvet that gave off the light, a light only I could see.

Or rather, a light only the creature in my mind could see.

Providence Cards were not only Blunder’s greatest treasures but also the only legal way of performing magic.

You stay away from court, quiet and out of sight, and your father pays the Hawthorns—handsomely, I might add—to keep you.”

Yes. Because running, dear one, is exactly what she wants from you. It’s easier this way—to avoid them. I heaved a breath. To run. It’s in my nature. Besides, I added, my voice hollow, my father wouldn’t have abandoned me eleven years ago if he truly wished for my company. You know that—why bother taunting me?

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.

Writ on the top of the Card were two words: 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.

He said nothing at all until the day the Physicians came, when he saved my life.

“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.

Says the girl who talks to the monster in her head. Not exactly Princess material, are we, my dear?

He’s thoughtful. Guilt stung me, wasplike. And I’ve been awful to him. I see no problem with that.

eyes. How could he possibly have known about your eyes? Do you think he— —knows there is a five-hundred-year-old monster stalking the dark corners of your mind?

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.

He’ll give anything to have your magic, the Nightmare cooed. Ask for something extravagant. Like a magical procedure to remove the parasite from my head?

The Captain of the Destriers is dark and severe. Watching from yew trees, his gray eyes are clear. His wingspan is broad and his beak is quite sharp. Hide quick or he’ll find you… and rip out your heart.

I know no one’s going to ask me what I want, the Nightmare said, snide to his bones, but just in case you were wondering, the answer is no. No, I am decidedly NOT agreeable.

I glanced up at him. “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.”

“And I wanted a night of drunken debauchery,” called Elm from the table, the Scythe slipping in and out of his long, narrow fingers. “Yet I’m back in this broom closet for the second time today. So, if it’s not too much trouble, Miss Spindle, have a bloody seat so we might get on with it.”

Darling, the Nightmare said. You can’t make it so easy for him to control you.

I know what I know. My secrets are deep. But long have I kept them, and long will they keep.

“Make no mistake, she’s beautiful. Only, I—” Ravyn’s voice cut out. Then, as if the words were bitter in his mouth, “If the ruse will help…” He heaved a sigh. “I’ll try. Though I doubt I’ll play a convincing suitor.”

What’s the old adage, my dear? Something about ladies and protesting far too much?

smile was full. “He didn’t tell you?” I blinked, my tongue caught in a snare. “He—He’s—” “Infected,” Elm said. “Yes. Terribly so.”

I glanced down at the flask, Morette’s eyes boring into me from the other side of the table. Go on, then, the Nightmare said. Anything to put me out of my misery. Shut it, grumpy.

I felt resistance in his pause, he, too, lost to the world of things unsaid. “Of all the things I pretend at,” he said, his thumb drawing small, gentle circles along my waist, “courting you has proven the easiest.”

“Hauth broke your wrist, Ravyn mangled his hand. Balance.”

“Nothing too deep. No need to scar these beautiful hands.”

Finally, my darling Elspeth, we understand one another.

Behind my eyes, the Nightmare’s voice was coy. You’re running out of time, dear one, he said, slithering past my ears. Tell him how you feel. If you don’t say it aloud, can it ever be real?

I stood on my toes and pressed my forehead against his, my voice so quiet my lips hardly moved. “Then be a liar, Ravyn. Betray. Upturn the kingdom that would see you and me and Emory killed.

“You’re smiling.” Elm looked over the table. “Does no one else find that incredibly unnerving?”

“Are you still pretending?” I said, reveling in his gaze. Ravyn gave a surprised laugh and, in front of everyone, leaned in and kissed me. “I never was,” he whispered into my lips.

The Nightmare lunged out of the darkness like a beast of prey. You heard her, he said, swiping his claws, a vicious snarl ripping up his throat. Get out, Ravyn Yew. GET. OUT.

“I know what I know,” I said, tapping my teeth together. “My secrets are deep. But long have I kept them, and long will they keep.”

“Be safe,” I whispered to the wind as Ravyn Yew disappeared beyond the gate. Had I known they’d be the last words I’d say to him aloud, I might have chosen them differently.

Don’t try to save us, Ravyn Yew, the Nightmare and I said, our voices melding in a strange, echoing dissonance. We cannot be saved.