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.

Orithe Willow and his Physicians,”

Destriers, the King’s elite soldiers.

my stepmother, Nerium, and my twin half sisters, Nya and Dimia,

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.

“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.

“I’m Emory,” he said. “Emory Yew.”

the King’s youngest nephew.

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

Nothing is free, nothing is safe. Magic always comes at a cost.

“You’re a decent liar,” he said, turning back to the mist. “You’ll fit right in.”

The Black Horse made its beholder a master of combat. The Golden Egg granted great wealth.

The Twin Alders had the power to commune with Blunder’s ancient entity, the Spirit of the Wood.

They sat at the rounded table, five of them: Jespyr Yew, Elm Rowan, Filick Willow, and two others I had not met but knew by the Yew insignia upon their clothes—Fenir and Morette Yew. Ravyn’s parents.

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

Elm’s smile held no hospitality. “Do you think he’s handsome?”

“Yes.” Then, out of spite, “For a Destrier.” Elm cackled. Ravyn shot him a narrow glance. Still, I did not miss the way the Captain’s lips pulled at the corner; the elusive half smile, tugged by an invisible string.

“And he’s going to kill Emory to get it.”

“What if we tell Erik Spindle and the Hawthorns that we’ve invited Elspeth to stay at Castle Yew… so that you might court her?”

Ravyn Yew. Infected.

“I thought we weren’t pretending,” I murmured.

But he lowered his hand to his side, his knuckles dragging against mine,

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

He caught me by my good wrist and pulled me back.

“Just a small cut,” he murmured. “Nothing too deep. No need to scar these beautiful hands.”

But it felt incomplete, my collection yet whole. And so, for the Nightmare, I bartered my soul.

I put a hand to my mouth, fingers shaking. My voice came out hollow. “But that would mean I absorbed your soul when I touched the Nightmare Card. Which makes you… the Shepherd King.” A growl, a sneer—oil, bile. His voice called, louder than it had ever been, as if he was closer. Stronger. Finally, my darling Elspeth, we understand one another.

We were the thing to be feared. We were the balance.

Tell him how you feel. If you don’t say it aloud, can it ever be real?

“Can I kiss you?” My voice shook. “A bit late to ask, isn’t it?” “Not on your mouth, Elspeth.”

Life had sheltered them, like pearls kept in a velvet pouch. And I—I was not made of pearls. I was made of salt.

“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.

“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.