One Dark Window (The Shepherd King, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

When he saw my eyes above my mask, I knew he did not recognize me. He’d never seen me with yellow eyes before.

But Hauth Rowan, along with the other Destriers, had disappeared.

Magic is the oldest paradox. The more power it gives you, the weaker you become. Be wary. Be clever. Be good.

I wonder if we will see more effects of this

Strange, how quiet he felt when I was with Ravyn. Almost as if he was gone altogether. Almost.

When I turned it over, a rose petal fell into my hand, red as blood.

What is this alluding to

His nose wrinkled, the corners of his mouth lifting. My chest constricted, watching him smile. “Some things frighten me,” I said. “The King. Physicians. Destriers.” Ravyn tilted his head. “All Destriers?” “I don’t know if I qualify you as a Destrier anymore.” “What else would I be?” My lips curled. “A highwayman.”

“There you are, cousin,” Ione called, her hazel eyes darting between Ravyn and me. “Finally awake.”

Huh

But there was no brilliant pink light. She pulled her beauty from the Maiden Card, but for a reason I could not work out, she did not carry it on her person, a horrid risk hardly anyone practiced.

And there it is, the Nightmare said, his voice so sudden I jumped. A pinch of beauty, a whit of wit, and just a touch of unabashed coldheartedness.

Elm toyed with his Scythe Card, flipping it between his fingers. “I’m surprised you let someone get the best of you. And ruin your pretty face, at that.” Ione covered her mouth, but not before I caught the edge of a smile dancing along her lips. Elm noticed, too, and his own smile widened.

Magic born of the infection is immeasurable. Unfathomable. It owns no loyalty—keeps no rules. For some, it carries great, unyielding power. For others, darkness and degeneration await. Magic born of the infection is immeasurable.

In my opinion, the quote is fine on its own. Repeating it at the end is a bit corny.

This is the place, I gasped. The room from my dreams. Yes, the Nightmare called, his voice shifting like a ghost on the wind. What is it? Who was the man seated atop the stone? A place of time—a man of fault. Both fueled by rage—both buried in salt.

Ravyn guided my hand to the stone, pressing it against the textured, ancient stone. When he pulled it back, droplets of blood remained. A moment later the Cards were gone, sealed back in the stone, the chamber dark once more. Gone, too, was my blood, my barter, lost to the strange magic of the stone.

His choices aRe interesting. Hi cousin says not to trust her and then he immediately shows her their card stash and how to access it.

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 knew this

He laughed at me again. I am both. There was a pause. Don’t you remember the story, Elspeth? Our story? My stomach dropped. The story. Whispers, near and far, always as I was drifting off to sleep. The haunting lullaby of the maiden, the King. The monster.

“Market Day,” he called without stopping. “Wear your colors. That is, if your father ever condescended to give you any.”

A familiar voice ripped me from my comfort. “There she is,” it called, too loud, too bubbly. “With the Captain, like I told you.” Ravyn exhaled into my hair. When he pulled away from me, all four of them stood before us, their eyes wide, curiosity and shock and disbelief all trapped behind icy blue irises. My father, my stepmother, my half sisters.

I wrapped my arms across my chest, retreating into my mind, searching for courage. But I felt only darkness.

When I looked down, my hands were curled like claws. My fingers, long and pale, were covered in blood.

wanted to come home.” Emory wrinkled his nose. “But no one would take me.”

Poor em

Emory held my gaze. “You’re very beautiful,” he mused. “Your eyes are so dark—so infinite.” He paused. “Like a maiden in a storybook. As if the Shepherd King had penned you himself.” The Nightmare laughed, sending a shiver clawing up my spine. Death at his door, and the boy still understands you better than the rest of these fools.

felt painful, saying what I wanted out loud, like flexing an underworked muscle. I wanted to make a joke of it—to play coy—to tease him—anything that would stop me from feeling vulnerable and exposed, the distance between us rapidly closing.

“What a shame,” Emory sighed, his eyes tracing me. “Here I was, thinking she’d come to kiss me. That’s how the fairy tale goes, isn’t it? Beautiful maiden saves sick boy with a kiss—boy miraculously heals and delivers the kingdom from dark magic.” “Almost,” Elm said, his green eyes flickering to me. “Except, in this fairy tale, the maiden has blood on her hands.”

“The girl, the King…” I breathed. The Nightmare’s voice burned through my mind. And the monster they became.

wary the green, be wary the trees,” I said, my voice not quite my own, thin as thread. “Be wary the song of the wood on your sleeves. You’ll step off the path—to blessing and wrath. Be wary the song of the wood on your sleeves.” Elm eyed me over his shoulder. “Been reading The Old Book of Alders lately?” I hadn’t. I hadn’t meant to say anything at

“Now we are both sheep, nestled pleasantly in a wolf den. Or is it the other way around?” The Nightmare’s lips stretched over his jagged teeth. I like this Ione.

“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.

smiled at her, memory tugging at the corners of my ancient mind. The strange magic, the same beautiful wonder, of the children I once knew. They called me a King’s name once, I said, my tail flickering. But that was a long time ago. “What shall I call you, then?” Nothing, child, I said, crawling back into the blackness. I’m just the wind in the trees, the shadow, and the fright. The echo in the leaves… the nightmare in the night.

Our voice dripped oil, Hauth fixed in our gaze. We stalked him, pinning him in the corner of the room. “They came in the night,” we said, “the black and red horde. They burned down my castle, put my kin to the sword. The usurper was crowned, though my blood had not dried. But he did not account for the turn of the tide. For nothing is safe, and nothing is free. Debt follows all men, no matter their plea. When the Shepherd returns, a new day shall ring. Death to the Rowans…

This is the end, isn’t it? I murmured, darkness creeping across my vision. I go now. And you—you remain. It was inevitable, the Nightmare said, his voice louder and louder. This is your degeneration, Elspeth Spindle. Nothing comes free.

“What happened?” he said, taking in the mayhem around him for the first time. “They were going to turn you in,” she said plainly. “Everything you’d worked for, gone in a moment.”

She’s quiet now, Ravyn Yew. Let her rest. What the hell have you done? Ravyn cried, probing deeper into the darkness. She set me free, he said, his voice filling Ravyn’s mind like smoke. I’m here to help you.