One Dark Window (The Shepherd King, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

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

Like other Providence Cards, the Well was the size of any playing card, no bigger than my closed fist. It was hemmed by an ancient velvet. 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.

Chronicled in our ancient text, The Old Book of Alders, Providence Cards were not only Blunder’s greatest treasures but also the only legal way of performing magic. Anyone could use them—all it took was touch and intention.

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

“Providence Cards cannot be destroyed,” he said to his sons. “They are woven by old magic.”

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.

“Those who came upon it lost their way, and often their minds,” my mother had said. “The mist spread, isolating us from neighboring kingdoms. Worse, children who tarried in it grew sick with fever, their veins darkening. Those who survived the fever often carried magical gifts like those the Spirit used to bestow, only more unruly—more dangerous.” When her voice shook, she’d held a hand to her throat. “But these children degenerated over time. Some grew twisted in their bodies, others in their minds. Few survived to adulthood.”

“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.”

Well that’s not ominous at all

Magic smells of salt. Like ocean tides, it carries great balance. It wraps itself around the Spirit of the Wood, good and evil, love and hate, life and death. Can you smell it in the mist—in the Cards—in your own house? Magic smells of salt.

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.

Her uncle is going to trade Elspeth isn’t he? 👀

Desperate times, he said. No Card is worth a formal introduction to Hauth Rowan. Says the girl who talks to the monster in her head. Not exactly Princess material, are we, my dear?

Oh yeah he knows she’s getting traded

“Shit,” I muttered. The Nightmare groaned.

LMAO 😂😂😂

“I’m supposed to sit with my father,” I said without looking at him. “Should I ask his permission for you to sit with me?” The Nightmare swore under his breath. Trees, how I hate him. He’s thoughtful. Guilt stung me, wasplike. And I’ve been awful to him. I see no problem with that.

I love The Nightmare 😂 they’re so sassy!

Yellow—the Golden Egg. Turquoise—the Chalice. Piercing white—the White Eagle. Gray—the Prophet. Red—the Scythe. Black—the Black Horse.

Still, even as rest took me, I could not help but wonder just how Ravyn Yew had been warned of Emory’s ill manners—had come to corral his brother—despite being nowhere near the great hall that evening.

👀 does he have the infection too??

I recalled the red light spilling from the seat next to Emory last night. Prince Renelm’s Scythe Card. A Card reserved only for royalty. With it, the Prince had the power to control anyone he chose—in any way he chose.

“Yours isn’t a face I’d soon forget, Miss Spindle.”

🤨🫠

“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.”

😂😂😂 I LOVE

“So long as we don’t go through the garden.” My thoughts flew to Ione. “I want to avoid the women and their Providence Cards.” “We’ll take an eastern entrance.” Then, as if he’d just heard me, Ravyn turned his head. “How do you know there are Providence Cards in the garden?”

Girl you set yourself up for that 🤧😂

“I’ll never take you there, Miss Spindle. You have my word.”

God I hope not 😭

The berry of rowans is red, always red. The earth at its trunk is dark with blood shed. Trust never the man who wields the Card red. His voice seeped out of him, a poisonous fog filling my mind. No peace will be known till the final Rowan is dead.

For the Black Horse Card, for power and speed, The Spirit wanted blood from my warhorse, my steed. For the Golden Egg Card, abundance and wealth, I bartered two years of my life’s precious health. The Prophet came next, the Card of foresight. She wanted my fear, so I gave her my fright. When I asked her for courage, the White Eagle Card, I bartered my skin, which left my hands scarred. So I begged for the Maiden, for beauty I prayed. She asked for my hair, shorn off with a blade.

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.

The Rowans are not to be trusted. They cling too desperately to their Scythes, hungry for power—for control, the Nightmare called in the din. Be wary.

“You’re Erik’s eldest daughter?” “Pleased to meet you, sire,” I said, lowering my head. “We haven’t met before?” Elm exhaled through his teeth. “Hence the introduction, brother.” Hauth reached forward, taking my hand and kissing it. “Better late than never.” Elm made a gagging sound. “That’s enough of that,” he said, steering me away from his brother before the High Prince could get another word in.

Elm I have a feeling I’m going to like you 🥹😂

“So long as you’re agreeable, that is.” 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.

God I love the Nightmare 😂

We’d only been apart an hour. Still, I couldn’t help but feel every time I saw Ravyn Yew, I was looking at a different man.

“You’ve been very sweet, Alyx. But I told the Yews I’d sit with them this evening. Isn’t that right, Captain?” Alyx stalled, midstep. Ravyn ran a hand over his jaw, hiding his expression.

Ravyn is so trying not to laugh 😂😂😂

“I have your father’s permission, Elspeth.” “But not mine,” I said, more forceful this time.

YES MA’AM

“It’s the nice ones you should look out for,” Ravyn said. 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.”

Wary I’d grown, so I needed the Well. She asked for a chamber—a place she might dwell. To reclaim my good self, I forged the Iron Gate. The cost was my armor, my golden breastplate. For the Scythe I wanted power, and her price was quite steep. I gave her my rest—she claimed all my sleep. The Mirror was next, to be invisible—unseen. She wanted old bones, so I gave her my Queen’s. But it felt incomplete, my collection yet whole. And so, for the Nightmare… I bartered my soul.

Ravyn looked down at me, some of the strain gone from his features. He slid his hand away from mine atop the latch, his warm, calloused thumb snagging over my knuckles. It was meant as a gesture of comfort—a quiet acknowledgment of my fear. And it was. But that did not explain why we both looked away immediately afterward.

Oh because he LIKES YOU 😅🥹 and you don’t know it yet but you like him

Tell him your real magic. Go on. Tell him why you refuse to touch Providence Cards. This isn’t a game, I said. If I tell him I absorb any Card I touch, he’ll want to know the rest. He’ll find out about YOU. Would that really be so horrible?

And while my own ability to absorb Providence Cards made such close proximity to any Card churn my stomach with dread, I could not help but feel a thimbleful of fascination for the power they held. But I did not feed that fascination. Better let it starve, knowing I would never touch another Providence Card as long as I lived.

Yeah that’s not gonna happen

Too long had I let her mistake my silence for weakness.

“Have you met my stepmother, Captain?” I whispered, the remnants of my anger distilled in a single tear that fell to my cheek. “Lovely woman.” 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.

MY HEART

A vile scraping sound echoed through my mind. The Nightmare was picking at his teeth. None of them work on me, dear one. I gaped. Something you casually forgot to mention? For ELEVEN years? But I have mentioned it, my clueless little companion. His claws grated against his teeth. I cannot, however, be held responsible for your feeble comprehension.

“The Prophet showed me a hooded figure with a shadow,” Morette Yew’s voice called above the clamor, stern and sure. “The shadow remained, even when the light faded. The figure walked to the wood, and behind it trailed Providence Cards, one by one—followed by a thirteenth I have never seen before. Behind the figure I saw my Emory, alive and well. That was what I saw. That was why I bade you watch the forest road.”

THIRTEEN 😭 RIP Throne of Glass

“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?”

Omg

“You don’t actually have to woo her, merely give the impression of wooing her. Just, I don’t know, smile at her once in a while. You remember how to smile, don’t you?” They all began to speak at once, their voices a chaotic buzz. “We needn’t elaborate much,” Fenir said. “There will be gossip, of course. Ravyn’s never taken time to properly court anyone before.” “Trees,” Ravyn muttered, his voice dripping irritation.

I can’t breathe 😂😂😂

“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.” I huffed hot air out my nostrils. “Don’t do me any favors,” I said into the din.

LMAO

“Don’t forget to smile!”

God I love Jespyr already 😂

My voice faltered. “And if I should like to leave?” He held my gaze. “You’re not a prisoner.” There are many different kinds of cages, the Nightmare said.

But for its warmth and rich furnishings, the room was still—lifeless. Empty. Emory Yew, the King’s captive, was gone.

Uh oh

I felt it again, Ravyn Yew’s hesitance—his discomfort when the King noted us together. Was it the lie that bothered him, pretending to court me? Or was it me he could not stand?

The lie 100% the lie

“Emory told me about you last night,” he said. “He said there was a woman in the castle with black eyes and dark magic.” His smile did not touch his eyes. “The poor boy was too excited. He’s never met anyone else infected before. Anyone besides his brother, that is.”

I FUCKING KNEW IT

Ravyn Yew. Infected.

CALLED IT