One Dark Window (The Shepherd King, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

She didn’t pretend, Ione. She simply was.

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.

Seated upon the stone was a man decorated in gold armor that had long lost its sheen. He was aged, older than my father, grisly and stern. He bore the weight of his armor without wavering—his strength deeply rooted. On his hip rested an ancient, rusted sword with branches twisted into a crook carved into the hilt.

“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.”

as I watched Ravyn Yew’s face, his gray eyes tracing the darkness in my veins, there was no fear, no resentment in his gaze. Only concern. Concern and wonder.

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.

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. His voice drifted past my ear. “Come.”

Even woven in wool, it was bright, gold, beautiful.

The Nightmare whispered behind my eyes, his claws sharp. But the Spirit was neglected, no matter her plea. The Rowans erased her, as they once did to me. But she keeps her own time, and I keep a long score. The tide that comes next will blot out the shore.

dark window to the soul beneath.

Then Ravyn stomped, full force, on the High Prince’s hand.

prodded the darkness, the Nightmare. When he spoke, his words dripped like rainwater. An offering, bartered with blood. That’s how the Spirit bargains—always with blood. So the Shepherd King built her this chamber at the edge of the woods, this altar. And here, they bartered. How do you know so much about it?

Cuz he is the king!!

is that man? Why do I keep seeing him? He is a vestige of the past, haunting the chamber he built for the Spirit of the Wood, nothing more than a memory of a man who once was. His voice grew harder. A man I once was.

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.

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.

lost to the sound of his heartbeat against my ear. It stretched on and on, an eternal beat, a false promise. As if all my woes would disappear if I remained there, naked, next to him. As if I had all the time in the world.

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.”

“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.