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.

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.

“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.

“Maybe I never liked him. Maybe he was just… there.”

Or perhaps I would grow sick and, no matter how I tried to hide it, waste away to nothingness. Like my mother had.

“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.

colors—the lights from Providence Cards stowed in pockets and satchels—shining all around me. Yellow—the Golden Egg. Turquoise—the Chalice. Piercing white—the White Eagle. Gray—the Prophet. Red—the Scythe. Black—the Black Horse.

“I see you, Elspeth Spindle.” His voice was near and far at once, as if underwater. “I see a pretty maiden with long black hair and charcoal eyes. I see a yellow gaze narrowed by hate. I see darkness and shadow.” His lips twisted in an eerie smile. “And I see your fingers, long and pale, covered in blood.”

At my silence, the man raised his gaze, observing me for the first time. Like his younger brother, his eyes were gray and stood out brilliantly against smooth copper skin. He watched me down a long, formidable nose, his eyes searching my face. My breath faltered, a shiver crawling up my spine. Unmistakably handsome, he stood like one of the statues in his uncle’s garden—cold and smooth as stone. He did not introduce himself. He did not have to. I knew who he was. Ravyn Yew. The King’s eldest nephew. My father’s successor—Captain of the Destriers.

He nodded, the torchlight casting severe shadows across his face. “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Ravyn Yew.”

“So Prince Renelm can control that nasty little temper, of course.” 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.

Ravyn Yew watched me with gray eyes, his head tilted to the side. He looked like his namesake, the raven: sharp, intelligent, striking. But my gaze did not linger on the Captain’s face. I was too caught up in the color—the light—radiating from his breast pocket. It was darker than the Maiden, but just as strong. Dread curled my chest and I choked on air. I had seen that hue of velvet before. Burgundy—rich and blood red. The second Nightmare Card.

Ravyn raised his dark brows. “Yours isn’t a face I’d soon forget, Miss Spindle.”

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.

Magic came at a cost. If used too long, the Black Horse could make its holder weak. The Golden Egg led to all-consuming greed. The White Eagle’s courage was replaced by fear. The Prophet’s foresight made its user helpless to change the future. The Chalice’s truth serum turned into poison. The Maiden’s beauty chilled its user’s heart. The Well’s holder would be betrayed by a friend. The Iron Gate stole years from one’s life. The Scythe caused great physical pain. The Mirror lifted the veil between worlds, exposing a world of ghosts. The Nightmare revealed one’s deepest fears.

And the Twin Alders… No one knew what happened if you used the Twin Alders too long. There was no record of anyone having done so.

There must be touch, there must be intention. Tap a Providence Card thrice to command its magic. Tap it thrice more, and its magic will cease. Guard it in your cloak—your house. But be wary. Magic knows no loyalty. Should someone else touch the Card, its magic shall be theirs to command. There must be touch, there must be intention.

Now’s your chance, the Nightmare said, his voice thick with mischief. 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?

Her hatred stung, but it did not startle me. If anything, I felt a small relief, the veil between us finally falling. But she had evoked my mother. And for that, she would not get away unscathed. Too long had I let her mistake my silence for weakness.

The door opened from the inside, the distinct growl of hounds meeting us at the threshold. I stepped in after Ravyn, my hands knotted in my skirt—my heart in my throat. 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.

Unite all twelve Providence Cards with the black blood of salt, and the infection will be healed. Blunder will be free of the mist.

“They’re not all here.” “No,” Morette said. “The Destriers keep their Black Horses close. And Elm, as you know by now, is reluctant to go anywhere without the Scythe. The Mirror and the Nightmare are often with Ravyn.” I searched the colors, blinked, then searched again. Gray, the Prophet. Pink, the Maiden. Turquoise, the Chalice. Yellow, the Golden Egg. White, the White Eagle. “Three Cards are missing,” Fenir said. “The Well, the Iron Gate, and the Twin Alders.”

“But it’s just a voice, not a creature at all.” “How do you know?” “Because when he speaks—relaying my worst fears over and over in my mind—it’s not a stranger’s voice,” he said quietly. “It’s mine.”

I didn’t miss the way Ravyn’s eyes jumped up and down my body. “Much better,” he said, a flush inching up his neck into his cheeks.

“if we manage to collect the Deck—to lift the mist—that the Spirit will remain in Blunder?” The Captain pondered this. “The Old Book says magic sways, like salt water on a tide. I believe the Spirit is the moon, commanding the tide. She pulls us in, but also sets us free. She is neither good nor evil. She is magic—balance. Eternal.” 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.

“There are so few of us, Miss Spindle. You are more special than you know. And it pains me to think I might have hurt you. I’m—sorry.” He paused. “Trees, I’m sorry.”

When our hands touched, heat moved into my cheeks. “Call me Elspeth,” I said. “We’re about to commit treason together, after all.”

Her face grew drawn—her hand more urgent. She unturned her pockets, then her cloak, searching for something. “Shit,” she breathed. “What?” “It’s not here,” she cried. “My charm. I must have dropped it when he knocked into me.” Somewhere behind us, a branch snapped. “What was that?” Jespyr said, her eyes wide. “We shouldn’t linger,” I managed, my neck strained as I looked around. “The other Destriers can’t be far.” But Jespyr merely shook her head, her eyes glassy with fear. “I—I…” She coughed, as if she’d swallowed too much water. “Can you smell it?” she said. “Can you smell the salt?” I stared at her, my breath turning cold. “Jespyr?” Fingers shaking, she rubbed her eyes. “I—I—I—can’t—see.” Her eyelids fluttered wildly. “No, no, no!” she choked.

But a Prince is a man, and a man may be bled. He came for the girl… And got the monster instead.

I raised my brows. “I didn’t think you carried a charm.” “I do.” He gave me a fleeting smile. “Just not for the same reason as everyone else.”

I cast my thoughts inward, searching for the Nightmare, who, since the mayhem in the wood, had remained still. Strange, how quiet he felt when I was with Ravyn. Almost as if he was gone altogether. Almost.

“Do you still wish to pretend?” He didn’t say the word—courting. My lungs twisted, like the wings of a caged, frantic bird. I knew what I wanted to say, but something in my chest, small, delicate, resisted the yes haunting the tip of my tongue. “Do you?” 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.”

Even my eyes were swollen. I rubbed them, hoping to bring a little life back into my face. But when I pulled my hands away and gazed back into the mirror, my heart froze in my chest. I jolted back from the glass, choked by the scream that rose in my throat. A creature—neither man nor animal, fur bristled along his tall, pointed ears—stared back at me, his yellow eyes wide. But when I looked again, he was gone. The face in the mirror was mine once more. Only now, my features were contorted in fear, and my dark eyes—wide with terror—had gone glassy.

I had to wonder… whose soul was it? The Nightmare’s? Or mine?

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. Providence Card magic was not limited by distance—a Card could be tapped and left elsewhere. But, without the Maiden a touch away, Ione could not release its magic at whim. Nor could she release herself from its negative effects when they inevitably sank in. And for the Maiden, the negative effect was one that felt like an utter betrayal to the Ione Hawthorn I had always known. Heartlessness.

Linden’s nostrils flared. “I’m not sparring him.” He lowered his voice. “Infected bastard.”

My heartbeat did not slow until the yard was quiet once more. Only Elm and I remained. “What just happened?” The Prince shrugged, his green eyes lingering on Ione’s shape in the distance. “Hauth broke your wrist, Ravyn mangled his hand. Balance.”

“She’s had things to hide most of her life.” Ravyn’s voice cut. “Can’t you see that?” “Not as well as you, it seems.” “What does that mean?” “Nothing,”

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

Enough, Nightmare! Tell me the truth. Who 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.

So certain had I been that the creature in my mind was an embodiment of the Card itself—the monster on its cover matching him entirely—that I had failed to understand what was written just a few pages prior.

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 c...

“Or perhaps in a kingdom where balance is the only constant, he simply sought to cheat the scales. He stole the throne from an infected King. And now his lineage strives to kill anyone with enough magic to take it back.” A chill crept over me. “Is that what happened? Rowan stole the throne from the Shepherd King?” Filick’s eyes found me again, his furrow easing. “Of course, this is all just theory, Miss Spindle. A story.” But it wasn’t. Not for me. “What happened to the Shepherd King?” “He died. How, I cannot say.”

“Degeneration.” I searched for the words. “Ravyn’s degeneration does not allow him to use Cards. Emory’s is slowly killing him, body and mind.” I paused. “But I… I can’t seem to understand what mine is.” Pity washed over Filick’s aged face. “No two infections are the same, Miss Spindle. Emory’s degeneration is widespread, while Ravyn’s doesn’t seem to affect his health at all. What is certain for the Yew brothers may just be a whisper of truth for you.” He shook his head. “I wish I could offer more comfort. But I simply do not know.”

You’re becoming stronger, I whispered, my voice hardly audible in the dark din. That’s why I’m seeing your memories. I may not be getting weaker like Emory, but I’m… fading. A lump rose in my throat. That’s my degeneration, isn’t it? He said nothing, his jagged teeth clicking as he clamped and unclamped his jaw. Click. Click. Click. It’s my payment, I said, filled with biting clarity. Every time I ask for your help, you grow stronger. And I’m—I’m losing control. I told you, child, he said, nothing is free. Nothing is safe. Magic always comes at a cost. Yes, but I didn’t realize that meant you were taking control of my body—my mind! I’m not TAKING anything, Elspeth Spindle. He hissed, claws flashing, suddenly vicious. I cannot TAKE. I am capable only of what I am willfully given. He slinked into the darkness, hasty to be away from me. Remember that, when you finally have the courage to admit it. In the end, I took nothing you had not already given me.