One Dark Window (The Shepherd King, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

“You won’t need that,” Ravyn said as I pocketed the crow’s foot. “You haven’t needed it for eleven years.” I stared at him. “But the mist—The Spirit of the Wood—” “Does not catch people like us,” he said. “But the book says—” “You and I already carry strange magic. We’re the very things the book warns against, Miss Spindle.” He smiled, gesturing away from the house into the garden. “We needn’t be afraid of a little salt in the air.”

“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.”

“Tell me, Miss Spindle,” he said, watching me. “Have you ever used a blade before?” I swore, a vengeful bramble taking some of my hairs with it. “Do garden shears count?” This time, he did laugh. “Decidedly not.”

Mind the mist. It does not lift. The Spirit doth hunt, ever adrift. Stay out of the wood, Be wary, be good. The Spirit doth hunt, ever adrift. Mind the mist. It does not lift. The Spirit ensnares, like grain through a sift. Hold tight to your charm, And you’ll come to no harm. The Spirit ensnares, like grain through a sift.

The Yew girl wears a tunic and pants. Why not you? Jespyr’s entirely more fearsome than I am. I glanced down at my legs. I look like a bloody stable boy. How you look is—and perhaps always has been—utterly irrelevant.

I didn’t know where to look. “Well?” I stepped forward, my hands knotted in my sleeves. “Am I better suited for the task?” 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.

His hands, broad and firm, met me at the dip of my waist, resting a moment on my hips. They were warm, his hands. And I caught myself wondering what the calluses along his palms would feel like against my bare skin.

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.

A mask. So vividly returned the memory of that night along the forest road, the men in masks—the violence and fear—that I recoiled, tripping on bramble. Ravyn must have understood because a moment later, he took off the mask. “I’m sorry,” he said, stepping to my side, his voice no more than a whisper. “Miss Spindle?” I ran my hand over my face and did not look at him. “I never thought I’d be dressed as a highwayman,” I managed. “With the same men who attacked me, no less.” Ravyn sucked in a breath. “Had I known who you were—” “You would have—what? Been a bit nicer?” My nostrils flared. “I was alone on the road. You were awful, the both of you.” He did not deny it. After a long, uneasy pause, he sighed. “I came back to the road—alone—the next night. I kept to the forest for three days, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, to speak to you if I could.” He looked off into the distance.

We had no idea what we were stepping into. Had I known you carried magic—” He paused again, his brow furrowed. “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.”

Gone was the austere, controlled persona he displayed as Captain of the Destriers. Here, in the wood, he was just a man in a black cloak seeking repentance.

I extended my hand. “You’re forgiven. On one condition.” The invisible string tugged the corner of his mouth. “What’s that?” When our hands touched, heat moved into my cheeks. “Call me Elspeth,” I said. “We’re about to commit treason together, after all.”

THE IRON GATE Be wary the moss, Be wary the fence. Be wary the gate and the mist, dark and dense. It’ll stop all your tears. It’ll steal all your years. Be wary the gate and the mist, dark and dense.

I ran, my eyes cast backward for a final glance at the glow of the Iron Gate… And careened straight into my father.

But before I could take a step, something shifted behind me, dark and unearthly fast. I turned, the hair on the back of my neck bristling. He darted out of the mist with brutal speed and caught my wrist. I tried to flee, but he twisted me back, his Black Horse and Scythe casting sinister color across my vision. “Who are you?” Hauth said, shaking me.

The Nightmare’s voice was like hot iron. The berry of rowans is red, always red. The earth at its trunk is dark with blood shed. But a Prince is a man, and a man may be bled. He came for the girl… And got the monster instead.

“You never said how you got away from him.” I stiffened, the Nightmare’s wicked laugh resonating in the din. When I spoke, the low notes of my voice were slick, as if dipped in oil. “Perhaps it was he who got away from me.”

“What was in the wrapping?” I asked. “What wrapping?” “The charm you handed Jespyr.” Ravyn fastened his saddle. “The head of a viper. I keep it covered, lest I injure myself on the fangs.” 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 shuddered and looked away. “I suppose venom is a happier death than torture in the King’s dungeon.”

“It’s just that, sometimes when I look at you, I feel like I know you—understand you. And other times…” His brow furrowed. “Your eyes flash a strange yellow color. I feel a stillness about you I do not recognize. A darkness.” When I remained silent, cold to my bones, the Captain’s voice remained gentle. “The truth is,” Ravyn said, patting his horse, “there is darkness in all of us. We don’t need The Old Book of Alders to tell us that. You and I carry the infection and, with it, strange, brilliant magic. But there’s always a price. Nothing comes for free.”

“Of all the things I pretend at,” he said, his thumb drawing small, gentle circles along my waist, “courting you has proven the easiest.”

I made my way to the castle door. “How flattering.” He paused a beat. “What’s your answer?” he called after me. I turned. It felt good, provoking him. Better than it should. “Infuriating, isn’t it, Captain? Answers given only in halves?” “Ravyn,” he said, his eyes tracing my face, flashing a moment to my mouth. “If we’re going to be convincing, you should call me Ravyn.” A smile tugged at my lips. “Good night, then, Ravyn.” He responded with a slow, satisfied grin. “I’ll take that as your answer, Elspeth.”

When he finally saw me, his gaze widened. “Elspeth Spindle,” he said, his eyes—so strange and yellow—ensnaring me. “Let me out.” The room burst into flames.

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.

My aunt had told me once that my strange charcoal eyes were special, beautiful even—a dark window to the soul beneath. But as I glanced back into the looking glass, the reflection of my black eyes flickering to that bright, eerie yellow, I had to wonder… whose soul was it? The Nightmare’s? Or mine?

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.” His smile widened.

“Being engaged suits me,” she said, her eyes lingering on the bruise on my cheek. “It’s a shame your new life hasn’t done the same for you.” 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.

He looked like a petulant boy, forced to endure niceties, brooding in all black. Painfully, unfairly handsome. He must have felt me watching him, because when he raised his gaze to mine, light returned to his eyes, the elusive half smile tugging at his mouth.

When her gaze landed on Hauth, I thought I caught a glimpse of something in her narrowed hazel eyes—something more than coldness. Something that looked a great deal like hatred.

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.”

There was so much I did not understand about this new version of Ione. And it frightened me, not trusting the person, nigh a fortnight ago, I had known best in the world.

A place of time—a man of fault. Both fueled by rage—both buried in salt.

I had never heard him speak so much at once. His voice bore the depths of dark water, smooth, unwavering. It lulled me. I traced the Captain of the Destriers’ face with my eyes, lost in his past—starved for his story.

Ravyn paused. “Elm was a clever child. But he hated training, preferring his books. The King took displeasure in his mildness and thought him weak, leaving his upbringing to the Queen. When she died, Elm was… mistreated at Stone.” He struggled with the words. “Hauth brutalized him. So one day I just… brought him home. My parents became his parents, my siblings his siblings. He’s wary, untrusting, but he’d die before he’d betray us.”

“Just a small cut,” he murmured. “Nothing too deep. No need to scar these beautiful hands.” If there was pain, I hardly felt it. Something else was stirring in me. Not quite pain; an ache.

Ravyn let out an abrupt exhale—his thumb brushing across the flesh of my bottom lip, snagging it. When he leaned closer, I closed my eyes, his mouth a whisper from mine. His voice caught at the edges. “Is this you pretending, Elspeth?” he said, the tip of his nose grazing mine. “Because if it is…” His breath stirred my eyelashes. “You’re very good at it.”

His chest thumped—his heartbeat ragged, as if he’d just been running. When I looked up, he was watching me, his eyes softer than before. “Does this feel pretend?”

It had taken Ravyn Yew, Captain of the Destriers, my supposed natural enemy, to make me realize what I truly, deeply wanted. To stop pretending. Our lips collided, there, among the salt.

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.

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

Practice restraint, and know it by touch. Use Cards when they’re needed, and never too much. For too much of fire, our swords would all break. Too much of wine a poison doth make. Excess is grievous, be knave, maid, or crown. Too much of water, how easy we drown.

You tell me. I’m ASKING you. But you already know. Deep down, you’ve always known. I felt cold again, a profound, unbidden frost emanating from the center of my chest. 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.

They stopped speaking as Jespyr and I approached, their eyes turning to me. Warmth moved across my chest, swimming up my neck into my cheeks. When no one spoke, Jespyr let out a snort. “Clearly they’ve never seen a woman before.”

We were the darkness in Blunder, the reminder that magic—wild and unfettered—prevailed, no matter how desperately the Rowans tried to stamp it out. We were the thing to be feared. We were the balance. But I could not say that in front of Hauth Rowan. Instead, I offered Ravyn a rare, unconstrained smile. “He’s very… tall.” Ravyn’s eyes flared. He caught my smile and matched it with his own, stepping forward. When he squared off with the High Prince, I noticed Hauth straighten, his spine rigid, chin held high. But it was to no avail. Ravyn was taller than him. And, given the condescending turn of his mouth, it wasn’t the only thing Ravyn felt superior to his cousin over.

But I wasn’t convinced. There was something about Hauth Rowan that deeply unnerved me. Just like in the wood, I could not shake the feeling he was hunting me. With every look—every touch—he was seeking me out for the kill.

“About last night…” I said. “When I ran off.” He inhaled. “Perhaps it’s good you did.” The rejection stung. I tried to pull away. “Oh?” Again, Ravyn’s hand held me in place. His eyes lowered to my mouth, twin furrows drawn between his brows. “When my sister suggested I court you at Equinox, I resisted.” I frowned up at him. “Adamantly, as I recall.” He traced the curve of my chin. “I resisted, Elspeth, because I was already imagining how I might press my finger against your wet lips again, like I had in my room.” He took in a breath, his mouth dropping to my ear. “And that was nothing to the wicked things I was imagining after we argued in the garden.” I let out an abrupt breath, warmth twisting deep in my stomach. “I resisted,” Ravyn said, “because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that first night on the forest road. And I realized at Equinox that the closer I let myself get to you, the less I’d want to be the King’s Captain—the less I’d want to pretend. And it’s dangerous for me, for my family, to stop pretending.” He pressed his lips to the shell of my ear, a low, scraping whisper. “It’s not safe to draw too close to me. I’m a liar, Elspeth. A traitor. And someday, there will be a reckoning.”

This was him, letting me in—showing me the true Ravyn Yew. A man just as terrified of the future as I was.

“Then be a liar, Ravyn. Betray. Upturn the kingdom that would see you and me and Emory killed. The King keeps you close so he can control you. But you are the only one who can withstand his Scythe Card.” I pulled back and looked him in the eyes. “It is not they who bring the reckoning, Ravyn. It is you. It is us.”

“What did they want?” “Nothing,” I said. Then after a pause, “They think Ravyn’s going to find out what I am and arrest me.” Elm smiled into his goblet. “He might not arrest you,” he said, “but he’ll eventually find out what you are. The truth always outs.” Something in his voice caught me. “What do you mean?” Elm turned to me, his green eyes narrowing. “It’s different for Ravyn,” he said. “He’s not skeptical of your infection, your magic. When he looks at you, he feels he knows you—wants to help you. You make him remember why he’s done everything he’s done, and why he must continue on doing it.” The Prince took small, purposeful sips from his goblet, savoring the wine. “But when I look at you, Spindle, I see something else,” he said. “I see someone secretive, guarded. I see someone who hasn’t been forthright with us.” To the color draining rapidly from my face, he merely smiled. “A woman who’s spent most of her life hiding in her uncle’s house, quiet and secluded, can stand in combat against trained men-at-arms? Can catch knives midair and maim my brother without the aid of a Black Horse?” He brushed the hair from my forehead, tucking it behind my ear. “And your eyes,” Elm said. “Black as ink. Only, when the light is just right, I can see yellow in them. The same yellow I saw two nights ago in the wood, when you knocked your father to the ground.”

When I remained silent, the Nightmare swaddled my mind in darkness. What’s yours is mine when the shadows draw near. You asked for my help—and now I am here. With your eyes I do see, with your ears I do hear. There’s no going back—this is payment, my dear.

When the shadows grow long, when our names turn to dust, what we loved, what we hated, will spoil to rust. All will be forgotten, save one truth, unshaken… What did we do when the children were taken?