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.

“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.

I stared into Emory’s face, trying to work out how to free myself from the strange, changeable boy. When I flinched, he cackled—curt rips of laughter echoing over the banister into the room below. “There’s something odd about you, Spindle.” His grip tightened around my arm. He lowered his other hand to my wrist, his palm clammy as it rested against my bare skin. “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.”

I flinched and stepped into the room, eager to close my eyes and forget the entire day. “Thank you.” He nodded, the torchlight casting severe shadows across his face. “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Ravyn Yew.” Even the sound of his name made my stomach tighten. “I know.” Steady in his features, Ravyn offered neither a smile nor a bow. He merely cast me one last glance and turned with his torch into the darkness of the corridor, his last words “Sleep well, Miss Spindle.”

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.

Alyx’s eyes darted between us. “Yes, well, we should take our seats, Elspeth, my parents—” I put a hand on Alyx’s arm. “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. “Indeed.” Alyx pressed his hand over mine, trapping it against his arm. “I have your father’s permission, Elspeth.” “But not mine,” I said, more forceful this time. “Now, if you please—” Alyx made like he was going to protest, his mouth open, brow knit. But an icy look from Ravyn was enough to smother whatever ire burned within him. He let go of my hand, shot me a look somewhere between anger and hurt, and hurried off into the crowd.

I clenched my jaw, praying Ravyn would not break his word and trespass into my mind. Be quiet. Be shrewd. He can’t hear your thoughts lest he focus on you. What makes you so certain? I demanded. His laugh rumbled in the dark. I know a few things about Providence Cards, my dear. I doubt that. He said nothing, a weighted quiet. Even his silence felt like a game.

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