One Dark Window (The Shepherd King, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

Use it, and one had the power to speak into the minds of others. Use it too long, and the Card would reveal one’s darkest fears. But it wasn’t the Card’s reputation that ensnared me—it was the monster.

The intruder was in my mind.

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.

My sights, they were endless, my ambition too vast, So I asked for more blessings, for power, amassed. The Spirit did warn me that nothing comes free, That bargains and barters all come with a fee.

who is this?

He reached into his jacket, retrieving a Providence Card from its fold. His fingers traced the burgundy trim a moment, then he plunked it onto the table, shattering my morning calm. My body went cold.

Something false.

I pressed my back into my chair and watched him, chilled by the thought that I knew far less about the man at the head of the table than I thought.

“He means the Shepherd King’s magic.” Aldrich swatted him away. My aunt’s voice rumbled, as if well used. “Magic gifted to him by the Spirit of the Wood, which he then used to create Providence Cards.” “Gifted,” my uncle muttered. “Infected with it, more like.”

Opal Whitebeam. And next to it, scribed in my mother’s swooping letters, was my mother’s name. Iris Whitebeam.

“before Providence Cards, the Spirit of the Wood was our divinity. Folk of Blunder sought her out, combing the woods for the smell of salt. They asked her for blessings and gifts. They honored her woods and took the names of the trees as their own. This was old magic—old religion.” Her brow had darkened. “For his reverence, the Spirit of the Wood granted the Shepherd King strange, powerful magic. He

wanted to share his magic with his kingdom, and so he made the twelve Providence Cards.” Her voice had grown solemn. “But everything has a price. For each Card, the Shepherd King gave something up to the Spirit of the Wood.”

“Like his soul?” Ione had asked, gnawing at her fingernails. My aunt had nodded. “But it was the Spirit of the Wood, in the end, who would pay. With the Shepherd King’s Providence Cards, people had magic at their fingertips. They did not have to go to the wood and beg her blessings. No longer venerated, the Spirit grew vengeful, treacherous...

“But these children degenerated over time. Some grew twisted in their bodies, others in their minds. Few survived to adulthood.”

“To lift the mist,” my aunt had said, “the Shepherd King went deep into the wood to barter once more with the Spirit. When he returned, he penned this,” she’d said, tapping The Old Book of Alders on her lap. “He wrote about the dangers of magic, and how to safeguard oneself in the mist with a charm.” My aunt had paused for effect. “On the final page, the Shepherd King wrote how to destroy the mist.”

The twelve call for each other

when the shadows grow long— When the days are cut short and the Spirit is strong. They call for the Deck and the Deck calls them back. Unite us, they say, and we’ll cast out the black. At the King’s namesake tree, with the black blood of salt, All twelve shall, together, bring sickness to halt. They’ll lighten the mist from mountain to sea. New beginnings—new ends… But nothing comes free.

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

“The Spirit tricked him, telling him how to lift the mist only after he’d bartered his Twin Alders Card. Without his final Card, the Shepherd King could not unite the Deck. And so he never lifted the mist. No King ever has.”

“No King ever will,” my mother had mused. “Not until someone finds the Twin Alders Card and the Deck is completed. Until then…”

Living like a hermit in your uncle’s house is no sort of life for a young woman.” The old witch has a point.

And it felt reckless, being around strangers, knowing, at any moment, degeneration could ignite in my blood. I might do something horrible in front of the King and his Physicians and Destriers, and they would drag me away to the King’s dungeons. Or perhaps I would grow sick and, no matter how I tried to hide it, waste away to nothingness.

Like my mother had.

His yellow eyes narrowed. “You’ve come to spy?” I stuttered, not knowing how to answer. He was angry, I could tell. Still, I had no hand in the making of my dreams.

“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.”

so the nightmare is the king and a girl?

Every year it expanded, choking Blunder off from the outside world, slipping over our fields and farms.

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.

“He wants to introduce me to Prince Hauth.”

“I’m pleased to see you, Elspeth.”

very curious to learn more about this relationship. i feel like he does care about her?

“Elspeth,” Alyx said, hurrying toward me. “I thought I saw you earlier—but I feared I had dreamed you up from wishing too greatly.”

“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 don’t know you,” I said. He was taller than me, though unquestionably younger. When he said his name, he hunched his shoulders and leaned close, as if it were a secret. “I’m Emory,” he said. “Emory Yew.” I choked on the wine lingering in the back of my throat.

There was no one around us—no Providence Cards, no Destriers.

why wasn't she able to sense that her uncle had a providence card at the table?

Ravyn Yew. The King’s eldest nephew. My father’s successor—Captain of the Destriers.

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.

Be wary of beauty divine, unopposed. Her thorns will grow sharp, She’ll eat her own heart. Be wary of beauty divine, unopposed. Daylight hit my eyelids. When I opened them, I muffled a scream, four eyes blazing onto me. Dimia and Nya sat on opposite sides of my bed, leering over me like vultures. I sat up, my head heavy. “What time is it?”

“If he’s not sequestered in his chambers for some new illness, he’s drunk as a vagrant,

He mentioned yellow eyes. How could he possibly have known about your eyes? Do you think he— —knows there is a five-hundred-year-old monster stalking the dark corners of your mind?

“What can you tell me about Emory Yew, Aunt?”

“Do you think anyone—apart from myself—survived the fever as a child?” My stomach turned. “Without getting caught?” Whatever she had expected me to ask, it was not that. The lines in her face grew taut, and when she spoke, her voice was small. “I don’t know, Elspeth. I doubt it.” “Surely someone else—” “The Destriers and Physicians bring every infected child here—to Stone. To the dungeon. And we know what happens in the dungeon.”

Ione, colored by the brilliant pink of a Maiden Card, stared down at me.

Ione was hiding something from me. When my cousin’s eyes met mine, I was certain she could see the hurt on my face.

Whatever had happened between our argument yesterday and now, it was clear her anger with me was not yet spent.

“How do you know about the Maiden Card?” I clenched my jaw. “Did he give it to you? Hauth Rowan?” Ione brow furrowed. “I can’t understand why you hate the Rowans so much, Elspeth. Hauth has five hundred years of legacy hoisted upon him. He needs support and understanding, not blind resentment.”

He’ll ask for a maiden… Then turn her heart dead.

The Maiden is not just a Card of vanity. Magic is not for vanity. It is if it’s merely used to impress a Prince, I said, venom in my voice. He snickered. A deeply misunderstood Card, the Maiden.

In the end, the Nightmare continued, it does not matter how and why the Cards are used. Nothing is free, nothing is safe. Magic always comes at a cost. Stop telling me that, I said, throwing broken pieces of twig on the ground.

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.

I must ask you something.” I slipped my hand out of his grasp, my throat tightening. “Yes?” “Why were you on the forest road, alone at nightfall, fifteen days past?” The shock of seeing the Nightmare Card in his pocket disappeared, replaced by a cold, nauseous terror.

My eyes lowered to Ravyn’s belt. There it was, plain as day. The ivory hilt—the dagger he’d pressed to my chest. It’s him, I gasped. I assaulted the bloody Captain of the Destriers.