One Dark Window (The Shepherd King, #1)

by Rachel Gillig

And pays those she snares with the great, final sleep. I watched the spindle tree from my seat on the floor. Its shadow grew long against the stonework, autumn light quick to fade as evening came on. They’ll be back from patrol any moment, I whispered to the dark. We’re almost out of time. Above me, Hauth and Orithe spoke in hushed voices. Every so often, Orithe looked my way, his unnaturally light eyes clouded. It had taken him only moments to confirm my magic, my blood all over the floor. After that, he and Hauth had left me alone. Huddled together, they discussed Ravyn and Jespyr and Elm, what their duplicity—their treason—might entail. For a time I was almost forgotten, my arms dripping blood where I’d torn myself free. Tears streamed down my cheeks, my teeth gritted against what I needed to do. It’s all ruined, I called into the darkness, my voice breaking. Even if Ravyn doesn’t admit to stealing Cards or being a highwayman, they know he hid my infection. No matter how you parcel it, he’s condemned. They’ll kill him. Ravyn need not die, the Nightmare said, his voice eerily smooth. Then, so quiet it might have been the wind whistling through the window, he said, Do you trust me, Elspeth? I blinked through the blur of tears. Do I have a choice? My darling, you’ve always had a choice.