by Lori M. Lee
Yen moves with a smooth grace. Her feet glide soundlessly over the floor, and there’s a hard edge to the way she watches me, which is new. A quick glance over her shoulder reveals three Blades, members of the Queen’s Guard, all waiting with their weapons drawn.
“Drop your swords, Sirscha,” Yen says.
TWENTY-FIVE
My eyes narrow, examining her in a new light—the predatory shift of her stance, the way she handles the knife, and her relentless but precise grip on Saengo.
I sneer in disgust. “I knew there was something about you I couldn’t trust. You didn’t know Kendara just from your work with the Queen’s Guard, did you? You were one of her pupils.”
She gives me a lopsided smile, an echo of the girl she’d been mere moments ago. “I was. Now I’m the queen’s Shadow.”
“I was in need of a new one,” says a voice from behind her.
Queen Meilyr steps into view. My gaze shoots to the bed, where the woman I’d thought was the queen has risen from the blankets. She hurriedly pulls on a robe to cover her nightgown, her black hair tumbling around her shoulders, and scurries from the room on bare feet. She’s beautiful but a stranger. A decoy.
I curse myself for a fool as I fix my gaze back on Queen Meilyr. Her thick green night robe fans around her feet in a pool of lush velvet and golden embroidery, and her hair is pulled back into a thick plait, a gleaming crown resting on her head. Even in the middle of the night, planning an ambush, she looks immaculate.
“Drop your swords,” Yen repeats. Saengo sucks in her breath, back arching away from the blade no doubt digging into her spine.
My fingers tighten around my weapons. I’m not sure if she knows that Saengo is my familiar, as we never shared the knowledge during those weeks on the road together. But she knows what Saengo means to me. I glare at her, my craft aching to be let loose. But I drop my swords, which hit the rug with a hard thud.
They shouldn’t have been able to ambush us. While I lack control, I can still sense the presence of souls. Except, that is, in the presence of the talisman, which the Soulless knows. Its power would overwhelm me—is overwhelming. I should’ve expected this. I should’ve known he and the queen would set a second trap, in case I didn’t follow their bait to the Valley of Cranes.
“You’re a fool to trust my brother,” Queen Meilyr says. Yen drags Saengo aside to allow the queen to enter. “He’s too open with his emotions and too eager to please. He doesn’t have the stomach for ruling. He would be a weak king.”
She approaches me, fearless even though I don’t need a weapon to hurt her. But she knows I won’t do anything. I could never risk Saengo’s life. Not again.
In a flash, her fingers strike out, forcibly gripping my chin. I fight the urge to spit in her face.
When she speaks, her voice is so soft I barely hear her. “But he was a good brother, and my only family. He was the one person I trusted most.” Her nails dig painfully into my skin. “And you turned him against me.”
“Your lack of honor turned him against you,” I say through my teeth. “You are not the sister he knew.”
She slaps me hard enough to turn my cheek. With my face averted, something on the floor catches my eye—a shadow slithering in increments across the rug. I give nothing away as I return my gaze to the queen.
“You think you know him?” she asks, mocking. “No one knows him but me. He’s easily manipulated by every bleeding heart who comes begging.”
It almost saddens me how little she thinks of Prince Meilek. I may not know him as well as she does, but I know that his kindness does not equal weakness. If anything, that is his most enduring strength. Besides, he was trained by Kendara, who has never allowed weakness.
My eyes find Yen’s. “If I were you, I would consider whether it’s wise to serve a queen who’s already gone through two Shadows in a swift amount of time.”
Yen grins. “But you’re not me. I understand you wanted to be, though.”
The words don’t sting the way they once might have. Would I have assisted the queen in her plot to murder the leaders in the north? Would I have watched from afar as she executed the shamanborn in the Valley of Cranes? I’d like to believe that even though I’d been afraid and desperate to prove myself, I would have drawn a line. It isn’t easy to hold fast to one’s moral obligation under threat of retribution. But one way or another, I hope I would have come to understand that loyalty to a person or people means placing their safety above one’s self.
“How long have you been her Shadow? Did you know she offered me the position a week ago?”
Yen’s eyebrows twitch, and her gaze flickers to the queen, uncertain.
“Don’t listen to her,” the queen says, sounding bored.
At my back, the soul within the talisman burns bright as a bonfire, demanding my attention. But when I probe at it, once again, my craft fractures against the talisman like sunlight against water.
“Did he tell you how to trap me?” I ask, just to keep the queen talking. The sliver of shadow climbs up Saengo’s leg, then her side.
The queen says something, but I’m not paying attention. The muscles in my body tense. Yen’s eyes narrow, noticing the minute changes in my body language. The shadow circles Saengo’s ribs to her back and wraps around the blade.
Yen’s gaze flies to her hand as her knife abruptly pulls away from Saengo. The moment the blade leaves her skin, Saengo smashes the back of her head into Yen’s nose. Yen gasps, both her hands wrapping around the knife that’s trying to wrench itself from her grip. As the queen shouts for the soldiers, Saengo drops to the floor, kicking out her foot to slam the door shut. Then she flings herself against it, turning the lock as shadows explode through the room.
The queen screams. The door hinges rattle, and the wood groans as the Blades attempt to break it down. I turn, scrambling through the dark for the lockbox on the dresser.
Just as suddenly, the shadows fragment, moonlight splintering through. The smell of blood thickens the air. At once, my eyes find Yen, who has Theyen pressed against the wall, her knife driven through his shoulder. His jaw is tight with pain.
“Theyen,” I begin, but his shadows are already moving.
They swarm around Yen. She falls back, stabbing blindly as the shadows snare her legs and then her arms. With a cry, she drops the knife. The shadows wind around her like ropes, squeezing until she screams.
Theyen pushes away from the wall, one hand pressed to his shoulder. Blood slides through his fingers, dripping over his knuckles. His eyes are dark with anger, teeth bared.
The queen puts her massive bed between us, shouting furiously for her guards to break through. Saengo is pressed to the door, adding her weight to help barricade it. Her bow and quiver lie near the foot of the bed, where Yen must have tossed them.
“A gate. Hurry,” I say, going for the lockbox.
Before I can reach it, Theyen wavers on his feet. His eyes widen with furious realization. He staggers, blinking rapidly, before sliding to the floor. His shadows abruptly disperse, releasing Yen, who stumbles, groaning with pain.
My pulse races as I look between Theyen’s slumped body and the knife at Yen’s feet. “Poison,” I hiss.
Abandoning the lockbox, I lunge for Yen. She manages to dodge, her leg rising in a kick. I throw up my hands to block and then jam my elbow against her ribs. Her heel smashes against the back of my leg, forcing me to one knee, but I flip backward in time to avoid her fist. At once, she twists away, reaching for her knife. I kick it out of reach.
She dives for it again, but I ram my shoulder into her side, and we both hit the wall. She’s light and fast, her style reminiscent of Kendara’s. Every blow feels like a blow from Kendara—every lie, every secret, every person she trained too well to stand in my path. Kendara might have left, but her legacy seems impossible to escape.
There’s a shattering crack as the door begins to splinter. It won’t hold for long. Movement draws my attention to the queen, who sweeps th
e lockbox into her arms before retreating to the other side of the bed again, screaming at Yen to stop me.
Yen twists out from between me and the wall. I dodge a jab of her elbow and hook her ankle. She trips, falls, and rolls smoothly back to her feet, knife in hand again. I leap for my swords, halfway across the room, as Yen flips the blade in her nimble hands.
Abruptly, she cries out as an arrow pierces her palm, blood spattering her servant’s uniform. The knife slips from her fingers.
She recovers quickly, catching the knife neatly with her other hand before it even hits the rug. Despite myself, I’m impressed.
Saengo already has a second arrow nocked and aimed, loosing it as Yen flings the knife.
Every part of me screams as the memory of another weapon hurtling toward my best friend flashes through my mind.
Saengo’s arrow pierces Yen’s shoulder as Yen’s knife sails across the room, slashing cleanly through the string of Saengo’s bow.
Saengo curses, dropping her bow, but she’s unharmed. Relief and fury surge within me.
“Secure the queen and the talisman,” I tell Saengo, who retrieves the knife. If we can use her as a hostage, we might get out of here. I’ve no idea what we’re going to do with an unconscious Kazan prince, though. The fool man keeps showing up to play the hero when I least expect it. He’s still breathing so at least he isn’t dead.
“Yen,” the queen says. She clutches the lockbox to her chest. Her usual poise is gone. Her voice vibrates with outrage.
Yen growls her frustration as blood wells around the arrow shafts in her hand and shoulder. Her complexion has gone pale, her eyes bright with pain. I retrieve both my swords, twirling them as I close the distance between us. This won’t take long.
The door bursts open. Wood splinters through the air, a stray fragment stinging my cheek. With a shout, I abandon Yen and run for Saengo as Blades and soldiers pour through the wreckage of the entryway. We press together, standing in front of Theyen’s prone form. Dark-gray blood soaks his tunic.
Within seconds, we’re surrounded, over a dozen drawn swords gleaming in the moonlight. More soldiers press into the room to secure the queen and Yen. My stomach drops as the lockbox disappears from view.
My heart pounds in my ears, panic fluttering into fear as my craft flares within me. Their souls taunt me. My magic reaches for them, wanting to close around each spot of light and revel in the life at my fingertips. I raise my swords in front of me, blocking Saengo and Theyen with my body. Magic burns beneath my skin, hot enough to be painful.
Ripping human souls fractures your own; but to save Saengo, I’m willing to pay that price.
“Don’t,” Saengo says, grasping my arm. She knows. Her reason laps against the inferno building inside me, slowly dousing it.
These soldiers are innocent. They’re only protecting their queen.
Even as my senses scream to fight, even as I glare into the cold triumph in the queen’s face, I slowly lower my swords. The soldiers swell around us, and it takes all my willpower to do nothing as they drag Saengo and me apart.
TWENTY-SIX
I’ve seen the inside of more cells in the last few months than I have in my entire seventeen years. That is if I choose not to view the orphanage as a prison. But even so, the dungeons beneath the Grand Palace are the worst of the lot.
The darkness is nearly absolute. I can barely see my own hands in front of my face. Something rancid drips from the walls, and the ground is perpetually damp. The air leaves a bitter taste in the back of my throat. As far as I can tell, my prison is only a few paces in length and contains nothing but the tattered remains of what might have been a blanket, now a matted pile of mold. I sit against the driest part of the cell I could find, but the cold and wet still seeps through my clothes to bite at my skin. I keep my arms tight around my waist against the chill.
I’m not hungry, but I imagine I won’t be seeing a meal for a while. Rations at the orphanage were never much, and withholding dinner was a common punishment, so I’m used to it. Still, I’m a long way from the child I’d been, alone and hungry in the dark, wondering what lay beyond the walls of the orphanage—if I had a place out there or if I would forever be a flake of ash at the mercy of a harsh wind.
I seem to be the sole person here, which is a small comfort. The shamanborn were imprisoned in these dungeons before they were relocated to the Valley of Cranes. The thought of whole families shoved into this dank, dark place makes me sick.
I close my eyes, my focus narrowing to the steady flame of Saengo’s candle. Wherever the queen is keeping her, hopefully, her conditions are better. The important thing is that she’s alive. But as she is the Phang heir, and the queen’s leverage against the north, any lingering hope of finding an ally in Lord Phang is lost.
As for Theyen—I wish he’d stayed away. Unless the Fireborn Queens abandon him, his status as a political prisoner all but guarantees Evewyn’s access to the Xya River.
That is if he’s still alive. The uncertainty tears at me. If he’s dead, it’ll be my fault. Again. I can’t lose more friends. I’ve tried to search for his soul in the palace, but it’s impossible. The souls of the castle’s inhabitants are too far away, and I can’t distinguish one from the other.
Then there’s Prince Meilek and those who went with him to the Valley of Cranes. Are they dead? Captured? He’d known it was a trap. I’d known it was a trap, and I let him go.
The cooperation of the north, access to the Xya River, and myself; everything the queen and the Soulless needed, I hand delivered to them.
I cover my face, my breaths warm against my chilled hands. I did this. I failed them all after they’d stood by me and risked their lives for mine. The ghosts of past fears emerge from where I’d buried them, wearing the voices of monks, officits, students—all who have looked me in the eye and then looked away again, seeing nothing there worth their time or attention.
“I am not nothing,” I whisper to the dark, with no one to hear but me. “I am going to fix this. Somehow. I am going to fix this.”
My eyes fly open at the sound of footsteps. I don’t move as the glow of a torch grows nearer. When the light reaches my cell, I raise my head to find a woman standing beyond the bars, lifting her torch to illuminate me. Her shoulder is heavily bandaged, her arm in a sling, and her right hand wrapped in thick gauze that smells faintly of medicinal herbs.
When Yen speaks, there is no reproach or disgust in her voice. No victory either. “Sirscha Ashwyn. We weren’t in the same year, but I remember you from the Prince’s Company. I’m good with faces.”
“Where is Saengo?” I ask.
“She’s well,” Yen says.
While I don’t trust her to be truthful, Queen Meilyr would be a fool to mistreat Saengo and risk House Phang rising against her. She can’t keep us apart for long, though, not while she has the rot. Using Saengo means walking a fine line between ensuring Lord Phang’s cooperation and inciting his vengeance.
“At the queen’s discretion, you will be escorted to the Dead Wood and given to the Soulless.”
I expected this, but the idea of returning to Spinner’s End and the poisonous magic of the Soulless still makes my stomach drop. “You approve of your queen’s choice of allies?”
“It’s not my place to approve or disapprove of Her Majesty’s actions. My job is to obey orders.”
“Must be nice not to have a conscience.”
She laughs, the bright sound jarring in the torchlight. “Her Majesty says you were Kendara’s favorite. I can see why.”
“You must truly hate the shamanborn as much as the queen does.”
Her smile wilts, and a placid mask slides smoothly over her features. “Of course I don’t. My mother was shamanborn. I told you that. She was lady’s maid to Queen Pae and a flame eater.” She closes her eyes, something brief and pained creasing her forehead. “When she transformed into flame, it was like watching a phoenix rise from its ashes. She was magnificent.”
&
nbsp; I’d assumed it was a lie she told to gain Prince Meilek’s trust. He said he’d known her for years. “But you serve the woman who imprisoned and killed her.”
Her eyes open, that hard edge returning. She lowers her torch to her side, casting the angles of her face into deeper shadow. “My father died shortly after she did. I was twelve years old with two siblings to support and no means. We only survived because the queen allowed me a different position. Should I have chosen my pride and allowed my siblings to starve instead?”
I shake my head because I honestly don’t know. The world isn’t divided into good and evil, right and wrong. Who am I to judge her when I also sought to become Shadow, knowing what the queen had done to the shamanborn? I was afraid. Always so afraid. I did what I needed to survive in a world pitted against me, just as Yen is doing now.
When I don’t reply, Yen says, “I only wanted to see how you’re doing and let you know the Soulless awaits you. Stay alive, Sirscha Ashwyn. I hear you’re good at that.”
I frown, uncertain why she’d care. She doesn’t say more and turns to leave. Confused, I watch until the light from her torch fades and decide not to dwell on her words.
Sometime later, a guard delivers a meal of thin bone broth in a shallow bowl. Chunks of something I’m not entirely sure are meat float in the liquid, along with a meager helping of stale rice. It’s so thin that it’s more water than broth. Still, I finish it. I don’t know when I’ll be fed again.
The first couple of nights, my dreams are of days past—times at the orphanage, times at the Company. Dreams wrought from my thoughts and memories.
When I dream of Spinner’s End, I know my respite has ended.
In the dream, the Dead Wood has devoured the castle. Stones bulge beneath the earth, imprisoned by the roots. Gray branches swathe what remains of the towers, tree trunks bloated on their gluttony.
The Soulless walks among the ruins. His steps are slow and precise, but even in a dream, I can tell that his strength is returning. Slowly, perhaps, but growing.