Shadows and Shade Box Set

by Amanda Cashure

  Logan smiles, rather pleased with himself.

  “If you could control the Veil, Logan, I might actually care about your threats. I don’t care – and I dare you to try harder.”

  Logan tenses, and I just keep moving down the hall, not taking my eyes off the threat.

  “Or I could…” Seth says, letting his sentence hang as Logan’s pants suddenly begin to unravel at the ankles.

  Falling to pieces in shreds, shards, and wisps on the floor.

  Logan’s eyes take on a new intensity, bloodshot and ready to explode. Then the destruction reaches his knees, and he turns tail and runs down the hall.

  Seth swings down and lands on the ground far too gracefully for someone easily three times my size, watching Logan vanish through the ornate doors before turning to me.

  Smiling. He’s smiling at me.

  In my mind, the world is still vanishing in a blink of black nothingness, so I don’t stop edging away. Even though Seth is winking, not moving a muscle to chase me, and looking rather like he enjoyed everything that just happened.

  He enjoyed that?

  The world just got ripped open!

  I give up trying to make a slow escape and just chuckin’ run, around the corner, then the next, and down the next two halls. Far, far away, before I stop to catch my breath.

  And let my heart settle, scrubbing my palms down the legs of my tunic to try and dry the fear from them.

  The wall was gone.

  Logan is a scary asshole, and the wall vanished.

  I’m not sure how long it takes to clear those two details from my mind, but when they finally move aside I realize I’m still hungry and I still have to find the damn Saber kitchens.

  “Excuse me,” I say to the nearest servant, a short woman with a little spring to her step, not lifting my gaze to her eyes. “Where are the Saber kitchens?”

  She turns, or more like twirls, and points back the way she came.

  “Left, right, then left again. Just stay in the servants halls, though. There’s a few entrances into the Saber halls, but you don’t want to be caught in those.”

  Chuck, do I know that!

  I swallow hard and force myself to follow her directions, arriving at the Saber dining hall kitchens. My legs are shaking, my stomach is growling, and I’ve got no idea what the time is.

  Clara meets me at the door, her boss-lady-on-a-mission expression firmly in place.

  “Late,” she snaps.

  “Lost,” I counter.

  “Stupid,” she snaps back, grabbing my arm and with a solid yank I’m stationed in front of the biggest arrangement of stone sinks and drying racks I’ve ever seen.

  And a mountain of dishes.

  Obviously, no one jumped in to cover for me.

  “Doomed,” I mutter. “Is this everyone’s dirty plates?”

  I have to raise my voice over the ten other people in here cutting, talking, and tossing pans onto the dancing flames of cookers.

  There’s a set of double doors on the other side of the room, and people walking in and out to gather bowls of salads and platters of cold meats.

  And that food looks good. I’ve never been fussy and will pretty much eat whatever I’m offered without a complaint. But I can’t resist the sight of good food, the bright colors and crisp textures. One of the servants pulls a trolley backward through the doors, and out into the sea of Sabers in the dining hall beyond.

  “No, just the Sabers who used this hall,” Clara says.

  Yep, I gathered that. Sabers are different. There’s no denying it. There’s a crackle of power that emanates off them. I don’t think they even have to do anything to make my insides want to submit to their rule. Maybe it’s because there are a lot of them through those doors, but it’s about a million times more intense than just the four assholes that dragged me into this place.

  Clara marches across to a board on the back wall.

  “Lunch-sweets in half an hour, people!” she calls out.

  Lunch-sweets. Because lunch really needs to be sweetened with something. I managed to miss breakfast and lunch today, as well as every meal yesterday. I’m so hungry. I grab the nearest something that looks untouched from one of the plates – a boiled potato – and devour it. Not caring if any of the others are watching, which they’re not. Just caring that my stomach loves me for it. To my far left someone opens an oven, and the smell of fresh-baked raisin bread slams into me. My eyes drift shut and for a moment all I do is breathe it in.

  Then someone elbows me in the back.

  “Get moving. We need those plates in half an hour,” he grumbles, placing a pan on the edge of the pile.

  Crap.

  There are three sinks with some bench space between them, all stacked high with the dirty stuff. I fill the last sink, hunt around for some dish soap, and scrub.

  And scrub.

  And scrub.

  The chefs around me jump in and out of spontaneous conversation.

  “Sasha’s got the night shift this phase.”

  “Are you going to marry her when you get home?”

  “We’ll be home in two moons – married in three,” the guy says, rolling out a batch of sweet bread.

  “Did you see the TrickerySeeds training against the StormSeeds last night? Bloody fireworks there were.”

  “Thom and Asanta always train twice as hard when the ChaosSeed isn’t here, and the StormSeed sisters laugh at the challenge – I’ve heard them do it.”

  Someone snorts hard, but I don’t turn to see who. “None of them have the guts to challenge the Elorsin brothers, even with their triunes.”

  “The women can’t. Men fight men, women fight women.”

  “Except in training,” someone else adds. “But I wouldn’t be training against any of them either.”

  I keep my head down and my eyes on my work. Piling the drying racks high then racing through polishing them to perfection, apparently, because Clara comes by and dumps anything short of perfection back into my dirty pile.

  Sweets get cooked, much of the supplies coming up by a pulley system. Apparently, there’s a prep-kitchen down below.

  One by one, the jobs seems to get completed and the sections cleaned down, the chefs filtering out of the kitchen.

  When the last guy leaves I turn to Clara, the third to last plate in my hands.

  “Where’d everyone go?” I ask.

  “To lunch. Servants’ lunch is in the dining hall downstairs.”

  I toss my drying towel onto the bench.

  “Thank the gods, I’m starving.”

  She looks at me with an amused crinkle in her eyes. “You know what? I think I like you.”

  I cock my head a little, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “No lunch?” I ask.

  Clara turns toward the double doors into the dining hall with her arms wide like she might be trying to give the place a great big hug. I’m not that naive – she’s indicating how big the job is.

  “All yours,” she says.

  “Wait, what?”

  “If you’d been here on time, you would have had the sinks empty from the breakfast service and the dirty plates from lunch would have been brought to you for washing. You were not here on time, and those plates out there still need to be washed.”

  Then she turns on her heels and marches toward the servant’s entrance, out the door.

  Gone.

  Moaning, I sink to the floor and lean back against the cupboard behind me. My hands are a wrinkly white color already.

  The rest of the kitchen’s clean, but who knows what’s out there?

  Finally, growling to try to give myself encouragement, I push off the floor and march to the double doors, throwing them open with determination.

  And right there, at the table closest to the kitchen doors, are four assholes I never wanted to see again.

  All four heads dart up. I get a glimpse of their expressions, all accusing some scum for interrupting them, before the doors swing sh
ut and smash me in the face.

  Crap!

  Someone laughs. A light and entertained sound – Seth.

  I throw my hands out, feeling around for something to help me keep my balance as my eyes pinch shut in pain, tears streaming down my face. My nose is on fire.

  It hurts so much that I feel under it for blood. When my eyes finally clear, I check my fingers.

  No blood. Just lots of pain.

  It takes me a second to wipe my eyes and regain my determined posture, then I push the doors open again and step through them before they have a chance to swing shut.

  “See, I told you it was her,” Seth says.

  Four doesn’t say a thing, doesn’t even look at me. Three leans back in his chair, his eyes tracing the length of my body while smiling crookedly.

  So what? Maybe I like the guys’ clothes better than the girls’.

  One has the worst reaction, his expression a mix of disgust and disappointment. Really, all of this is his fault. He doesn’t get to look like my being here offends him.

  He stands up, his chair grating across the timber floor.

  “Are we going?” Seth asks, bouncing to his feet.

  I dart across the room, planting myself in front of them.

  “No, you don’t,” I say. “You’ve got to get me out of here. I’m not going to be some dish-washing servant for the rest of my life.” And I’m not going to be face to face with Logan ever again.

  Okay, I really don’t care about the dishwashing part at all – just Logan.

  I even poke my finger at the Commander’s chest – which is a stupid idea because his chest is rock solid, and it seems to really piss him off.

  He grabs my hand, wrapping his tightly around mine. Tight enough to send pulses of pain into my wrist.

  “Servants don’t talk to Sabers,” he says, his voice low, his golden eyes boring into me. “Servants don’t stand in front of Sabers, and they never throw orders at an Elite Commander.”

  He lets go of my hand and I fall on my ass. I hadn’t even realized how hard I was trying to pull away from him.

  Commander-scary-asshole steps around me, followed by Four, who literally growls at me.

  “I hate it when you make the pretty ones cry,” Three says, not looking at me as he walks past.

  I’m practically laying on my back, propped up by my elbows, trying to ignore the throbbing reminder in my hand.

  Seth takes me by surprise, squatting down and balancing on the balls of his feet next to me. Now that my life’s not in danger, I take a moment to admire the golden sheen through his dark hair – strands of actual gold. Normal people have pretty boring hair colors, black, brown, blond. This guy’s hair is a soft brown, and gold. Lots of pretty, sparkly, gold, which looked just as entrancing when he was hanging upside down from the rafters, saving me from Logan.

  “What happened to the walls?” I ask, or rather, whisper.

  I’m at least half sure he’s going to tell me I was imagining things.

  “Best you don’t go near Logan without me,” he whispers back.

  “Or ever. What did he do to the walls?”

  “Ever sounds challenging, Logan is a Saber – Sabers have powers. Having trouble settling in?”

  My jaw clenches and my lips purse, but I still manage to formulate a response.

  “Not settling in.”

  He chuckles.

  I wonder how much I could sell his hair for? I squint a little, trying to picture him without it, and I’m pretty sure he’d still look good.

  What am I thinking? He’s not good. Not even good-looking. He’s an Elite Saber pain-in-my-ass who decided to kidnap me and put me to work scrubbing dishes in a place full of mean servants and nasty Sabers. I’m chuckin’ nuts!

  “We must seem weird to you,” he says.

  “Not weird, crazy,” I say. I realize he’s not down here to rub salt in my wounds. He’s just talking to me. Just talking – and since he’s here he might as well listen, too. “You knocked me out for two chuckin’ days!”

  “We needed to move fast.”

  I lean a little forward and whisper, “Where did I pee?”

  Which he laughs at. “You didn’t. Roarke slowed your metabolism.”

  “He can do that?”

  Now he’s really amused. Damn, the guy’s got an amazing smile. “Yes.”

  I’m not sure whether to be grateful for that, or more pissed off. I mean, at least that explains why I’m not passing out from starvation.

  “They’ve put you in the kitchen,” he says.

  “You asked them to?” I ask, with a sneaking suspicion that he’s the only one in this entire castle with a kind bone in his body.

  He shakes his head.

  “Not me, Pax,” he says, offering me a hand.

  “Pax?” I ask, looking at his hand, waiting for the offer to turn into a slap or something.

  “My brother, and the commander who you just tried to give orders to,” he says, shaking his hand a little, insisting I take it.

  Pax is One… and he pulled strings to make sure I wasn’t working in the Saber suites, I realize.

  So against my better judgement I accept Seth’s help, and he pulls me up so suddenly that my whole body leaves the ground before I land on my feet.

  I’m about to say ‘thank you’ when a voice booms overhead, making me jump.

  “All Elite to the arena. All Elite,” the female says. “Tournament begins in two minutes.”

  From the roof. There’s a voice coming from the roof?

  Seth chuckles, steps around me, and heads for the main door out of here. The door is massive, a big curved hole in the wall. It suits the massive room, though. Table after table with black tablecloths and white place settings. The windows on the far wall are huge, but the glass is covered in one big stained design that spreads across the three individual panels. It’s a tree, and it makes the view outside impossible to decipher. I don’t terribly care – the glass itself is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  Seth and his brothers are gone, leaving me standing in the middle of a dining hall full, and I mean full, of dirty dishes and leftover food.

  Food in his boots? I ponder.

  I had promised Commander One-asshole-Pax mud in his boots. But leftover food could be just as fun.

  And before my tiny soot-servant-slave brain can think this through, I’ve grabbed up a plate of someone’s leftover something, and begun considering how I can transport it. I slip back into the kitchen and locate the kind of box used to transport delicate foods like cakes and pies. Putting the plate of mashed up meat, some kind of cream, something green, and diced tomatoes, plus an orange crunchy bread-thingy, securely inside. Then I put on a brisk walk and head straight for the big exit out of the dining hall. But as soon as I reach it, my whole body pulls to a stop.

  Their outside wall is a floor to ceiling window, just like in the servant’s passages, but theirs isn’t frosted. It’s clear, and shines so clean that the glass is almost invisible.

  And the world out there is… breathtaking.

  The castle, all white towers and white walls, with whole sections made completely of glass, creates a ‘u’ shape, with a huge courtyard, proper carriages, and a road made from white pebbles. Even the bloody horses down there are white.

  Beyond that is forest. A normal looking forest close to the castle, but the trees grow steadily taller. Impossibly huge.

  I gulp a few times, feeling everything in me that understood the world fade away. I have no idea where I am, or what this place is, and it’s certainly nothing like home.

  And I have Pax to thank for that.

  With renewed vigor, I take a wild guess and turn left, walking right into a servant.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, helping him pick a cloth back up off the floor.

  He flicks a stray hair from his face and spares a quick glance at the box in my hands.

  “I’m looking for Commander Pax?” I ask.

  “Of course, who els
e has pie delivered to the tournament?” the guy says, waving a hand toward the back of the castle.

  “I’m looking for his room – or wherever it is he sleeps – he asked for his meal to be delivered,” I hedge.

  He points to the roof with his thumb, then turns to the window, the really, really big window, and starts polishing it.

  “Upstairs?” I ask. “Do all of them sleep upstairs?”

  “All the Sabers are in suites. Elites are down the far end. You’re that new soot. It shouldn’t surprise me that you’re asking stupid questions.”

  “Yeah, nice to meet you,” I drawl.

  “You do know you’re no longer in the servants corridors? You have to take your job here seriously.”

  My grip on the box tightens.

  “I take every job I do seriously,” I tell him, even the ones that involve righting injustices by putting leftovers in a certain person’s boots.

  “You don’t look like you respect your role here. Do you know who Pax is?” he asks, stopping his polishing to give me his attention.

  I shake my head, because saying he’s a pain-in–my-ass is probably going to be counter productive.

  “He’s an AlphaSeed. He’s the Seed from one of the original Crowns. There’s even stories that he can turn into a wolf. And his brother, Killian, he’s a Seed of Darkness. And Roarke’s a Seed of Allure, and Seth’s a Seed of Chaos,” he pauses, then adds, “Tread carefully around them.”

  Without waiting for me to respond, he goes back to polishing, taking one giant step in my direction and making me step back.

  Great, I’m going to put leftover food in the boots of chuckin’ royalty, who happens to be likened to the biggest, nastiest wolf in a pack of elite wolves.

  And I am going to do it. Not because I think he needs the food, or because I dislike his boots, but because I’m not sitting around waiting for an apology. Life is too short for that. I’d rather just make him regret meeting me.

  “Where?” I ask, trying to wedge myself between the guy and the glass.

  He stabs a thumb toward the roof again. “Up the stairs, with the Elite. Look for the door labelled ‘Commander Pax’.” I start walking before he can add, “Stairs are that way.”