Something Lady Aisling did. She may have a garden full of beautiful flowers, but her heart is a wretched, cruel thing.
“That’s terrible,” I say, trying not to let my fear show. I bite my lip to keep it from trembling.
“Maybe that is it, Cary,” Miranda says. “But the trouble is no one knows because no one sees the children again.” She doesn’t mention the adults that have been going missing, but I recall her words from the other night about Winthrop. This is bigger than she is letting on. She probably doesn’t want to scare us any more than necessary.
A silence falls over the table, broken only by Lucas slurping a green bean. His mother tousles his curls.
“We used to live near Zinnia, right on the border of Parilla,” Alfred says. “Lucas was only a year old when a neighbor child around the same age was taken away by soldiers and a strange, frightful woman. The child’s parents barely remembered that they had ever had a baby at all. Lady Aisling did something to them, I’d stake my life on it. Not long after, we began to notice how Lucas could bend the light around him.”
Miranda sets her napkin down. “We knew what it meant, and we left for the forest as soon as possible to protect him from Lady Aisling.”
My thoughts swirl through my head, many of them falling into place clearly. Winthrop is one of the missing talented people, though he’s older which seems strange. And this network they mentioned, it must have something to do with hiding people from Lady Aisling. Miranda and Alfred are clearly more involved then they’re letting on, if they’re relaying messages from the mysterious network to the Rodans.
They’re out here in the woods hiding from Lady Aisling and helping others move around to evade capture. That’s why they were so disturbed by the guards. The list I found is still a mystery, though I’m willing to bet it’s related in some way too.
Words bubble up in my throat. But before I can let them out, Dar squeals from behind my chair. Please, protect me, just until we perform the ritual. I can protect you from Lady Aisling. I know what that wicked woman wants: lost souls, just like me. She is the reason I became one in the first place. Please, I can’t risk being recaptured. Don’t admit what you know.
I rest a hand on Dar’s form still wrapped around the back of my chair and give it a squeeze. She relaxes, but my stomach is more in knots than ever before. She told me Lady Aisling was a stranger, a noble who caused an accident in a seamstress shop. If that’s the case, why is she so afraid of her now? Why would she fear being captured?
I may live in shadows, but I fear I am more in the dark about Dar than I ever suspected. I hate to admit it, but between the lying, the stealing, the sneaking, and now this, it is becoming difficult to trust her. We are going to have to have a long talk as soon as the Rodans are gone.
I may not tell my new friends about Dar and what I know of Lady Aisling yet, but once this ritual is over and things are set right, I will tell them everything.
Chapter Nineteen
I have been doing my best to ignore Dar’s strange behavior, but I caught her sneaking back into my bedroom this morning when she thought I was still asleep. She always has an easy answer ready—too easy. Something is wrong. I just want to get the ritual over with so that I can get my friend back. I know the ritual is the key to fixing everything.
But despite the rocky start, the morning is full of promise and laughter as we sit around the kitchen table, watching Lucas practice his baking by toasting croissants and browning sausages for our amusement and breakfast. Yesterday, he made Cary, Doyle, and me night-lights—glowing orbs that he captured in a bottle. Now there are several of them strung throughout the house. He seems determined to keep light from ever leaving him.
I can’t blame him; it’s a beautiful golden color, but it shines a bit too brightly for me. Though it does remind me of the jar of shadows and fireflies I made for Kendra once. I know Lucas would’ve appreciated a gift like that. He’s a true friend. The bottle of light now rests in my flour sack stowed under my cot. Cary hasn’t noticed the sack yet, and with any luck, she never will. The shadow I’ve placed over it like a blanket doesn’t hurt either. She doesn’t seem a prying sort, though her brother is another matter.
“What else can you do with shadows, Emmeline?” Doyle scrunches up his nose from across the table. “Anything practical like Lucas?”
Dar bristles under my feet, and I feel it tingling in my toes. I must figure out how to keep her under better control until we complete the ritual. “If you mean can I cook with shadows, then no, I’m afraid not. But shadows can be useful in other ways. I can make a kite, or a cloak.” I pause remembering the bridge I made to get away from the soldiers when I first fled my home. “And things like rope too. I made a shadow bridge once.”
Doyle frowns and Cary laughs. “Were you able to walk on it? Did it hold?”
I smile. “It did.”
Lucas sits down, tossing a few sausages and two croissants on his plate. “Emmeline has been helping me make my light more tangible, like she can with shadows.”
“Do you think that could work with wind?” Doyle asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anyone try. But if it works with shadow and light, I don’t see why it wouldn’t work for wind.”
Doyle breaks into a grin and says, “Let’s try it after breakfast.”
Dar moans at my feet. Not the wind whistler too. The light singing is bad enough, but wind whistling is a truly useless talent.
I laugh, ignoring Dar’s objections. “All right.”
We eat quickly, then dash outside. I show them something simple at first, how I can make a shadow into a rope, while Lucas works on a band of light that curls around his wrist. I focus on crafting the shadow into something real, something that can be felt, and soon the shadow rope lays in my hands. I hold it out, then direct it to soar toward Doyle. He laughs as it chases him across the yard. Then it catches him, winding around his body and pinning his arms to his sides. Cary is delighted by this and laughs so hard I fear she might burst. Dar, too, cackles at my side. Doyle scowls, then whistles loudly. Wind whips through the trees, tugging at the shadow rope until it finally releases its hold on him.
“I wish I could do that to him when he gets on my nerves,” Cary says wistfully.
“Very funny,” Doyle says pouting, then scuffing his toe on the ground. “But that was really neat. How did you do it?”
“It takes a lot of concentration. You have to focus on expanding the mass.”
Doyle furrows his brow and whistles. His wind flies to him, but even I can tell his control of his talent is not yet as sophisticated as mine or Lucas’s. But still he tries and tries and tries again.
Lucas and I help, giving him encouragement and tips, but after an hour we have to admit it is to no avail. Cary is the only one relieved. Her expression soured as the minutes ticked by. I have to wonder what it’s like to have a brother blessed with a talent and no talent of your own. I always wished I had a sibling, but watching the two of them interact, I think it is better that I have Dar instead. Cary is protective and bored by Doyle at the same time. Or perhaps that is how all siblings are. Dar and I have a bond that is unbreakable. I only hope it will last after the ritual is complete.
• • •
The shadows deepen in the guest room I share with Cary, and once I hear her snoring, I rise at Dar’s behest.
We only need a couple more items for the ritual, then we’re done, Dar says, her voice threaded with excitement. Her form is edged in silver tonight, something I’ve never seen before. She’s never been so excited, not even for our best tricks and games over the years. I am relieved to see her in good spirits for the first time in days.
I lace up my boots as quietly as I can, listening for any hint that Cary wakes. Then I tiptoe from the room, weighed down by the heavy flour sack in my hand. “I thought you had wanted to wait until the Rodans wer
e gone?”
We can’t afford to wait any longer, not if they plan to stay for another couple days. The blood moon will have passed by then.
“What must we get? Is it far this time?”
Not at all. Outside, Dar says. To the garden.
I slink out the back door, fully cloaked in shadows. An uneasy feeling makes me pause as the door closes behind me. I peer at the woods, but I don’t see anything. Far off in the forest, something howls, and I shiver.
It must be the animals nearby making me nervous. Though they never have before. Usually the dark is a comfort.
The garden is close to the house, and I reach it quickly. The vegetables’ leaves seem silver in the moonlight, but most of the flowers are squeezed shut. At the far end of the garden is Miranda’s favorite plant: her rosebushes.
Dar nudges me toward the roses. Take one. Break it off; then we’re almost done. There will only be one more ingredient to collect.
“Just one? That’s all?” Relief rises in my chest in a warm steady stream. “Can we retrieve it now and perform the ritual tonight?”
We must wait until tomorrow night for the blood moon. But we are so close. She curls around me, and I can feel her excitement vibrating through her misty form. It’s mirrored in my own heart, success so close I can nearly reach out and grab it.
I pluck one of the roses from the back of the bush, stem and all, narrowly avoiding pricking my thumb on the thorns. I carefully place it in my flour sack but pause before I’ve taken more than a couple steps.
A new sound comes from the woods. Somewhere out there, maybe as close as Lucas’s favorite field, a horse whinnies.
Every nerve in my body stands on end as the horses in the small barn behind the cottage whinny back.
Wait here, I’ll check the woods as far as I can.
Dar glides along the ground, stretching her form into the forest and reaching out in both directions to cover more ground. I remind myself that she’ll come back. She always does. I know she will even when she’s in her human form again.
Every second panic builds in my chest. Finally, Dar returns to my side.
Go inside right now. We need to borrow Miranda’s mortar and pestle and a small bottle, and then we need to leave.
I frown. “What? Why do we need to leave?”
There is no time to explain. Go to the kitchen, Emmeline. Hurry.
“Are we in danger?” I ask, trembling.
But Hurry! is all the answer Dar will give me.
I sneak into the kitchen and quietly rummage through the cabinets, praying I don’t wake anyone up.
“Couldn’t we ask her for them?”
And tell her what, exactly, when she wants to know why we need them?
My heart sinks. I can’t ask to borrow anything without an explanation.
Finally, I find the items I need, a small glass bottle and the mortar and pestle Miranda uses to crush herbs. My hand pauses over the latter. I’ve seen her use this every day since I arrived. She needs it, but tonight I need it more. I hope she forgives me. I tuck it in my sack with a bitter taste on my tongue.
“Now what?”
We need to leave this place right now. The guards have found us. They’re in the woods and getting closer every second.
Alarm pins my feet to the floor. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this right away?” I lower my voice to a whisper. “How many? Is there any way through?”
North.
I check that my shadows are secure and tighten my grip on the flour sack of ingredients, then take one step toward the door before pausing. “I must warn the others. Lucas and Doyle are at risk too.”
No! Dar cries. Save yourself! Save me! They can fend for themselves. We don’t have time!
I consider it for a flash of a moment: leaving Lucas—kind, trusting Lucas—and his family and friends behind to fend for themselves against the guards who have been hunting for me all week.
This is what Dar wants. For me to leave them all behind for her. That’s why she didn’t tell me at first.
But it wouldn’t be right. The guards wouldn’t even be here if not for me and Dar.
“The guards work for Lady Aisling. I can’t let Lucas and Doyle get caught.”
I peek out the kitchen window. The silhouettes of the soldiers in the woods now appear between the trees. Dar howls in my ears as I dash back into Lucas and Doyle’s room.
Who cares if they get caught? All that matters is you and me. Leave now, Emmeline!
Dar’s words chill me to the core, but I don’t have time to chide her now.
“Get up!” I hiss, shaking Lucas. “Get up now!”
A groggy Lucas blinks at me. “Emmeline? What’s going on?” he yawns.
“Lady Aisling’s soldiers have the house surrounded. We have to leave right now.”
Lucas’s face turns green in the moonlight, but he bolts upright and pulls on his boots. I wake Doyle too and leave Lucas to explain before running into his parents’ room. I feel rather naughty at barging into the adults’ quarters but there is no help for it. I wake up Miranda first and at the words “Lady Aisling” she immediately reads the panic on my face and understands.
“Warn the Rodans.”
I don’t hesitate to obey. In only a handful of minutes we meet in the hall, Lucas and Doyle dragging a wide-eyed Cary with them.
“What direction are they coming from, Emmeline?” Miranda asks.
“Every direction. But there’s thinner coverage to the north. Or at least there was a few minutes ago. If we leave now, we might still get past them.”
Mr. Rodan speaks. “We’ll get our horses and leave Doyle with you while we draw them off. We have no magic to steal; Lady Aisling can’t hurt us if we’re caught.”
“And we’ll sneak out through the root cellar to the north,” Miranda says.
“We may not need to,” I say. “I can hide the five of us in shadows while we sneak away under their noses. As long as we’re quiet and watch where we step we should be fine. I’ve done it a hundred times on my own.”
The adults give me a funny look, like they’ve swallowed something unpleasant. Inwardly I cringe, not sure what I said to make them react that way.
Before they can respond, something heavy smashes against the front door and soldiers pour into the house. I throw up my shadows, and the darkness surrounds us like a giant bubble. The Rodans race outside through the back door.
“Stay close to the wall,” I whisper. “And don’t say a word.”
We inch toward the back door, keeping ourselves flat against the wall. Guards rush past us, not seeing us in the shadows. It feels a little different this time—and trickier—cloaking so many at once, but I keep my grasp on my shadows and they don’t fail me.
Why didn’t you just run, Emmeline? Dar moans. Why would you choose these people over me? Over us? I ignore her.
We hear shouts from outside as a few guards take off into the woods after the Rodans and their horses. But half remain here in the house, systematically searching every room and setting fire to it when they’re done.
It’s almost like they’ve been ordered to kill me if they can’t capture me.
I shudder. Lucas takes my hand, offering silent comfort. My chest tightens. This is my fault. I don’t deserve his comfort right now. But I squeeze back and don’t let go. Dar grumbles in my ears.
The fire spreads outward like a drop in a pond, smoke billowing toward the ceiling in coiling waves. My breath hitches in my chest, and I struggle not to cough. The others face the same problem.
Flames begin to lick the beams over our heads, the awful creaking of the strained wood resounding in our ears.
The flames spit higher and we crouch close to the floor to avoid the smoke and the burning heat. If we don’t escape soon, it will be too late and we’ll definitely be discovere
d. Or worse.
The guards run from the house, like they’ve ceased their search and want to leave quickly. As soon as the last guard passes us, I gesture to the others and we hustle out the door unnoticed in the shadows.
The remaining soldiers stand back from the cottage near the tree line. We dash for the woods that aren’t blocked in the opposite direction that the Rodans fled. None of us make a sound other than our ragged breathing and pounding hearts. When we reach the tree line, the moaning wood of the cottage collapses, and the fire flares up into the night.
We pause only for a moment, but the expressions on my friends’ faces breaks my heart. The worst part is knowing I’m the one who put it there.
The soldiers stand watch, no doubt hoping someone will cry out for help in some hidden room. We hurry into the woods, letting the creaks and bursts from the cottage fire conceal our steps. Doyle stumbles over a fallen log, but bites his lip instead of crying out. His hands are covered in cuts and leaves, and tears shine in his eyes. Lucas’s father lifts him up and sets the boy on his feet.
We push on, sometimes walking, sometimes running, for what seems like hours. I keep my shadows pulled tightly around us, but it is exhausting. My legs feel wobbly as a newborn colt’s. Lucas puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Are you all right?” he whispers.
“I’m fine,” I say breathlessly, then sink to my knees. Miranda helps me up.
“There’s a cave not far ahead,” she says. “We passed it when we moved to the cottage last year. We can camp there for the night. We could all use some sleep.”
With her arm secured around my waist, I manage to make it to the cave. My hold on the shadows loosens, but they remain around us, wiggling and waiting for my command. As soon as we enter the cave I let them go, and they bound off through the woods to their homes.
Dizziness overtakes me, and someone sets me down, resting my head on something soft. Comforting darkness closes in, but the guilt inside rears its head.
Shadow Weaver Series, Book 1 Page 13
