Sun Cursed (Shades of Blood Book 1)

by Megan Blackwood

  "That's true, my kind don't tend to like moonlight. Not only are we weak without the light of the sun, when the moon is full it actively saps our strength."

  "Then why do you stand under the moonlight?"

  Now there was a question. It wasn't one I was sure I wanted to answer. It was one thing to talk about the physiology of the sunstriders, it was quite another to talk about the psychology of myself.

  "When I stand under a full moon, it's the closest I will ever feel to being mortal again."

  I heard her take a breath, a slow, pained sound. It was soft enough that human ears would've never picked it up. Adelia had spent her life practicing the placid decorum integral to the political and financial success of the Sun Guard. But I wasn't mortal, and hearing that low breath broke the very illusion I was trying to maintain.

  "Do you miss it?" she asked. "Being a mortal, I mean."

  "Hard to say. I don't remember what it was like. I can observe you—all of you—and draw some conclusions about how it must feel to be mortal, how much more intense it must be to know that the moments of your life are substantially shortened, and therefore every second so much more precious. I feel your vibrancy. It radiates off all of you. That passion, that brilliance? That's why we sunstriders love you. And why the nightwalkers hate you. They resent the reminder of what they can't have anymore, while we treasure and nurture what we lost."

  Adelia shifted her weight, moving her arm so she could grip the railing with both hands. The metal must be cold to her, but it was room temperature to me. She leaned forward, as if she were seeking something in the treetops directly in front of the building. She was looking for an opening, looking for a way to segue into what she'd come here to say. I stayed quiet, letting her come around to the words in her own way.

  "I have something for you," she said.

  Carefully, she reached under the voluminous folds of her pashmina and pulled out a leather portfolio. Brown leather wrapped pages of parchment, yellow with age, and tied up by a thick leather belt. There was no writing on the front, no indication of what the folio held. Adelia rested it against the railing, clasping it in one hand while she traced her fingertips across the thick leather belt.

  She did not look at me as she said, "I did some research tonight, while you slept. I couldn't sleep. I feel so terrible about having failed you."

  "Failed me? You have done everything you can for me."

  "Nonsense," she said, and flicked her hand as if to brush away my words. "We're supposed to protect you, and we lost you. You woke up alone in the sewers, drawn out of the oubliette because we had allowed the balance to become so unstable that your oath broke through the ritual sleep. If that is not a sure sign of a failure of the Sun Guard, then I don't know what is.

  "We became too complacent over the years. We lost track of what it means to be a division devoted to protection. We got our noses dusty, digging through old records and compiling research. We forgot we were the defense of the human race and not glorified librarians.

  "Don't interrupt me, Miss Shelley, I mean every word I say. The Sun Guard functions as a whole yes, but it's my family who are supposed to guide it, and we failed as leaders. I hope you'll forgive us some day."

  "I forgive you now," I said.

  "You can't. Because you can't forgive me for something you don't believe I've done wrong." She chuckled a little and shook her head. "Someday you'll realize the failure I've been, and maybe then, once you've hated me for a while, you might be able to forgive me. But in the meantime there is something I can do for you."

  She took the folio in both hands and passed it to me as if presenting a precious relic. I took it from her, hesitant, and ran my fingers along the soft leather. "What is it?"

  "It is," she said, averting her gaze. "Everything the Sun Guard has on Lucien Dubois."

  I froze, my fingers rigid around the soft leather in my hands. I knew my face must be a mask of shock, for Adelia offered me a sad smile and reached out, squeezing my uninjured bicep gently in understanding. She pushed windswept hair back from her eyes and hugged her pashmina a little tighter.

  "It's cold, for me. I'm going to go inside and try to squeeze in a little rest. I know you will not listen to me and rest yourself Miss Shelley, but I hope you'll find a little of what you're looking for tonight."

  I was too dumbstruck to speak. She turned away from me, heading back to the door that would lead down the stairs into the bulk of Somerset House. I watched her go, for half a second wondering if my mind was finally playing tricks on me and I had imagined the full encounter. But once the door shut, the folio was still in my hand, solid and real. I could not wait.

  I rested my weight against the railing, braced the folio against my middle, and gripped it in one hand as my shaking fingers undid the silver buckle.

  Nineteen: Memories in Snow and Ink

  I opened the folio to find Lucien's face staring back at me. Someone had rendered his likeness in black ink. As I ran my fingers over the thick, bold lines I could feel the slight divots where the metal nib of the pen had pressed into the paper.

  This was Lucien as I had known him. His hair shorter than it was now, but not by a lot, and his eyes shaded hastily to indicate their pale color. I wished I knew who the artist was so I could thank them for their work, but judging by the yellowing of the ink they were long since gone to dust.

  His name, Lucien Dubois, was scrawled underneath the portrait in a delicate hand. A long drip of ink trailed down from the ending letter. I was loath to turn the page and look away from him, but I needed to know what the Sun Guard had collected.

  I turned the page. It read:

  Lucien Dubois de Savoy, third son of the Marquis de Savoy. Last known location as a mortal, north of Calais, France. Sent to a local monastery, but never arrived.

  I smiled to myself, shaking my head. I never told anyone about those few days Lucien and I had spent together. At least none of the mortals of the Sun Guard. I did tell Roisin and Sebastian, eventually. I closed my eyes, imagining those first moments when we had met.

  Roisin, Sebastian, and I had been investigating a suspected ghoul outbreak in the city of Calais. Roisin and Sebastian had integrated themselves into the local culture, but I was having a hard time of it. I hadn't yet learned French, and I was beginning to suspect that we had followed the wrong trail.

  Even though we tripped over a ghoul here and there throughout the village, the so-called infestation was proving to be less than impressive. None of the three of us could pick up the scent of a nightwalker anywhere in town, and we argued about which direction we suspected the nightwalker might have gone. Sebastian and Roisin were convinced that they could smell him to the south, while I thought I caught a hint of real nightwalker on a narrow path leading up the mountains to a monastery.

  We couldn't afford to be wrong—this was the time of horses, after all—and so we split up. It wasn't something we liked to do, we worked best as a team, but one of us would have to go it alone. Sebastian was Roisin's maker. Which of us would work alone was never in question.

  I followed the winding path up into the mountains for three days. Snow began to pepper the trail, and though the cold didn't bother me, I knew that I was beginning to look suspicious. I had only my travel cloak and a bag full of basic necessities. If I were mortal, I would be woefully under-prepared for this weather and, as it turned out, the steepness of the hike. The trail led up to the very top of the mountain. The way was rugged and steep, and rocks often shifted under my feet unexpectedly. Even though I missed my family, there was something peaceful about being alone amid a snow-dappled wood.

  After the third day, I suspected I should go back. I hadn't caught a whiff of anything stronger than a ghoul, and if I turned back, then I might catch up with Roisin and Sebastian before they came across what they were looking for. Still, I was convinced I had scented something on the path that first night we had come to Calais. And I was determined to prove to my two best friends that my nose was keen
er than theirs.

  Doesn't ever really matter how old you get, there's still a bit of age posturing amongst families, and Roisin and Sebastian were both older than me by a few years. I pushed through the snow, forcing my way up the side of the mountain. On that fourth day, the clouds had finally cleared, and I left my arms bare to soak up the sunlight filtering down through the trees.

  I had been walking for four hours when I caught the warm, healthy scent of horses and men. They couldn't have been too far, the scent was strong and the switchbacking ways of the trail easily hid things in front of me. I stepped off the trail, walking lightly over the fresh snow pack and keeping to the shadows of the trees so that I would not startle them. Horses often embarrassed me by snorting as soon as they saw me.

  I was almost upon the group when I caught the first sniff of nightwalker. I sped up, pulling myself into the trees so that the soft snow wouldn't slow me down. None of the humans noticed me swinging through the branches, but I think the nightwalker must have. I was never really sure.

  I reached the group and found a small gathering of men in the long dark cloaks of those who wished to become monks. The acolytes walked with their heads bowed, swinging censers that spilled incense into the crisp air. They walked their horses, letting the animals carry their supplies instead of their bodies. Six men, three horses. That wasn't much of a target for a nightwalker, not when Calais itself was so close and full of tasty morsels.

  I hesitated in the trees, wondering if I should make myself known to those people and let them know that they were being followed by something foul. But I'd had a few run-ins with religious orders in my day, and most of them tended to end up with torches being thrown in my general direction.

  I didn't trust these people, but I didn't want to leave them unguarded either. After a moment's hesitation, I decided to follow them, traveling through the trees as gently as I could, keeping myself hidden until they had gone as far as they could for the day.

  They set up camp in a small clearing off the edge of the path, brushing away the snow to put up tents and a meager, crackling fire. They spent more time taking care of their horses than they did themselves.

  As darkness fell I came alert, hating the feeling of my strength leaving me but knowing that this was the time of the nightwalker. If I lost vigilance now, I'd never forgive myself.

  The nightwalker did not wait long. I never knew his name, but he came soaring out of the trees opposite the clearing from where I crouched, landed on the huddled dome of a tent, and tore it to shreds with his claws as if it were no more than a spider web. The acolyte within never had a chance to scream.

  I leapt down to meet him. I was still new to the order then, full of bravado and the urge to show off. I came down yelling a war-cry, instead of descending upon him like the silent death I could be. His head jerked up, and he grinned as he saw me, wriggling his long clawed fingers in my direction as a taunt. I sneered and lunged for him, but he was older than me, faster, and though the moon was new and the sky lay black he had more power than me.

  He darted away, just out of my grasp, and before I could do anything at all he opened the throat of the nearest horse and tore a tent off another acolyte. I cursed him, in the old way, and sprang with all my strength, arcing down with my blade. He laughed, actually laughed, as my sword's edge bit into the bone of his shoulder blade and came away after carving out a nick of his bone.

  I had seen nightwalkers before, though rarely. I'd even dispatched a few. But this one looked at me with mad eyes, the silver of his irises disturbed by ripples in the same way a still pond would be if you threw a rock into it. He tipped his head back and howled like a wolf, then scrambled away on all fours. Before I could get my wits about me again, he dug his nails into the guts of two more acolytes.

  I closed the distance between us, bringing my blade around to strike him hard in the back. He let out a sharp shriek of pain and pitched forward, his uninjured arm landing in the small fire the acolytes had staged.

  While the nightwalker had dispatched three of the acolytes and one horse, the other three had gotten up. They backed away from both of us, not able to tell the difference between one apparition or another. I grimaced. This was exactly the reaction I feared, and why I hadn't shown myself to them. They huddled together, dropping to their knees they wrapped their arms around each other's shoulders and began to murmur low prayers. I wished they would scatter, make a harder target for the nightwalker, but they were determined to die with their Lord's words on their lips, even though the woman they thought of as a demon was here to save them.

  Screeching, the nightwalker dragged himself out of the fire and vaulted, tackling one of the horses to the ground. He pitched his head back and roared again, then bit deep into the horse's meaty throat. One of the acolytes moaned, another began to whimper. I raced to the nightwalker, but he was riding madness now, and had more speed than I could have ever imagined.

  He turned his head, met my gaze and then sprung at me in an instant. I swore as I hit the ground, my back digging into all the rocks strewn over the forest floor, blade flying clear of my hands. Melted snow seeped through my clothes, and I couldn't quite tell the difference between the cold water of the snow melt and the chilled blood trickling from my rib cage.

  The nightwalker screeched in victory and lashed out with one clawed hand, attempting to tear my throat open. I rolled, knocking him under me, but he brought his two legs up under my hips and thrust, throwing me into the air. My back struck the trunk of a tree, and what little air I had bothered to take in escaped me in a rush. I grimaced, got to my feet again, and kept one eye on the nightwalker as I searched for my blade.

  The sword laid alongside the fire, reflecting gold from the flames. I wished for the ability to call it back to me, but that was the purview of sorceresses, and I had not their power.

  The nightwalker thumped his chest with one arm and coiled himself to spring. I crouched down, my claws extending as I prepared to grapple.

  I was too late in realizing what his true target was. He sprung, gathering all three of the acolytes in his arms as he knocked them to the ground. A wet, gurgling sound shot through with screams filled the night air. He bowed his head over the neck of one, chewing at his throat like a dog with a bone.

  I was on him in a flash, using every single scrap of supernatural strength I held to wrest him away from the acolytes, but it wasn't enough. The damage was already done.

  We rolled together on the loamy floor of the forest, and as we grappled, a fresh hate filled me. These men had been going to do some good in the world. They weren't greedy men, they weren't cruel men, they had done nothing at all to deserve the terror the nightwalker struck into them in the final moments of their death.

  The nightwalker grabbed me by the shoulders and slammed me to the ground. My vision went dark at the edges as my head cracked against a stone. I scrambled, straining to get my clawed fingers around his vile throat. He grinned at me, ghoulish, his fanged mouth smeared with stolen blood. His own fingers curled around my neck, and I knew it was the end.

  The tip of my sword exploded from his chest, dripping the nightwalker's blood onto my torso. One of the monks, wide-eyed with terror, released the sword he had plunged into the back of the nightwalker and took a few staggered steps backward. His whole body trembled.

  The nightwalker's eyes widened. It didn't have a chance to escape before the piercing of its heart transmuted its body to ash. I coughed on instinct, I was still prone to human breathing patterns in those days, and brushed the dust from my body as I gathered the blade that fell across my lap. I stood up, checking the wounds that dappled me. There wasn't much, a few scrapes around my shoulder, neat little gash about my ribs, and a whole host of bruises. Nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't fix.

  But now I had this acolyte to deal with. I sheathed my blade and pushed the hair back from my eyes, letting him see the full brilliance of them. If he were going to let me help him, he needed to know what I was.

/>   I waited, still as a snowdrift, while he took me in. His own eyes were pale, icy blue, his hair a mass of dark and tight curls cropped close to his head. Add in his wide, square jaw and I wondered what such a handsome man was doing giving himself over to the order. I waited for the scream, the accusations of being a demon. But they never came.

  "Thank you, stranger," he said. "My name is Lucien Dubois. I am pleased, and blessed, to make your acquaintance."

  He bowed to me then, with such humble reverence that it took what little breath I held away.

  We spent some time in the forest together afterwards, and it is true, he never made it to that monastery. We returned to Calais after a little while, and I whiled away the time waiting for Sebastian and Roisin to return in his company. The Sun Guard had no record of that.

  I traced my finger down the folio page, seeking any information about the Lucien I did not know—the Lucien that had been remade after I had gone to the oubliette.

  Lucien Dubois appeared again fifty years after he was last sighted outside of Calais. A descendent of his niece spotted him moving through the village. She had thought he was her brother at first. The man she saw was obviously a relative, only no-one she had seen before. When she described the man and sketched him for her father, he insisted that must be Lucien, even though the man that the niece had seen was much younger than Lucien would be at that time.

  Shortly after the sighting, Lucien Dubois left Calais, and was not seen again.

  My heart stuttered in my chest. That was it. That was all there was to Adelia's file. The rest of the folio pages were blank, or recordings of supposed sightings from other Sun Guard members that were never corroborated.

  What had happened to my Lucien, I still did not know.

  Twenty: Mist in the Trees