Reign of Shadows

by Sophie Jordan

  With a murmured good-bye, I moved to the door and passed through it, anxious to get away.

  I occupied myself in the kitchen, preparing a tray for Sivo to bring to Madoc and Dagne. Perla had returned to the room. She would see to the needs of our visitors—and likely make certain that they didn’t get any ideas about staying any longer than necessary.

  After I made the tray, I took up the knitting—a task I loathed, but I needed to keep my hands busy. My fingers moved deftly with needle and thread through the supple leather, darning the hole in Sivo’s jacket. I tried not to concentrate on the sounds floating from my bedchamber, but my ears were too keen to shut off. At one point Fowler emerged from the other chamber to rejoin Dagne and Madoc without a word to me.

  Finished with the jacket, I folded it across the basket and started preparing dinner. Perla had already cut up some vegetables, so I finished what was left, cutting them on the wood table and tossing the modest amount into a pot.

  Vegetables were few and far between. We’d rigged a garden on top of the tower. Sivo worked on it constantly, trying to encourage what he could do to grow with only the paltry sunlight offered during midlight. I often joined him. It was outside, after all, and it won out over inside chores.

  I liked standing near the edge with my shoulders back, my fingers dusted with soil. I would lift my face to the wind and inhale the loamy musk of the outdoors as Sivo worked, stabbing at the ground, cursing his undernourished greens, radishes, and beets. Occasionally peas would flourish, and that was a good day when we would actually have pea soup. Perla would make it with bits of rabbit meat and Sivo swore it was nearly as tasty as when his mother had made it with ham.

  I’d never tasted ham. Boars had not lasted long after the eclipse. They didn’t move fast enough to avoid the dwellers.

  Sivo joined me at the table, the smooth swishing sound of him sharpening knives a familiar rhythm as I placed the lid back on the pot over the hearth and then moved to slice the loaf of bread baked yesterday.

  The creak in the floor signaled Perla’s approach. I knew her tread well, the length of time to stretch between each steady step. Sighing, she set down the basket full of soiled bedding and rags she used to tend to Madoc. She moved to the washstand. The gentle splashing of water filled the room. After she finished, Sivo collected the basin and dumped it out the window, returning within moments.

  “Dinner ready?” she asked, patting her hands and arms dry with the towel.

  I nodded. “Almost.”

  Sivo resumed sharpening his blades. “How is he?”

  “If his fever breaks, he’ll live. He’s young. Strong. Whether or not he will walk again is another matter.” She moved beside me. I felt her gaze on my face. “What were you thinking?”

  I sighed. “I was thinking they would die if I didn’t help.”

  And I was thinking I was tired of being alone. That I would go stark mad staying all my days inside stone walls with never once encountering another soul.

  I didn’t say that, of course. It would make me seem ungrateful. It would make it seem like Perla and Sivo weren’t enough—that they hadn’t done enough for me.

  When the high chancellor slew my father and my mother after she had just given birth to me, Perla snatched me from the nursery and fled. Cullan had clearly been waiting for an opportunity to seize power, and he found it the night of the eclipse, in the outbreak of chaos and wave of blood and death.

  I shouldn’t have lived. If not for Perla and Sivo, Cullan would have ended me, too.

  I held my tongue, determined not to say anything that made this life they had miraculously carved for us seem too little.

  “And why should whether these strangers die concern us?” Perla grumbled. “It’s enough to keep just ourselves alive.”

  I felt Fowler’s arrival even before I heard him step from my bedchamber. I lifted my head, wondering if he had heard Perla’s comment. And if he cared one way or another.

  His tread vibrated along the floor with a stealth that even Sivo couldn’t manage.

  “He’s asleep,” he announced.

  “Fallen unconscious more likely,” Perla responded. “Pain will do that to you. Knock the fight right out of you.”

  After a long pause, he replied, “If that’s what pain does, it’s a wonder any of us still live.”

  I stopped sawing on the bread and lifted my head in his direction. We all fell quiet at these words, and I knew that Sivo and Perla were staring at this stranger, wondering at him. Afraid of him.

  And there was me, overcome and eaten alive with curiosity, the back of my neck prickling with awareness. I wanted to know about him. Where did he come from? Where had he been? Where was he going?

  He was too new to be anything other than fascinating.

  Heat scalded my cheeks and I lowered my head lest anyone see how he affected me. I concentrated on arranging the thick slices of bread into a basket.

  “It smells good,” Fowler offered, easing the awkward stretch of silence.

  “Help yourself if you’re hungry,” I offered.

  “Of course he’s hungry,” Sivo proclaimed. “A strapping fellow like him needs his nourishment if he’s to make it on the Outside.” A non-gentle reminder that he was to go. Sivo wasn’t much for subtlety. He might as well shove Fowler’s belongings at him and show him the door.

  I set the last slice of bread in the basket and dusted loose crumbs off my fingers, and heard myself saying, despite what he’d already told me, “Well, I’m sure he won’t depart until Madoc is on his feet—”

  “I’ll leave on the morrow. At midlight.”

  He hadn’t changed his mind. Had I expected him to? That somewhere over the course of a day, with warm bread in his belly and walls safely surrounding him, he might have changed his mind?

  I turned my head in his direction, still inclined to persuade him. “But your friends—”

  “They’re not my friends.” His voice dropped hard and absolute. “We traveled together. Briefly. I have to keep going.”

  His deep, rumbling voice wrapped around me, squeezing like a fist. He had to keep going. Alone. That’s what he meant. He wanted no one. Like one of the slippery fish that I managed to seize for a fleeting moment in the stream before it escaped through my fingers. Gone.

  There was no keeping him here. He would be leaving. “Why? Why would you want to go out there? It’s safe in here.” Strange, I mused, that I would be using the same argument Perla used against me every day. Perla, who preferred to die in this tower. This thought scudded through me with a wilting shiver. Dying in the tower. Living the entirety of my days within its walls. My presence, my life, unmarked. Unremembered. Unimportant. As though it never happened at all.

  “Luna, don’t be rude. The young man has a right to come and go as he pleases. We can’t force him to remain.” In Perla’s voice, buried beneath the muted tenor, was the message for me to simply let him go. Release him and good riddance.

  “There’s a place. The Isle of Allu.” Even as he explained this to me, there was a thread of something in his voice. Surprise, perhaps, that he felt compelled to justify his actions. “It’s reported to be free of dwellers—”

  “Oh, and the sun shines there, too, I am certain,” I snapped. “What a lovely fairy tale.”

  And yet even the remote possibility of it intrigued me. Which only infuriated me because I would never know if such a place actually existed. He could leave. He could go in search of this fantasy island. Whether it existed or not, he would never return to tell me.

  I turned, my movements sloppy in my frustration. I grasped the lid off the pot, forgetting to grab the mitt to protect my hand. I cried out and dropped the lid.

  Air rushed around me as Sivo jolted from his chair. Perla’s heavier gait came forward, too, but there was another movement. Someone who moved faster, his stride fluid as water running free between my fingers.

  “What have you done there?” His voice was a deep rasp, curling warmly like pe
at smoke. Warm fingers circled the bones of my wrist, turning my palm over.

  “It’s nothing,” I grumbled, sensing Perla and Sivo hovering close, watching. Whatever they were thinking, they made no move to stop Fowler from touching me or curtail his attention on my hand.

  “It’s a burn. What were you thinking? Cooking and handling yourself near a fire.”

  I sucked in a breath and held it for a moment, my chest full with outrage over his presumption. “Who are you to chastise me—”

  “Someone with eyes to see that you shouldn’t—”

  Tears stung the backs of my otherwise useless eyes. I felt them there, but thankfully they did not fall. I did not have to endure the humiliation of weeping in front of this boy who saw fit to judge what I should or should not do.

  I reacted without thought. My hand snatched the knife that I used to cut the bread. My fingers circled the hilt unerringly, fitting it perfectly within my grip. It hissed as I swung it, stopping the serrated blade before his throat.

  “I can see just fine without seeing. Fine enough to cook. To cut anything. Don’t doubt that I can handle myself. Wasn’t it me who brought you here and saved you?”

  The utter stillness of the room told me neither Perla nor Sivo moved. They watched—whether for fear that I would indeed cut his throat or fear that he would turn the tables on me and retaliate, I wasn’t sure, but I liked to think that Sivo was proud. He had trained me well.

  Of course they could simply be shocked that Fowler knew of my blindness.

  I heard the rustle of fabric as Fowler lifted his arm. The point of the blade gave way under the slightest pressure—but only because I permitted it. If I wanted him dead, he would be.

  “Whether my death was so certain or not? Point made. I’ll not mistake you for helpless again,” he murmured.

  I stepped back, lowering my arm, but kept the knife in my grip. For now, I felt better with it. I took a calming breath. It didn’t matter what he thought of me. He was leaving.

  With that reminder, I ignored the pulsing burn on my hand and dished up dinner, setting the bowls in front of each of us. Steam wafted up to my face.

  “Where are you from?” Sivo asked as I was in the process of lifting my spoon to my mouth. I hesitated slightly before bringing the warm broth the rest of the way to my lips.

  “I was born in Relhok City. I gather from your accents that you’re from there as well.”

  Perla tensed. “We left before the eclipse,” she lied as though distancing us from the truth of what had happened inside the royal quarters, from the slaughter of my mother and her attendants as Perla slipped into the adjoining nursery and then fled out into the labyrinths of corridors where Sivo found her.

  “Fortunate for you. After the eclipse everything . . .” His voice faded, words unnecessary.

  We didn’t need to be told how bad things were in the capital after the eclipse. Sivo and Perla remembered and they’d shared those details with me. Knowledge was power, and a girl without sight needed as much power as she could seize.

  “Did you ever see the high chancellor?” Sivo tensed beside me as he posed the question, his spoon clinking inside his bowl.

  “You mean the king?”

  His spoon clattered into the bowl. “He’s no king of mine. Assassinating the old king and declaring yourself king doesn’t make you the one true king.” Emotion bled into Sivo’s guttural voice. I patted his hand under the table, cautioning him not to reveal so much emotion. Why should a family such as ours, isolated and eking out a meager survival in a cursed forest, care who ruled over Relhok?

  “I left the city over a year ago, but last I heard he was working on an alliance with Lagonia.”

  “Lagonia?” Sivo scoffed at the reference to Relhok’s neighbor. “They’re enemies of Relhok. They block all routes to the sea.”

  “Nothing like a mutual foe to turn enemies to allies.”

  “What mutual foe?” Perla asked.

  “Dark dwellers,” I whispered, understanding. They were everyone’s enemy. The rivalry between Relhok and Lagonia paled beside the threat of the dark dwellers. I felt Fowler’s attention on me then, his stare crawling over me. He had heard my whisper.

  “Yes,” he replied. “The king will do anything to secure a trade route. The country is starving and we need the sea for fishing and trade to other countries.”

  Sivo rose then, taking his bowl with him. He stomped from the room. I knew he couldn’t hear the high chancellor discussed in such a manner—as a king that might be doing something good for Relhok. As far as he was concerned, the high chancellor deserved a sword at his throat for what he did to my parents. I was inclined to agree, except I didn’t see what could be done about it now. We were here, far away from any chance of evening the score.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Fowler asked in a voice that reflected nothing.

  “He’s not an admirer of your king,” Perla sneered.

  “He’s not my king,” Fowler replied in that even voice. “He’s mad. Everyone knows that, but he rules with an iron fist and the people of Relhok are still alive because of him. That’s enough for most.”

  “But not you. You left,” I said.

  “It’s enough for most,” he repeated. “Not me.”

  Silence stretched and I wondered at his words and what was enough for him. Allu?

  Perla rose and dished up more soup. “I’ll bring a bowl for the girl and check on the boy.” She hesitated, looking between us before moving off. I knew she wondered at the wisdom of leaving us alone together. It was probably the memory of me holding that knife to his throat that satisfied her.

  I listened to Perla’s departed tread before shaking my head and returning to the task of cleaning up the dishes, trying my best to ignore him.

  “Afraid to be left alone with me? I have my clothes on this time.”

  “Should your naked form frighten me? I can’t see you, remember? So I needn’t be repulsed.”

  He laughed at that, and I stopped, quite undone by the low, smoky sound. It rippled over my skin like the stroke of fine ribbon. His laughter stopped abruptly, almost as though it startled him as much as me. When he spoke again, his voice held no hint of that laughter. “Rest easy, I’ve not sent many females running away screaming before.”

  From what I’d felt of him, he was well formed, but I couldn’t resist needling him. He was too confident and I wanted nothing more than to knock him from his perch.

  “Oh. You’re in the frequent habit of prancing about naked, are you?”

  “Not frequent, no.”

  But I wasn’t the first. I waited to see if he would elaborate on that, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear with suddenly fidgety hands. I wanted to hear more about him. I wanted him to talk about his life. I wanted to know about where he came from, what he’d seen, the people, including the girls who had or had not seen him naked.

  I gulped a breath, pressing the back of one hand to my flushed cheek.

  I wanted more of the strange flutterings inside me when his deep voice addressed me as though we weren’t strangers. I shook my head, harder this time. I needed to remember he would be leaving tomorrow, and I did not intend to be left reeling in the sudden quiet of his absence.

  His voice broke through the unquiet of my mind. “Why are you so angry?”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are. Is it because I know you’re blind?”

  If it were only that. I hefted the tub of dirty water.

  He rose, his chair scraping back on the stone. The air stirred as he stretched a hand toward me. “Let me help—”

  I stepped back quickly before he could touch me. “I can do this. I’ve been doing it for years.” And I’d be doing it after he left.

  Turning, I walked across the room, presenting him with my back, unwilling to reveal to him the confusing tumult of emotions twisting inside me.

  Fear. Want. An ache for something more that went bone deep. I wanted. I needed. I had felt a
fraction of this yearning when I sat beside my window, hugging my knees to my chest as I breathed in the outside world, thinking that maybe someday I would find a life beyond the tower. With a grunt, I hauled the wooden bucket up to the stone edge of the window. These feelings had become more intense, more pressing since he arrived here, and when he left, he would not be taking them with him. The feelings would stay long after he departed. They would be with me always.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  I PUSHED THROUGH the other prisoners to stare out between the bars, gripping the cold steel until my knuckles went white. None dared stop me. Perhaps they read something of the desperation in my face—or they were too weak, too broken from years of imprisonment to care.

  The outer gate closed shut with a vibrating clang, and I spotted her in the fading purple of night. She passed over the drawbridge for the first time in her life. A deep throb pumped through my chest as I realized it would be the last time.

  I’d envisioned her crossing it with me. That had been the plan. Eventually. We’d talked of it countless times. But now it was too late.

  Today she would die.

  Sitting in the back of the rattling cart, her knees tucked close to her chest, she looked so small. So defenseless. Her head turned, scanning the battlements, and I knew the truth deep in my bones. She searched for me and I wasn’t there. Did she think I betrayed her? That was salt in the wound.

  Torches flickered, illuminating the numerous faces, all pale smudges with coal-dark eyes looking down at her. Her mother was there among the spectators. Her little brother, too. As stoic and silent as everyone else. As helpless as I was to save her.

  I wasn’t there. I was stuck in here, failing her.

  The wagon rolled to a stop and the guards hopped down. They reached up and helped her descend. With cold efficiency, they led her to the waiting pole. Even across the distance, I could see the rusty stains of blood soaked into the wood. The deep gashes and rips embedded in thick oak. Those details told the story of what was to come.