Reign of Shadows

by Sophie Jordan

  They had just killed Dagne. They would kill me, too. Of that, I had no doubt.

  “Perhaps,” Perla allowed, stubbornness lacing her voice. “But I’m not letting her go out there by herself—”

  “She won’t be alone,” Sivo countered.

  I suddenly found my voice. “What do you mean?” Did Sivo intend to go with me? He couldn’t leave Perla here. She wouldn’t be able to fend for herself without his help.

  “She goes with him,” he said evenly, calmly. As though it were the obvious solution. Him. I didn’t need to see to know he was talking about Fowler. I even felt them looking at Fowler now. “He’ll take her with him to the Isle of Allu.”

  “We don’t even know him,” Perla hissed.

  “Perla, I’m not leaving you here. If soldiers return to the tower, then we’ll make a stand together. We’ve lived a long life. It’s our responsibility to give Luna the best chance to live hers. Don’t you see? This boy coming here was meant to be.”

  Perla was weeping now. “You and your signs. And how do we know he won’t harm her?”

  I turned in Fowler’s direction, waiting for him to say something, to tell them all this back-and-forth was for nothing because he wasn’t taking me anywhere. He wouldn’t do something so noble. He had his own quest and it didn’t involve me.

  “I know he won’t abandon her.” Sivo’s deep burr rumbled on the air. “He lives by a code. Don’t you, boy?”

  Fowler still said nothing, and I wanted to retort that Fowler’s code was all about self-preservation, not altruism.

  “Don’t you?” Sivo repeated. “You’ll see she comes to no harm. And you’ll see she gets to Allu. Won’t you?”

  I waited for his denial. Once he dissuaded Sivo of the notion that he was some manner of hero bent on saving girls, we could come up with another plan that did not involve me leaving Sivo and Perla and heading off on a quest for some fantastical place that probably did not even exist.

  Finally, he spoke. Only, the words were not what I was expecting.

  “You have my word.”

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  I HAD NO idea where the words came from within me. I recognized my voice. I knew I uttered the words, but they weren’t mine. They couldn’t belong to me.

  Listening to Sivo and Perla arguing, with Luna saying so very little and looking as stunned as I felt at Sivo’s suggestion that she depart with me—his logic had begun to sink in.

  Those soldiers would come back, and next time, she would be here. It couldn’t be assumed they wouldn’t harm her. Not after seeing what had happened to Dagne. They had an affinity for killing.

  And yet doubts assailed me. I had committed to taking a blind girl with me to Allu. Aside from the fact that no around me ever lived long, it was madness, no matter how adept she was at handling herself. I didn’t want to take a girl with sight.

  The thought crossed my mind long after Perla took Luna to pack for the journey—I could slip away without a word. While they slept, I could simply leave. Skulk away like a thief in the night. A bitter taste coated my mouth at the cowardly image.

  I lifted my mug to my lips, taking a long swig of the hot tea that Sivo had prepared after Perla and Luna left the room.

  Sivo’s voice wove over the room. “You know I can only let her go because I trust you.”

  In a flash of clarity I realized that’s why I agreed. My throat tightened and I drank again, trying to loosen my windpipe. This man looked at me as though I was an honorable person. Someone to be trusted. It had been a long time since anyone looked at me that way. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want it.

  I sent him a glance and then looked away, his stare too penetrating.

  “There’s something in you,” he said.

  I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the old man’s gaze. I didn’t know what he could see in me except failure. That’s all I was, something broken.

  I took another drink, calling myself every kind of fool. Luna was not my second chance.

  I faced him. “I thought you were letting her go because you don’t have any other choice.”

  He gazed at me long and hard. Luna’s and Perla’s voices carried from the bedchamber. He turned in the direction of that room, and I studied his profile as he listened to them. Orange firelight flickered over his face, doing little to soften the craggy features.

  He dipped his chin and closed his eyes for a long moment, as though he were absorbing the sound, taking it inside himself and imprinting it into memory. “There is that, too,” he acknowledged.

  I leaned forward, draping my arms loosely on my knees. “Staying here . . . you will die.”

  It had to be said. There was no “if” about it. No doubt. The tower was no longer a secret. Luna wasn’t the only one in danger. Once the soldiers reported to the king and he decided what to do—they would return. And Sivo, Perla, and Madoc wouldn’t be spared. At best, they would be turned out. At worst, they’d be dealt with in the same manner as Dagne.

  “I know.”

  “Then why stay?” My voice took on an edge.

  “Because Perla can’t survive out there. And there’s the boy now, too. He’s not fit to travel.” Sivo ran a hand down the length of his beard, fingers delving into the pepper-dusted strands. “You’ve given me your word. You’re strong. You know how to survive on the Outside. Luna’s smart. She might lack sight but she makes up for it in other areas. She might even be of help to you.”

  “I can believe that.”

  “She’s special, Fowler.” It was the first time he said my name. His gaze captured mine and held.

  I nodded, flexing my hands around my mug.

  “No,” he bit out, leaning forward in his chair. “You think you understand me, that it’s the love of a father talking, but I mean it. She’s different. A day may come . . .” His voice faded and I could tell he warred with himself about whether he wanted to say something more.

  Shaking his head, he dropped back in his chair, turning his attention to the nest of flames in the hearth. He looked almost mesmerized by the dance of fire as he uttered, “Time will reveal all.”

  I followed his gaze to the flames, wondering what he saw there that I did not and what he knew but would not share with me.

  His earlier admission that he worked in the palace surprised me. I would have inquired more about that, but I didn’t need him asking me his own set of questions.

  “The darkness cannot last,” he added. “Light will come again.”

  I stifled my grunt. In my experience, it was the believers that usually ended up dead.

  “I don’t hold out much hope for that.”

  “Hope is all there is. All we have. And love. Or what’s the point of any of it?” He was looking toward the bedchamber where Perla and Luna had disappeared.

  I inhaled, the breath lifting my chest, thinking how those two things were the most dangerous of all. Even more dangerous than the king’s men. Even more deadly than hungry dwellers outside. I had never been my weakest as when I allowed love and hope into my heart.

  I would never do so again.

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  WE TRAVELED FOR almost a week with very little conversation. This wasn’t because of any reticence on my behalf. I talked. My whispers filled the space around us. It’s all I could do the first few days.

  I was nervous and the sound of my chatter helped fill my own head. It also helped block thoughts of Sivo and Perla. I ached with the knowledge that I would never see them again. That I left them alone to face the eventual return of Cullan’s soldiers.

  Fowler never talked, but I didn’t let his silence discourage me. I addressed the back of him, glad for the distraction, needing to forget the ache in my heart.

&
nbsp; A nearly impossible task. A lump formed in my throat as I skirted a large outcropping, my palm skimming the rock’s jagged surface. Fowler jumped down lightly before me, the sound of his boots hitting the earth signaling the sudden drop in the ground. I followed suit, bending slightly to brace my hand on the ground and landing smoothly where the ground gave way.

  It took everything in me to say good-bye to them. Sivo had clasped my hands until they ached in his grip. Swear to me, girl. Promise me you will never come back here.

  So I had promised, not that Fowler would try to stop me if I decided to break that promise. He would probably be glad to be rid of me. Most of the time, he behaved as though I wasn’t even there. Whenever we managed to find a spot to bed down, he would roll out his pallet, and turn his back on me without a word.

  So I clung to the diversion of my one-sided conversation.

  “How long have you been on your own?”

  “How did you meet Madoc and Dagne?”

  He never replied. His silence wore on me. I understood he didn’t want me tagging along after him, but must he pretend I didn’t exist?

  My steps grew swifter and I began to answer my own questions as though I were him.

  I deepened my whisper into an imitation of his tone, angling my head to the side. “I am from a little town called Foolshaven.”

  Angling my head in the other direction, I replied as myself, “Never heard of it. Is it anywhere near the village of Idiotsville?”

  He made a slight sound, an intake of breath that might have been a laugh or a grunt of disgust.

  “It’s a bit near there.” I adopted a deeper voice again, attempting to sound masculine. “A lovely place. I miss it dearly.”

  He turned to face me, the air churning with the sudden swirl of movement as he advanced on me.

  His presence was too close. I stepped back, unsteady on my feet in my sudden haste to avoid colliding with him.

  His low, deep voice rumbled out, making a mockery of my imitation. “A bit of fancy drivel, that. You’d never hear such words from me. There’s no place left in the great vastness of this world that can be called lovely. Not since the dwellers came.”

  “Oh.” I tried to sound flippant as his words sank through me like rocks. “Now he speaks.”

  “Everything is bleakness and death,” he added, his voice flat, almost reprimanding. As though I should accept this.

  How could his voice be so hard and reverberate through me with the quietness of wind? Gooseflesh broke out over my skin and the day was not even its usual cold.

  I moistened my lips, my fingertips brushing the insides of my palms. My skin felt grimy and I wondered if I looked as dirty and travel worn as I felt. “When we get to Allu, what do you want to do?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, once we reach there, you won’t be on the road anymore. You’ll be putting down roots.”

  “I don’t know. Find a shelter. Build it if necessary. Maybe farm and store up a respectable food supply.”

  I huffed out a breath. “Those are the things that you need to do. I asked you what you want to do once you get there. Once you’re safe.”

  “I don’t think about what I want. That’s a luxury I don’t have.”

  “Well, you might get that there if Allu is all you think it will be.”

  “I’ll worry about that when I get there.”

  “No.” I laughed. “You don’t understand. Having free time, doing something you want to do, relaxing . . . that’s not supposed to be a worry.” I lifted my chin. “Haven’t you ever enjoyed yourself before?”

  His stare crawled over my face, and I sensed his unwillingness to answer the question. Waves of frustration poured off him and I wasn’t certain whether it was a result of me or himself, but I had the distinct feeling that he wouldn’t mind giving me a good shake.

  I pushed another question at him, still in the same vein: “Do you remember life before the dwellers?” He had mentioned that there was no lovely place since the dwellers came. “They’ve been here for seventeen years,” I added unnecessarily.

  I knew nothing of life without dwellers. Nothing of the time when my parents lived and ruled a kingdom awash in sunlight, where the forests ran thick with game and the fields yielded a bounty of crops.

  I heard the rustling of his clothing. “Enough. Let’s move.”

  My shoulders slumped with the slightest disappointment. I lowered my face, unwilling to let him read my expression if he was even still looking at me.

  Sivo and Perla rarely discussed life before the eclipse with me—only as much as they felt I needed to know about life in the capital and Cullan.

  He started walking again. I fell into place beside him.

  “I was two years old when the eclipse happened.”

  My head snapped in his direction at these words.

  “So you don’t remember anything then?” Two years old was hardly an age to hold on to many memories.

  “I remember sunlight. Once it turned my skin red. I stayed out too long and it burned my face. Lasted a week until it faded. A few days later the skin peeled off in flakes.”

  I shook my head slightly, trying to imagine that. Trying to imagine the taste of warm sun on my skin so strong it could burn.

  He continued softly, “Grass so thick under your feet it was like a lush rug. There was none of this barren landscape. There was color everywhere—” He stopped at this, clearly realizing I didn’t see colors—that colors would be something I would miss.

  “No withered trees and plants,” he added after several moments. “It didn’t smell of rot or decay. It smelled like . . . life.”

  I listened, hanging on to his every word. I wanted to ask more from him, wanted to keep him talking. I wanted to paint a picture in my head with his words. I’d never had that chance before. “And?” I prompted.

  “And—” He stopped abruptly. “And nothing. I don’t remember anything else.”

  He was lying. I heard it in his voice. He remembered more. He simply didn’t want to share it with me.

  This shouldn’t have hurt. It was nothing Perla hadn’t done before. Talk of the past, of the way things had been before, was too much for her.

  He increased his pace again, marching off ahead of me, extinguishing our fleeting conversation as effectively as the snuffing of a flame. Thunder rumbled in the distance and I looked up to the skies as though I could see the rain there, waiting to drop down on us in a deluge.

  Perfect.

  I had smelled the rain on the air for the last several hours, but hoped we would somehow skirt the storm.

  Sighing, I followed after Fowler, stepping over a bit of fallen log, rotted and decaying as he had just mentioned.

  The first droplet landed on my nose, followed in quick succession by more rainfall. A steady patter soon filled my ears as it pelted down, soaking me to the bone through my garments. The wet added to the chill and I was soon shivering. Fowler did not ease his stride. I struggled after him, the sodden earth sucking at my boots.

  After several moments, I began talking again, needing to focus on something other than my misery. I stayed close enough so that I didn’t need to project my voice over the rain.

  I probably appeared mad, muttering to myself, trudging across the bleak landscape after Fowler, two little ants amid a vast, pitiless quagmire.

  As I hurried to keep up with Fowler, ignoring the burn in my thighs and the way my wringing wet clothes stuck to my skin, the sounds of the forest suddenly stopped.

  I fell silent, too.

  My steps slowed and I cocked my head, listening over the beat of rain. I reached out a hand to touch Fowler’s arm. He was right beside me. His forearm tensed instantly, all tightly corded sinew and strength beneath my fingers.

  “To the trees,” he mouthed against my ear, grabbing hold of my hand.

  He ushered me to the closest semblance of shelter. A tree amid a dense thicket of dripping wet brush. He directed me to climb it and follo
wed right behind me.

  Of course, hiding in a tree offered its own misery. Stuck on a branch, water rolling down my face and dripping off the end of my nose, I had little to focus on except how cold and wet I was.

  My teeth chattered and I contemplated reaching inside my pack for my cloak, but then that seemed pointless. It would only soon be as soaked as the rest of me.

  I crossed my arms tightly over my chest and blew out a puff of breath, trying to warm myself—helplessly pressed up against Fowler when he clearly didn’t want to be stuck with me. It only made me long for home.

  It only made the ache in my heart that much worse.

  I settled back against the hard scratch of bark, Fowler’s arm aligned to the right side of my body. Another branch hemmed me in on the left. He’d positioned me to be secure even if it meant we had to sit plastered together side by side.

  His breath fell beside me, slow and steady. A dweller cried out, closer now. The sound echoed long and thin through the woods. Moments later an answering call followed, much farther in the distance.

  “Good,” Fowler declared softly, the word a warm breath on my cheek. I shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold and everything to do with him. “Maybe the first one will head after that one.”

  I nodded, even though I wasn’t entirely convinced. Perhaps the second dweller would head closer to us. That could happen, too.

  The rain continued to fall, finding its way through the tangle of branches to where we huddled together. I lifted my face to the opening skies, my fingers swiping uselessly at my wet cheeks.

  “This is good,” he murmured, his lips still close. I felt their movement beside my hair. The rain was on his skin, too. I could smell the combination of water and salt from his flesh. It was a heady thing. A little dizzying, in fact. “They don’t like hunting in the rain.” His deep voice stroked over me like a feather’s brush. “It makes them slower. . . . Sometimes they go to ground altogether.”

  I knew these creatures were led by sound, perhaps even smell. The wash of rainfall would dull both those senses.