“I love you,” whispered the Shadowmaster to his Shadeling in a forgotten nook of the palace, finally getting that straight. And thus the game ended, seeing both master and apprentice snared fast.
*
It was with unprecedented chagrin that palace authorities noticed the Shadhi missing from their cells. Yet again.
Inevitably.
As always.
The guards followed protocol, crying the alert and searching high and low for the escapees. But it was no use.
While they turned the palace grounds upside-down, Lord Mosscrow glowered silently in a corner. Lady Verrikose paced with visceral, unrequited ferocity. The king smiled to himself slightly where no one could see.
The afternoon waned, and no progress had been made locating the escaped prisoners. What had been discovered was a staggering number of Shadhi roses stashed throughout the palace, secretly amusing Isavor as much as they very obviously aggravated Lady Verrikose.
They seemed to have little effect on Lord Mosscrow. He just kept glowering.
When it was clear after a night and day that the king’s men were playing a very one-sided game of hide-and-seek, Lady Verrikose once again took matters into her own hands.
She was striding down the hall toward her chambers for a vengeful unleashing of minions from her balcony, when she was surprised to find her menagerie inside the palace, coming toward her down the hall.
Had she called them to her subconsciously, over-eager to disperse them? No matter. They were here now. No need to wait until she was composed upon her balcony before delivering their orders.
She directed a finger toward the nearest window, elbow popping with the vigor of the motion. “Out into the city. All of you. Bring the escapees back to me.”
Halting in a line before her, the beasts created a strangely barricade-like formation. Asborea stopped directly before the noblewoman, staring coolly down at her.
There was something off about the creature. Something very off indeed.
“Go home, Lady Verrikose,” said the archangel simply, in place of obeying the beastress’s command.
Stunned, Lady Verrikose blinked. With more than a twinge of affront, she sent a tendril of consciousness into the archangel’s mind, pushing her toward the window.
The angel did not budge.
Flummoxed, Lady Verrikose tried the same on the others. All with no response. Probing deeper, she came up against a strange blockage, unable to penetrate the minds she’d so easily influenced before.
Arrogantly, she’d never considered that there could be another in the palace capable of her same tricks, of staking claim to what she’d already claimed. Even as gifted recruits flooded the annexes.
From the shadows of a column at the end of the hall, a figure watched, grinning at the delightful transfer of power.
Lady Verrikose cautiously surveyed the wall of beasts blocking her passage, a furious yet fearful gleam in her eyes. She did not disappoint the unnamed spy when she made a second stab for dominance, slamming her conscience suddenly into the mind of the gryphon.
The backlash was instant, her power ricocheting back into her so forcefully that she physically gasped and stumbled back. She paled, offense melting fully into fright at the prospect that she was truly outmatched. Outmatched, and at the mercy of the horde whose savagery she’d so carelessly impassioned.
She glanced from one beast to another as if looking for a friend, waiting for one of them to rally behind their original mistress.
None did.
Swallowing, she took a step back. The notion of relinquishing control was a clear struggle, however, her pride seeing her linger in the hallway, looking desperately for a way to gain back the advantage.
First Khawthe, then Sulkan, stepped up alongside the angel, increasing the intimidation factor and forcing the noblewoman back another step.
Wisely, she chose not to humiliate herself further. Setting her jaw, she glared at each beast individually before turning to cut her losses, retreating down the hallway in a stiff, traumatized manner.
Packing her things, she called for a carriage. And it was in silent, reposed defeat that she took her leave from the palace – that was, until she spotted a familiar figure gloating at her from the end of a corridor on her way out. Despiris held a finger to her lips, and it was this taunting gesture that sent the beastress over the edge. Her composure erupted into a frantic, last-ditch effort of redemption as she sounded the alarm, shrieking for a guard.
But there were the beasts of myth, appearing to subdue her. They escorted her kicking and screaming the rest of the way out of the palace.
Coincidentally, King Isavor heard every word of the noblewoman’s fit, observing from a balcony as she was wrestled across the courtyard. He believed every word, too. It was with arguably a little too much pleasure that he did nothing, watching as the insufferable woman was finally stuffed into her carriage and shut the bloody hell up, her piercing tirade muffled within the canvas. Let her listen to herself rage, all the way home to Rovanda.
(Of course, Despiris had indeed been in the palace, unable to resist returning to see her secret prodigy at work. As soon as she’d been alerted that another beastress had been recruited into the Mystic Movement, she’d made haste to retain the young woman’s services in opposition of Lady Verrikose. It had taken only a brief account of the noblewoman’s treacherous endangerment of children, as well as a bribe or two for good measure, to convince the new recruit to take the job. She’d agreed to infiltrate the beasts’ minds, slowly so Lady Verrikose wouldn’t notice the intrusion, and then force the other woman out once she’d developed the necessary rapport with her hosts. Luckily, she proved twice the beastress Lady Verrikose was, and the stunt had gone off seamlessly).
With the absence of Lady Verrikose – arguably the driving force behind any remaining, true anti-SFH movement – the search for the Shadhi dwindled and fizzled out to near nothing.
There would always be someone who dabbled or took up the chase, of course – individuals who caught the obsession, those who couldn’t quite fathom or accept the mysterious disappearance of the kingdom’s Most Wanted from unprecedented guardship in the royal dungeon. There would always be those who itched to get to the bottom of such a mystery, who heard the stories and couldn’t escape the intrigue.
And, of course, there would always be those hellbent on vengeance, as unexpected in identity, perhaps, as they were expected in nature. A future huntsman budding in the body of a young palace orphan, for instance, fuming bitterly in his grand new accommodations as he burned a black rose discovered under the pillow of the orphan-brother who had abandoned him there.
Yes, there would always be Shadowhunters, to one extent or another. The age-old conflict had a way of rebalancing itself, maintaining the status quo, regardless of the players that passed across the board.
But the Shadhi had won themselves a respite, a moment to breathe, space to regroup. And they did so as three, now, instead of two. A family.
The SFH reborn.
Although Despiris wondered about the boy she’d left in the care of the palace, she resolved to check in on him regularly. And she did not for a moment question whether she’d made the right decision. Po was much more suited, in skillset and temperament, to carry on the Shadhi’s legacy. His acrobatic skills aligned seamlessly with the daily stunts required of him, and his compassion and sensitivity ensured he would become only the best kind of criminal. Whereas Radu’s ambition to follow in the footsteps of a dark criminal mastermind had always been a skewed fantasy that scared Despiris.
He would have made a terror of a Shadowmaster.
And the Shadowmaster, as the king had come to understand, was not necessarily the terror he was oft made out to be. Controversial, to be sure, but not altogether terrible. It was a pivotal assessment, for it paid for kings to keep not-altogether-terrible geniuses in a certain gray area, to be employed from time to time for their unique perspective and unmatched capabilities. It wa
s more advantageous than damaging, Isavor concluded, for a king to keep such figures placated. Maybe even tossed a bone now and then, to encourage a sort of on-retainer-off-the-record situation.
It proved a natural arrangement, falling into place so smoothly it was difficult to say who had initiated it – the king, or the Shadhi. Perhaps it was inspired because Isavor did not hesitate to assume full, dedicated care of the orphan boy left trustfully in his care, or perhaps the Shadhi merely meant to make the first move in establishing a relationship of good favor between them.
Whatever the case, there was a clear effort to expunge any bad blood between them, for the king often had issues solved for him in the weeks that followed the Shadhi’s disappearance. Wanted fugitives delivered like gifts to the palace. Mysterious letters debunking conspiracies or detailing crucial intel from impenetrable circles – always appearing on his desk as if from thin air, and written by an anonymous hand.
Anonymous, of course, except for the seal of black wax, stamped with that unmistakable rose emblem that would endure through the ages as the calling-card of the legends who ruled the shadows of Fairoway.
Also by Harper Alexander
Throne of Exile
Queen of Nothing
Paradise
Wonderland
Pillars of the Deep
Things that Go Whoosh in the Night
Things that Crawl Out of the Stardust
Girl of Rooftops and Shadows
Game of Towers and Treachery (The Shadow's Apprentice Book 2) Page 27
