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Gwyn twisted her hand to get a full view of the ring. “What am I supposed to do with a claw?”
I shrugged. “Scratch?”
“That won’t kill anyone.” Gwyn laughed. “Rawr!” She pretended to swipe me, but I grabbed her wrist.
“No, it won’t kill anyone,” I said seriously, not letting go of her hand. “But if you pierce the calf or thigh muscle, the cut will hurt. Enough for you to run. If you can’t do that, pluck an eye out.”
“Keera, that’s disgusting!” Gwyn shrieked. Her face turned slightly green. Damien had never violated Gwyn, but I wanted her prepared in case he grew bored with beatings and mental torment. She deserved the chance to fight.
“Yes, it is,” I said with a nod. “But so are men. I just want to know you’re safe. Especially when I’m not here.” Gwyn’s mother had died three years before. At sixteen Gwyn had been so young. Too young to lose a mother and certainly too young to inherit her mother’s debt.
“Thank you,” she said, giving me a long hug. I tried not to tense when her hand grazed the scars on my back.
“I assume you want to sleep since you’re leaving so soon?” Gwyn asked, walking with me back into the bedchamber. I nodded. The threat of a headache loomed over me, and I wanted to sleep before I felt compelled to find a different way to cure it.
“I’ll take your weapons with me, then. They’ll be with your horse in the morning.” Gwyn placed a large basket on the dresser.
“Thank you, Gwyn.” I tried to smile but I was too tired. Gwyn gave me a soft smile as I climbed into bed and she started packing my weapons.
“Gwyn?” I asked, pulling back the heavy coverlet.
She turned back to face me. “Yes?”
“Leave the mage pen.” I pointed to the nightstand beside the bed. She placed the gold handle on the table. I stared at the sharp point shaped like a quill. Gwyn gave me a knowing look and kissed my cheek, leaving me to sleep and carve yet another name into my skin.
AS FAR AS THEShades Knew, Lord Curringham was staying at his residence in Cereliath—the House of the Harvest Lords. I could have traveled the entire way on horseback, but I preferred to take the canal system into Silstra and ride from there. It would shave a few days off the journey and meant that I had three days to laze about on a barge instead of getting sore from my saddle.
I kept to myself for most of the trip. I hadn’t needed to sneak in with the shipment because the captain was an acquaintance of the Arsenal. He was well paid to keep our movements quiet and ask no questions. Regardless, I liked to keep a low profile. I boarded before the crew arrived and hid among the rolls of silks at the back of the barge. One never knew where the allegiances of paid men fell. The fewer who knew I was aboard the better.
The first day passed in a blur of sleep and drink from my wine sack. I swayed in the hammock gulping back the warm liquid and thinking of the Shadow. I needed to finish the mission in Cereliath as quickly as possible. Before the Shadow had time to strike again—or worse yet, before one of the other Shades brought him in.
The king would not stay forgiving for long. If he thought his Blade had dulled, he wouldn’t subject me to a whetstone. He would discard me. Cast me away like the countless other weapons he tossed aside once their usefulness ran out. There would be an army of Shades lined up to replace me, starting with Gerarda.
I needed to be the one to bring the Shadow in. I couldn’t leave any doubt in the king’s mind of how valuable I could be. Not just for the sake of my head, but all those who counted on me keeping my title.
Every time I closed my eyes, I could see the outline of that hood. The dark clothes the Shadow wore and the long sword he wielded as we fought. He had been tall and well-muscled; trading blows with enough power behind them to strain my arms.
I drank in the hammock until I was too inebriated to remember my own name, let alone the Shadow.
I ran out of wine after the second night. The warm buzz dissipated and left my body shivering and sweaty. My head throbbed so badly I thought about ramming it into the rafter so it would hurt in a different place.
By the third day I was restless. I wanted to stretch my legs, taste fresh air, but I needed a drink. Every hour that passed felt like it would be the one to kill me, twist my stomach into knots so tight my head exploded. Only a drink would cure it. But my wineskin was empty, even though I kept opening the lid, hoping my lips would be met with the sweet taste of berry and tannin.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had gone so long without a drink. Five years? Trying to remember set off a hammer against my skull. I hadn’t had any liquor when I got caught in a snowstorm in the Frostlands. I had spent weeks bundled in an abandoned building, slowly tearing at the walls for something to burn and hoping to spot an animal through the white blaze that refused to clear. The only thing that had settled the craving was the hunger. By the third week, I had started eyeing my left arm, saliva dribbling down my chin. I only survived because a brumal bear crossed my path and after three weeks of slowly starving, I was mad enough to attack it.
The gargantuan, wintry beast put up a fight, smashing most of my weapons in a single strike, including the old hilt of my dagger. I finally managed to leap onto its back and stab it in the eye with a broken arrow, the only weapon I had left. Now the bear’s bone served as the hilt to my dagger. Its fur coat fetched a pretty sum at market too.
When I finally made it back to Volcar, frostbitten and on the brink of starvation, I celebrated with a barrel of cheap ale. I couldn’t remember a single day since where I didn’t at least sip some kind of drink. A habit I had refused to notice.
Gerarda was right. I was slipping. It was why the Shadow had been able to stretch over the continent, inflating his reputation. His existence threatened my position with the king, jeopardized the small bit of power I had carved to shield those I could save. Hiding in the shadows would not protect him for long. I knew something of shadows, having trained to live within them. Shadows were largest just before the sunset, but lost their power when night inevitably fell. For Shadows don’t truly exist in the dark.
It was time for me to bring the night.
Silstra was a city of merchants, beggars, and thieves. It sat at the mouth of three canals, the Sisters, that stretched across most of Eleverath. Depending on which of the Sisters one sailed along, they would find themselves coming to port at any of Elverath’s major cities. Because of this, Silstra was the main economic hub of the entire kingdom. Everything that was traded or sold across the country came through its waters.
Hence the merchants and the thieves. The beggars came because most of the harvest was sent through the city’s ports. If this made its sellers amiable to charity I didn’t know, but the hungry came to the food, nonetheless.
The city was built in two parts above the large dam. The west bank, where the rich merchants and lords would stay, was a city of stone. Grand houses that had multiple levels and plumbing circled around a small castle that was said to have been carved from a mountain. It had been a small city of Light Fae before the Mortals claimed it too.
