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Bodies began to line the road as I reached the outer edge of the city. Some were dead, corpses baking under the suns feeding the scavenging birds, while others were almost dead. Limp hands reached out toward my horse; their owners too weak to beg. To earn enough to eat, one had to work the fields. The old and immobile were left to the mercy of passersby for a sampling of food or a spare nickel.
But as thewinvraprofits waned, so did the generosity of those who could afford to stock their table.
I could not help them dressed in my black cloak and silver clasp. The king knew the hungry begged along every city of the kingdom. Knew their bones mixed into the earth of the roads, picked at by birds and crushed by hooves. He did not care. He did not offer them mercy. And neither could his Blade.
My teeth grated against one another as I rode into Cereliath, eyes staring straight ahead under my cloak. I focused on the tangled mane of my horse and tried not to taste the death in the air. I knew most of the hungry I passed were Mortals, but I also knew some were Halflings. Ones who looked human enough to hide among them and others who had been discarded by the lords who owned them. Left to die a slow death caked in dirt now that the king had extracted every ounce of labor from their bodies.
Perhaps it was a mercy to be a Shade. At least I knew whenever my long life ended it would not be a slow death, but one delivered by the end of a sharp blade.
Still my stomach churned as I counted the hordes of people the king was so willing to sacrifice. My hands clenched against the leather reins until my fingers tingled. My throat burned with the need for something to help cloud the faces of those who lay dying just outside the city walls. I knew they did not die by my hand. It was hunger that pierced their bellies, not my blade, but still I felt that itch along the smooth parts of my skin. Felt the urge to turn back and ask each of them their names before ending their pain myself.
But I couldn’t.
When I reached my favorite inn, I asked the barmaid to send up two flagons of wine and drowned my urges in the tub.
Tailing Lord Curringham was tedious. Each morning I rose before the suns and stalked along the House of Harvest where Curringham lay sleeping until well after dawn. The House of Harvest was where all the harvest lords stayed in Cereliath. As the richest man among them, Curringham had his chambers on the topmost floor. The best view of the entire city and all the crops that surrounded it. I sat along its roof waiting for the lord to rise, watching as the dark skies were painted in long streaks of gold as the first sun rose. The sunlight was warm on my hand as I lifted my wineskin to my lips. Usually, half of it was gone before the servants came in to dress their lord.
The House of Harvest was erected from a single mountainous piece of sandstone. Like all houses built by the Fae, the stone was etched with intricate designs. The pattern of leaves wrapped around the stone pillars like vines scaling a wall. I used the grooves to climb onto the rooftop each morning, listening in the shadows as Curringham went about his day. Drudging conversations about trade arrangements. Discussions about the loss of potency with the latest crop ofwinvra. Boring reveries of his childhood in Caerth. But nothing that made me believe he was burgeoning an alliance with the Dark Fae.
“Lady Darolyn is waiting for you on the terrace, sire,” a voice called from inside Curringham’s office. It sounded like the assistant who followed Curringham everywhere he went.
“The girl from Volcar?” Curringham asked.
“No, sire. Lady Darolyn is from the northern continent. Her father owns one of the largest trade networks in the Mortal realms,” his assistant reminded him. So Lady Darolyn was not a lady at all, but rich enough to buy the title during her stay.
“I’ll be down shortly,” Curringham said. He didn’t sound excited to dine with the newest resident of the manor. Especially one who had garnered a reputation of being too eager to become a bride. Curringham, while handsome, showed little interest in finding a wife. Or even wooing the maidens of Cereliath with his rare smile and endless riches. Like everything else in the lord’s life, he sought companionship like a transaction.
Every day at noon, his assistant would let a courtesan into Curringham’s office for a rollick on his desk. In the three weeks I had been surveilling him, he never entertained the same woman twice and never more than a few minutes. Once they finished, he would dismiss them by tossing a small bag of coin and telling them to send a new girl on the morrow. I fought the urge to vomit each time he said it.
While the lord paced about his office and mumbled under his breath, I took another swig from my wineskin. I was looking forward to overhearing something other than Curringham’s rapid breathing and obnoxious chewing for an hour. I waited to hear him leave his office before I lowered myself to the edge of the roof and onto the balcony below. Four floors were too far to jump quietly, so I caught ahold of the thin pillar beside the landing and slid down the back of it to the ground. The midday shadows kept my movements hidden enough. If anyone caught a glimpse of my cloak, I moved too quick for them to track me through the maze of stone pillars.
The terrace was at the back of the manor, nestled along the moat that surrounded the house in a perfect circle. A feature Curringham had installed when he inherited his lordship from his father.
There was no roof above the terrace, so I stalked along the edge of the manor, my shoulders brushing up against the stone, looking for a place to spy on the lord and his guest. There was a small shed wedged between the manor and the riverbed. I slipped into the narrow crevice and waited for the lord to arrive.
His tall figure cut through the terrace in six strides. He had the same demanding gait of men born into wealth and the high chin of a man who had doubled the worth of his estate. His sandy hair looked blond under the suns, highlighting the paleness of his skin. The complexion of a man who had never worked a field in his life yet harvested his coin on the backs of the Halflings he purchased from the Crown.
“Lady Darolyn,” he said, kissing her neck in greeting.
“Lord Curringham,” she replied, lowering her head as she curtsied, giving the lord a chance to glimpse her ample bosom. Curringham didn’t even look.
Lady Darolyn was a beauty with her long neck and piercing green eyes. Her eyelashes fluttered as she and Curringham sat at the far end of the terrace, awaiting their meal. They were too far for me to read their lips, but with my Elvish ears I didn’t strain to hear them.
“Have you been enjoying your stay in the kingdom, my lady?” Curringham asked, eyes searching for a servant. His knee bounced under the table.
“I have!” Lady Darolyn’s high pitch sounded unnatural. She smoothed her red skirt, her fingers toying with the beaded belt along its edge. “The house may be the most beautiful in the entire kingdom.” Her words had a roughness to them but that was the only sign of her accent.
Curringham’s eyes flashed back to his guest. “Grander than the palace?” he asked, raising a brow.
Lady Darolyn exaggerated her nods, catching the lord’s shift in attention. “The palace has a coldness about it that I didn’t take to. There were not nearly as many guests as I expected and then when I arrived in Cereliath, I realized they were all here! Which makes sense—the manor is more comfortable, and its lords do the work to support the rest of the kingdom.” Her eyes flicked up at Curringham as she sipped her drink. She blinked once, not breaking her gaze with the lord.
She would not be leaving Cereliath without a groom. And a rich one at that.
“Exactly!” Curringham shouted, turning his shoulders toward Lady Darolyn. He pressed his elbows into the tabletop and leaned in. The gold pendant he wore along his neck scratched the table. “The king often asks for my input on royal matters.”
I scoffed at the lie.
“He is wise to seek council from the man who controls so much of the kingdom’swinvra.” Lady Darolyn ran her tongue along her lips. This time Curringham watched. She caught his glance and smirked.
