Page 2 of A Deal with the Shadow King

The iron gate creaks behind me as I slip inside the limits of the estate. The dull crunch of the leaves subsides, replaced by a buzzing cricket’s choir. I run to the back door without alerting the guards—another clue that my magic has grown—and enter the house.

The servant’s hall is empty but for Esme, my tutor, who sits at the kitchen table with her crochet hooks.

The warm glow of the fire prevents me from sneaking past her, and she jerks to her feet. “Penny. Thank the Mother!” The thick shawl wrapped around her slender silhouette moves along with her as she hurries over to me. “Where have you been? Your father is in a mood.”

I untie my hooded cape and hand it to her. “I was at Gerald’s farm.”

The usually soft angles of her jaw stiffen, and she runs a hand down the slope of her narrow nose. “At this hour?”

The firelight brings her big, youthful hazelnut eyes to life. Esme could pass as my older sister, but she’s actually much older. Her plain, brown dress finishes right below her chin with a collar of white lace—more fitting of an elderly governess than the twenty-something lady-in-waiting she pretends to be.

“Firenze broke his leg…” I trail off.

“By the Mother!” She bites her bottom lip, and her sharp gaze travels down the length of my body. “You didn’t?—”

Blood still taints my linen skirts, so there’s no use in denying it. “I healed him.”

Esme grips the end of her long black braid like she means to choke me with it. “Penny, how many times do I have to tell you not to use your powers in front of the villagers?”

“I don’t know. Maybe one more time will do?” With a sheepish smile, I rush past her and climb the stairs two at a time.

She runs after me, one hand holding her crinoline. “You turn eighteen in two days.”

My little sister Cecelia ambushes me at the top of the staircase, hands braced on each side of her, blocking my path. Dark brown strands stick out of her hairnet. “Cheater. You went out without me.”

Esme catches up to my rear and swats my sister away. “Miss Cece, please leave us. I have to speak with your sister alone.”

Cece sticks out her tongue before skipping to her bedroom at the end of the corridor, her long skirt flowing behind her. I grin and head the other way, eager to change out of my bloody clothes.

Esme shuts my bedroom door behind us with an exhausted sigh and leans her entire body against it, probably afraid that Cece will trample it down. After catching her breath, she focuses her attention back on me. “The shadow seed grows within you,” she hisses quietly, her voice thick with fear.

“Don’t act so surprised, you told me it would!”

She’s the only one who can tell that my magic is growing, and I resent her for it.

“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady. You have to be more careful about using your powers in front of others, and especially so close to your birthday, or they will quickly realize the truth. You are about to discover the full flavor and extent of your magic. It could act up if you’re not careful.”

“Who knows…maybe the magic will die down after my birthday.” I pull my dirty dress over my head and strip out of my skirts and long socks.

Esme rubs the shell of her pointy ear, a nervous tick she gets whenever she feels ambivalent about something. “It’s one thing to have magic. It’s another thing entirely to use it.”

Esme is Fae, but she spent most of her life in Demeter, the biggest country in the old world. She’s been hiding in my father’s court ever since she was a child because she’s a drought—a non-magic Fae. Being a drought is a big no-no in Faerie. Esme would have been slaughtered. The very existence of a drought is perceived as a threat to the land’s magic, which is total horsecrap.

And just as she has no control over not having magic, I have no control over the way my powers grow.

She tightens my corset with a scold. “Have you had any unusual dreams lately?”

“No.”

Yes. I’ve dreamt of a beautiful Hawthorn tree, thick with red fruits. Its branches were adorned with teal and silver moss. I should probably mention it to Esme, but every time I dream of the tree, I feel…happy. I’m sure it has nothing to do with the deal my father made with the Shadow King.

Esme fixes my hair, tucking a few loose strands back inside the hairnet. “Your father asked for you two to dine alone tonight.”

My fingers twitch in response, and I hide my hands behind my back. “Alone?”

Pressing her lips together, she wrenches a formal dress over my head. “Yes.”

The intricate buttons of the collar graze the hollow of my neck, and the navy chiffon skirt weighs me down after a wonderful day outside in my no-frills cotton dress and hooded cape. But the itchy fabric is the least of my worries.

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