Page 7 of A Vow of Shadows

Time was not on my side.

I itched to trace the entire manor, but my plan required urgency. Though I’d planned to exit through the kitchen, my feet carried me away from the servant passages, finally stopping when I reached the grand foyer.

Hours earlier, I’d stood in the same spot and watched as sunlight turned to black. I shivered in memory, checking every corner for a hint of anything unnatural, but the darkness of night was tame in comparison to those creeping shadows.

As before, I retreated into the safety of my father’s study. This time, I crossed to the other side of the desk, careful not to topple any of his towering piles of books.

I sat in my father’s chair and gazed over the organized chaos. All this work and we’d had the answer years ago. All that time wasted because he refused to accept the hard truth. We all had.

Reaching into my satchel, I removed a page I’d torn from one of his texts. My father had quickly discarded the book of ancient myths, but a particular bit of lore had caught my eye.

The legend told of a wicked creature that followed in Death’s shadow, a dark figure that collected the souls of the recently departed and ushered them to the next world. No one had ever met the Ferrier of Souls and lived to tell about it, but that was precisely what I intended to do.

I flipped the page over and reached for a quill and inkpot, scrawling three words above a chilling illustration of the Ferrier.

She was right.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t muster the energy to write something more soothing. It would be hours before my parents learned of my parting, longer still for my father to retreat to his study and see my note. It wouldn’t ease his suffering, but at least he would know I left of my own volition.

My eyes roamed over the ink sketch. It showed a hooded figure with no discernable face, only darkness. In one hand, it bore a scythe. The other hand curled into claws encircled with wispy shadows eerily similar to those that marked my skin.

A sense of foreboding tingled the back of my neck.

Like it or not—and I very much did not—the Ferrier was perhaps the only creature who could keep me safe. I only needed to convince him I was worthy of his protection.

I yanked the glove off my unmarked hand, placing it beside my note. One day, I’d reunite the pair.

I didn’t look back as I walked out the room and through the front door. Though I nearly stumbled at the silence that greeted me. The bluebells had finally ceased.

Perhaps this was a good plan after all.

Chapter 5

Katrin

This was a terrible plan.

Two hours into my journey, I was hot, lost, and brutally reminded that the most physical activity I’d done in the last five years was walking the gardens with mother before tea.

I had half a mind to hitch a ride on the next passing carriage. There were only two problems. First, I had no idea where I was going, and, second, the roads were empty.

Father’s book had been vague on the details surrounding the Ferrier. I knew only that I needed to stand at a crossroads after dark and offer two coppers to the wind—whatever that meant.

I came to an intersection and stopped. Was this the crossroads I was meant to find? How was one to know?

It looked like any other connecting road. All around me lay overgrown meadows that stretched to distant hills in the east. Far to the west lay Gwyad Forest, the solitary tree at my back a mockery of its expansive arbors. The roads themselves were nothing but packed dirt trails carved by frequent travel. If I looked closely, I could trace the various marks made by foot, hoof, and cart wheel.

I shivered despite the oppressive heat and burrowed deeper into my cloak. Though lightning coursed through my veins, my eyelids grew heavy. I fought the urge to sit as my throbbing feet joined with my aching back, each providing a convincing counterargument that grew harder to ignore with every step. If I sat, sleep would claim me, and I didn’t know if I would rouse again. I’d been waging war for eight years, and this was my last stand. Tonight, I would either leave with the Ferrier or wait for Death to claim me.

The full moon painted the landscape in cool, muted tones, the eerie picture accompanied by an unnatural silence that pricked at my nerves. It was only magnified by the absence of the bluebell’s ringing. Not a single animal sang their nocturnal song. There were no howling wolves or hooting owls. Not even a single cricket chirped among the tall grasses.

The stagnant air felt like the calm before a storm. I resisted the urge to remove my cloak as sweat beaded on my brow and drew winding paths between my breasts. I hadn’t changed from my dinner clothes and regretted every bit of clinging silk and itchy lace. Covering myself had become second nature, but it was still an effort not to strip down to my chemise. As freeing as it might have been to greet the Reaper as a harlot, I didn’t need him getting the wrong idea about my proposition.

My vision blurred. I pressed a hand to my stomach like it could calm the roiling within. Digging through my satchel, I pulled out a canteen and took a deep swig. The tepid water did little to calm the unease churning in my gut, but it did stop the world from spinning long enough for me to stumble over to the lone tree. I leaned my back against its solid trunk, wishing I could find the relief of its shade during the dead of night. Instead, I pressed my palms against the rough bark to ground me as I breathed in and out, willing my nausea to recede.

A welcome breeze kissed my flushed skin, and I sighed in gratitude at the short respite. Goosebumps rose along my arm as the wind snaked through my sweat-soaked clothes. The leaves rustled overhead and I closed my eyes, allowing their symphony to calm my growing anxiety.

A sudden gust swept through the clearing, whipping my hair in all directions. I squeezed my eyes tighter as strands stung my cheeks. My cloak flapped wildly around me, but under the cacophony, my ears latched onto somethingother.

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