Page 16 of Where Shadows Bloom

“We were attacked by Shadows—”

“Robbers,” he said.

I shook my head. “No, sir, there was a swarm of Shadows not far from here—”

“We do not speak of those creatures in this place,” theguard replied, his voice low and utterly serious.

I glared. “What are you talking about? Just look at my friend, look at herblood—please, she’s injured. Just let us inside!”

The guard leveled a severe gaze at both of us. “To speak of Shadows is to speak against His Majesty.”

“We—we’re telling the truth,” croaked Lope.

He did not move. His eyes bore into me. “If you wish to enter these gates,” he said firmly, “you will never speak of those beasts. Do you understand?”

Part of me longed to shout at him, to call him a fool for ignoring the existence of such monsters when a girl stood wounded before him. Would we be turned away after we’d come so far? I had no choice but to deny reality to save the girl I loved. “Whatever you say. Please, just let us in!” I said, my voice fraying with desperation. Lope’s head had started to droop against my shoulder again. “Please, sir, I’ll do anything.”

He pressed his lips together. “There is a registration process for the nobility, but the fastest way in is to pay—”

Before he could give an amount, I drew the velvet pouch of coins from my pocket and placed the entire thing in his hand.

Something about the look in my eyes silenced him. He nodded and pocketed the coins. “I’ll get you a room and send you a physician.”

As relief swept through me, the knight backed away from the fence, tipping his face upward to the guard tower. The farther he stepped, the more my heart sank—was he playing us the fool? Was he just going to run off with my money, leaving us hopeless, helpless?

He lifted a hand to the brilliant, sunrise-painted sky...

At his signal, the massive golden gates soundlessly swung open.

6

Ofelia

The guard shepherded us through the gate—but only after confiscating any weapons he could find in our possession. Lope was too fatigued to even remark on this, but I was certain it would grieve her greatly in a few hours’ time.

A maid escorted us into the palace. Painted ceilings and marble floors and walls lined with golden paper blurred together. My arm was firm around Lope’s waist, and though she could still walk, her head was starting to fall like a wilting flower. Finally, we reached a small room with a bed wide enough for two, a chair, a window, and a washbasin. The maid mentioned something about a doctor before flitting out of the room.

Ever so gently, I helped Lope sit upon the bed. My arms and shoulders ached from supporting her for so long, yet I barely registered the pain. I untied her cloak and tossed it to the floor. Then, with my hand upon her cheek and some fervent whispering, I finally coaxed her into laying herhead down. Her dark hair spilled upon the pillowcase like a pot of mother’s expensive paints. I could match the color perfectly—ivory black.

“My lady, I’m fine,” Lope mumbled. By the sunrise pouring through the window, I could see her much better. Her neck and the left side of her face were stained bright scarlet.

“Stay there,” I said, with as much strength in my voice as I could muster. It sounded more like a plea than a command.

She did as I told her. I pulled her knapsack over my head and let it slouch against the floor. Each step was heavy and sore as I shut the painted-white door and then stumbled over to the washbasin. There were some folded linens, the plainest things I’d seen in this palace so far, and a pitcher full of tepid water. It looked clean, at least. I couldn’t do as much good as a doctor could, but I couldn’t sit by and do nothing.

Scarcely an hour ago, Lope had been so weak. Her eyes had been so dull. The fluttering, hopeful, and steady thrum of her heart I knew so well had gone so quiet.

I sat beside her on the bed, pouring water onto the linens with a shaky hand. “You mustn’t scare me like that again,” I murmured, my throat thick with tears.

“It’s just a few scratches,” she whispered. Her eyelids, delicate and blue as iris petals, began to fall shut.

I lightly pressed the damp cloth against her cheek, cleaning away sweat and dirt and blood. A large, deep gash carved from her cheekbone to her jaw. One of my tears dropped onto her cheek, and I brushed it aside with my thumb.

“You nearly died,” I said. My heart ached as I imagined it. If her story were to have a different ending. If the beauty, the bravery, thelightthat was Lope had been extinguished.

Was this how Mother had felt, that day in the garden? The moment, thesecond, when she snatched me out of the arms of certain doom?

“It is my duty,” said Lope, her voice fainter than an echo.

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