Page 8 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

When the ferry is finally loaded, one of the knights helps me onto it. I’m immediately surrounded by guards—I suppose so I can’t fling myself into the waters—and kept carefully in the middle of the raft as several men take their places at the sides of the flat boat and pole it across the shallow, wide waters of the channel.

The Tower of Balance rises before us, menacing and dark.

I thought it would look more like the Alabaster Citadel, which is made entirely of pale brick and marble. It has gilt edges on all the windows and stained glass everywhere, and it’s a square, solid building of beauty that priests from other countries flock to in order to pay their respects. Or I thought perhaps it’d be like Lios Castle, old and stately, with large, rounded turrets, a heavy wall surrounding the keep, and an austere interior covered in banners and made important by the presence of the royal family and their retinue.

Nope. This tower is positively menacing. It rises up with no windows or visible brick, thick and twisting. Four spaced out, tall battlements protrude from the squared-off top of the tower, and it makes it look as if the tower itself is trying to claw the Golden Moon from the skies.

I hate it. Of course I do. But I keep myself composed. I’ll have seven years inside to crumble and fall apart at my leisure. For now, I have to be a Vestalin and bring honor to myself and my sister.

Honor isreallyannoying me at the moment, though. I’d much rather be a craven coward, because then at least I’d be a coward in the sunlight.

I squint up at the tower, trying to figure out how many rooms the tower must be. Funny how all the legends say nothing about the living quarters inside the tower itself. Most don’t care, I suppose, as they’ll never live here. Lucky me. I put a hand to my eyes, shielding them from the sunlight that I’m going to dearly miss, and try to assess the tower as we slowly pole our way across the waters. The base of the tower looks much wider the closer we get, and I suspect that this tower could have several rooms to each floor. It’s surprisingly huge, with only a tiny bit of beach skirting it and nothing else on the island, not even a tree.

Not that trees matter since we aren’t supposed to go outside, but it’s just an odd structure. Legend says that the gods themselves pulled it from the ground, and I always thought that was rubbish. Now, looking up at the massive column of it rising up to the skies, I’m not so sure.

The moment our raft touches shore, I suck in a breath. The men file off immediately, the raft bobbing, and then one of the knights offers me his hand. I take it, letting him guide me out to shore, and my shoes sink into the sand. For a moment, everyone seems to forget about me. The men are busy loading a sled with my trunks, so it can be pulled to the entrance. The priests accompanying me to say the ritual over my “sacrifice” are busy praying, and I’m left to my own devices. The wind rips at my skirts as I walk up and down our small strip of shore. I get bored watching the men load my things so I turn and head down the beach.

There’s a door in the distance, large and square, made of heavy wood and covered with swirling iron reinforcements. Nearby is a pile of bricks and one of the men is mixing what looks like cement. My tongue glues itself to the roof of my mouth once I realize that he’s going to brick the door up after I’m inside so I can’t get out.

Nausea surges in my throat. Breathe, I remind myself. Breathe. Be dignified. You can have a breakdown once you’re inside and no one can see. I straighten my spine and keep walking, and as I do, I see them.

Strange figures stand on the far shore. They’ve come from the opposite direction we have, and while I stand out in the sunlight with my hair loose and my gown swirling around my legs, they’re heavily cloaked in dark colors, hoods pulled over their faces. They look like ominous specters, looming in the lone shadow of the tower.

Darkfell.

For a moment I panic, and then I realize why they’re here.

Of course. Their sacrifice must be given to the tower, as well. I scan the large, broad-shouldered figures, trying to see if I can make out which one is the person that will be their sacrifice, but it’s impossible to tell. One of the figures pauses and turns towards me, and catlike green eyes gleam under the darkened hood.

With a terrified squeak, I turn and head back towards my people. I remember Erynne’s words.After you go into the tower, Lionel’s ships are going to sail for Darkfell. And if their person has a way to get information from outside, they might come seeking revenge on you.

Do they know Lionel and his army are waiting to sail even now? Biting my lip, I head back to my group, where the knights stand on shore, watching everything with bored expressions. Part of me wants to tell them that I just saw Darkfell’s people, but it seems a foolish thing to report on. Of course I saw them. They’re here to deliver their Royal Offering to the tower, just as we are.

The massive sled is finally loaded, and several men take it by rope pulls and drag it towards the main door. I follow behind them, frowning at the mountain of crates and barrels loadedatop it. “You do know I won’t be able to pull that into the tower on my own?”

The knight next to me considers, rubbing his bearded chin. “We’ll get it up to the door and push it through. Once it’s inside, you can unload it slowly at your leisure. Unless you’d like to leave some of this behind?”

“No, I want it all,” I reply, trying not to scowl. I guess I won’t have much to do except unload things. The trunks will be heavy, though. Maybe my room isn’t at the top of the tower. Has no one ever thought about the logistics of this? It’s simply ridiculous. My maids packed me dozens of dresses, as that’s what’s required in court, but standing here on the beach, I’m tired just looking at the sheer mass of trunks that I’ll have to put away.

That’s a problem for another day, though.

I watch in silence as the heavily loaded sled is brought to the heavy double doors. They’re pulled open with a mighty creak, the hinges rusty, and the interior of the tower is pitch black—I can see nothing inside. It’s like a tomb. I look around for the Darkfell party but I don’t see them on the beach. Perhaps they’ve already come and gone and their sacrifice waits within. I touch the bodice of my dress where my knife is hidden, glad that Erynne sent it with me. She’s far more suited for this sort of thing than me. I’m the court flirt, not the one to handle intrigue.

I’m certainly not pious, like Meryliese must have been.

The priests begin their songs to the Golden Moon Goddess, and I know I should pay attention. Instead, I watch, fascinated, as the workmen shove my sled up to the door and then push it deep inside with a loud scrape upon the stone floors. One of them pushes too hard and his hand disappears in after the sled, swallowed up by the shadows. He immediately cries out in distress and pulls back, clutching his hand to his chest. “It burns!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the knight accompanying me snaps. He casts me an uneasy look. “It’s just shadow.”

I say nothing. The priests continue on with their prayers, burning incense to the goddess and as I watch, an acolyte sacrifices a bird, pulling it from a cage and cutting it open from breast to tail. The blood carries on the wind, flecking the face of the knight at my side, as if reminding me what horrors await me inside.

“Come, my princess,” he says, taking me gently by the elbow. “It’s time.”

Now? Already? “Surely the priests have more prayers,” I babble, trying to pull free from his grasp. I’m not ready yet. The sun hasn’t gone down, and that means the golden moon has a few hours before it rises. I have time, don’t I? “I’m sure they have yet another song to sing.”

“My princess,” the knight says again, his voice kind. “Do not make me carry you.”

Dragon shite. Panicked, I let him pull me forward, casting another mute look of distress at the priests. They give me pitying looks, their gazes straying up to the tower. We move towards the yawning darkness of those double doors, and even the wind seems to die in anticipation of my entombment.

---