Page 13 of Vow of the Shadow King

I start to roll over, intending to bury my head under the blankets and slip once more into sleep. Instead, thepullcomes again, an insistent tug. This time, I’m almost certain it’s coming from those chalices. But why?

“Fine,” I mutter and drop the pendant. It settles against my breast as I push back the coverlet and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My feet are bare, and the floor is cold. I hurry from stone to fur rug back to stone again as I cross the room to the table and peer into one of the chalices. A collection of broken crystal shards meets my view.

“Oh.” My lips part softly. I remember now the sharp agony stabbing across my senses when Vor hurled these stones against the wall. Afterwards, they’d drawn me to them. I’d knelt, gathered them in my hands, held them as they vibrated with a song of pain. Vor’s pain. Shivering like music. They’d shuddered in my hands until one by one they . . . died.

Which is foolish, of course. Stones don’t die. They’re stone. Yet, I’d felt their pain. And when they finally stilled, I’d placed them in this chalice for safekeeping. I don’t know what I intended to do with them. I wasn’t thinking clearly. And I certainly don’t know what to do with them now.

They’re unsettling. Seeing them like this, in the bottom of that cup, is like finding a nest of dead spiders. I grimace and set the chalice back down. The moment I do, however, my pendant gives another sharp, insistent tug. “Fine, fine, fine,” I growl again, and stick a finger down into the broken shards, stirring. They’re dead and cold, only . . . I pause. Push my fingertip a little deeper. There. Right at the bottom of the pile. I felt something. An answering vibration.

Biting my lower lip, I fish out a small sliver of crystal, no bigger than my thumbnail. The shape is irregular, but beautiful. It doesn’t feel dead like the rest of them either. I turn it over, watch the way thelorstlight glints against its faceted planes. It feelsalivein some inexplicable way. Like a stem from a pruned rose, tossed aside on the rubbish heap only to bravely put out little white rootlets. Determined to live, to thrive.

Acting on impulse rather than thought, I pluck my pendant from where it rests against my heart and hold it suspended from its chain. Draw the two stones close, the one larger, stronger, the other smaller, more fragile. When I touch them together, there’s an undeniable spark. Not visible. Not audible. Not discernable by any ordinary human sense. But strong enough that I jump and nearly drop the tiny stone.

For a moment, I see again the murderous face of the trolde man as he pinned me against the wall. I feel the reverberations at my back, under my palms, how they’d traveled through me, burst into him, dropped him like a sack of potatoes. That these crystals influence my gods-gift in profound ways, I have no doubt. I just wish I understoodhow.There’s power here. Far greater power than I’ve ever believed possible for a gods-gifted mistake like me.

Slowly, I lift my own pendant up to eye level. It’s set in delicate silver filigree, intricately wrought. Anurzulcrystal—that’s what Vor said it was. I had no idea. Neither do I know how I came by it. When questioned, Lyria had told Captain Hael that it came with the various bridal gifts Vor had sent to Ilsevel, but that wasn’t the truth. I’ve had the necklace in my possession for years, since soon after my gods-gift manifested.

Darkness like a shadow passes over my memory. My magic came upon me unexpectedly like the sudden arrival of my womanly cycle. I was thirteen at the time. I’d always been sensitive to the feelings of others, but nothing like that sudden crush of emotion. It was as though every living soul in Beldroth Castle suddenly cried out in agony, battering my ears, my spirit. I’d crumbled into myself, too wracked with pain even to articulate what it was I felt.

They’d taken me to my rooms. Closed all the curtains, driven everyone out. Shut the doors. Once a day, my mother would enter, care for my most basic needs, and leave again. Even that was more than I could bear. I would scream at her to leave, to go, to stop hurting me, until she finally retreated and left me alone in the dark again. Thus, I existed. I do not know how long.

Then one day, I woke from dreams of pain to find my fingers wrapped around this very stone. The warmth in its core pulsed through my skin, down to my bones, and deeper still. Down into my very soul. It was the first relief I’d had in days, maybe months. I’d lost all track of time. When my mother visited me later, she found me sitting up in bed. Surprised, she inspected the stone I showed her, her brow puckered and curious.

Later, she managed to pry it from my fingers long enough to have it set in silver and hung from this chain so that I would not risk losing it. My life changed for the better then. I was still susceptible to the soul storms, but I now had means to manage it. And though in my secret-most heart of hearts, I still thought of my gods-gift as a curse, I no longer viewed it as a death sentence.

Funny though . . . I’d never stopped to wonder how I came by this stone. I’d always assumed Mother gave it to me. But how would she have come by an Under Realm crystal? And how could she have guessed how it would affect me?

I angle the crystal now, studying it, as though I can make it give up its secrets to me. There’s a mystery here. One I believe I’m meant to solve. Was it more than a happy accident that brought this stone into my possession? Is it possible that powers greater than my father’s machinations drove me into this world? Am I meant to—

The room begins to move.

I gasp and drop the broken crystal. It bounces by my feet, and the table with the chalices rattles and tips over. The rest of the broken crystals scatter, and the two empty vessels roll across the floor. A stream of dust and pebbles falls from the stalactites overhead, raining down on me. I let out a yelp, leap to one side, grasp one of the sturdy bedposts. It shakes in my grip, and the whole bed moves to one side.

Then, as abruptly as it began—everything stills.

I stand frozen, my hands latched around the post, my breath caught in my lungs. What was that? I stare around the room. Everything seems to be all right. Did I imagine it? But no, the table is overturned, the dead crystals scattered. And my shoulders are covered in a thick layer of dust.

A knock at the door. I choke on a cry and whirl in place, heart leaping. “Princess?” a voice calls from the next room. “Princess, are you all right?”

“Yes,” I bleat, then shake my head and try again. “Who is it? Who’s there?”

“Captain Hael. I’ve been assigned to your personal guard.”

Oh. Yes. I know her. One of Vor’s entourage. Not exactly a friend of mine, but in that moment, it’s a relief to hear her voice. “Thank you, Captain,” I say, though what exactly I’m thanking her for is unclear. I wet my dry lips. “Wh—what was that?”

A long pause. Then, finally: “Nothing. Merely a stirring. No cause for alarm, Princess.”

My hands are still wrapped tight around the bedpost. I try to peel them away but cannot quite manage it. “Is it a common occurrence here in Mythanar?”

“It’s nothing you need worry about. Do you require assistance?”

I look around the room, at the little piles of dust, at the scattered crystals. I shake my head then, realizing I need to speak, hastily say, “No. All is well in here.”

“Are you certain? Do you need anything at all?”

Freedom. Escape.

Hope.

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