Page 2 of Vow of the Shadow King

Tears course down my cheeks. How long have I been weeping? I don’t know. Neither can I guess how long I’ve been here in this dark place. It simultaneously feels like moments and years since the guards dragged me off that execution scaffold, through a bewildering array of stony corridors, and flung me into this cell. I remember sitting here on this same cot, watching the single shininglorstcrystal dim and go out. I don’t know how long ago that was.

My eyes ache from straining. I close them once more and call to mind the last lingering sight in my memory: Lyria. My half-sister. She stood just on the other side of the cell bars as we spoke our goodbyes. Where is she now? Halfway home to Beldroth, carrying her report of recent events to Father?

More likely, she was murdered before she ever reached the Between Gate, her corpse sent as a warning to King Larongar. Punishment for his treachery. And mine.

Sucking a breath through gritted teeth, I sit upright. A wave of dizziness washes over me, and panic roils in my gut. I swing out my arms, searching for something, anything to touch, to ground myself. One hand hits the stone wall hard. Pain shoots through my bones, and I cry out. Then I bite my tongue. Tilt my head.

When I touched the wall, something . . . happened.

Fingers trembling, I reach out, press my palm against the thick cold slab of stone. These walls aren’t carved but have naturally formed over millennia. I close my eyes and with my other hand grip the crystal pendant hanging from its chain around my neck. At first, it is very still. I squeeze harder until I feel the faint pulse in its center, warming against my skin.

Deep in the wall, moving through the heavy stone, comes an answeringthrum.

The sudden groan of metal door hinges startles me. I yank my hand away from the wall, heart leaping. Was that a real sound? Or did I imagine it? No, there’s light. Real light. A faint gleam, but enough to make me gasp and cover my face with both hands.

A sound of soft footsteps. The brush of heavy fabric on stone. They’re so loud in the stillness, they seem to echo in my head. I peer between my fingers. The glow comes from beyond my cell. It catches on the cell door bars, casts long shadow-bands across the floor. Those bands move as the light draws nearer, like slashes of darkness ready to slice me in two.

Are the guards returning to drag me back to the scaffold? And this time, will the angered king hold true to his purpose? No last-minute stay of execution. I’ll kneel before the block and stare down into a box lined with blue silk. The last sight my eyes will see before my head rolls.

I scramble off the bed, yank my skirts into place around me. Standing upright, I grip my pendant with one hand, my other hand clenched in a fist at my side, determined to show no fear. The light draws near slowly enough that my eyes have time to adjust. What had seemed bright as a blazing star a moment ago resolves into a singlelorstcrystal set in a silver holder held by a trembling hand. A figure stands on the far side of the bars. I think it’s a man; he’s so heavily cloaked, I cannot be certain. He wears a hood pulled low over his face. There’s something eerily familiar about him, some resonance from his soul which strikes my gods-gifted perceptions. It isn’t Vor. Of that, at least, I’m certain.

He lifts his crystal high enough that the pale, purplish light illuminates my face. I wince but refuse to shield my eyes. Ragged breaths issue from beneath that hood. Then, with swift, jerking movements, he pulls a key from the deep folds of his cloak, jangles it in the lock, then yanks the door open. The bars screech along the deep floor grooves, sending shudders up my spine. The man steps back and motions sharply with one arm.

I swallow hard. “Where are you taking me?”

The man merely stands there, arm extended.

“Am I to see Vor? The king?”

Still nothing.

I try to get a sense of his feelings. I’ve found it difficult to read the troldefolk. While not impervious to my gift, they seem to keep their emotions behind layers of stone. At first, it was a relief—the unrelenting pressure of other people’s feelings too often overwhelms my senses. Now, however, it’s frightening. All I detect is a thin vibration in the air between me and this stranger. When I squeeze my crystal a little harder, I can almost, almost . . .

“Nurghed ghot!”

I gasp. That voice, so harsh and cold, chills my blood. But what can I do? I won’t wait for him to physically haul me out. Better to move of my own volition, to take what control I can.

Gripping my pendant hard, I duck from the cell and into the passage. Deep shadows obscure my feet, and I stumble a little. The floor is relatively smooth, however, so I find my balance, and we proceed down a corridor, past numerous empty cells, through a door, and into a narrow stairwell. I lift my skirts and climb. Each step feels like a mountain my faltering courage must conquer. At the top of the stair, I emerge into a broad passage with a high, arched ceiling.Lorstcrystals set in silver sconces offer some illumination, but not much.

The hooded figure—my escort? My captor? My enemy or friend?—steps out of the stairwell behind me and motions for me to turn right. “Where are we going?” I demand again.

He answers only with more of that heavy, ratcheted breathing.

I want to run. I want to hike up my skirts and simply take off, following thelorstlights to wherever they might lead. But what then? I cannot escape. I couldn’t hope to navigate the Shadow Realm and its subterranean ways. I’d never even make it outside the palace walls. And when they inevitably caught me, they would drag me by my hair, kicking and screaming, back to the scaffold.

If I must die, I will do so with dignity.

I turn right as indicated and march. The stranger falls into place behind me. I shiver at the creeping sensation of his hot breath on the back of my neck. But he hasn’t touched me. Not yet at least. We take a turn and step into a new corridor, this one a little smaller and less well-lit than the one we’ve just left. I stumble over my feet, put out a hand to catch myself against the wall.

A vibration flickers beneath my palm. Then another answering vibration, rippling out from the figure at my back. A soul echo that strikes my gods-gift with undeniable potency.

Evil.

Murder.

I stop. My heart throbs against my breastbone.

“Drag!”growls the stranger, his voice once more hauntingly familiar.

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