Page 4 of Vow of the Shadow King

I step through the doorway. I have no plan, no clear purpose in mind. I know only that I must reach those stones.

Many paths wind through this incredible landscape. I take the one that seems most likely to lead me up to that outcropping. It’s lined with a hedgerow of raw emeralds and leads beneath a bower of hand-cut red rubies, which hang suspended on nearly invisible threads, like tiny droplets of glittering blood. The path beneath them is suffused in a pink glow.

Vor’s voice comes back to me suddenly, the answer he gave when I asked him if there was any light in the Under Realm:“More light than you can imagine. More light, more color, more life. More everything.”At the time, I’d not believed him. Now, I could almost laugh. How very sad and gray and pathetic the winter-gripped gardens of Beldroth must have seemed to his eyes!

A chittering sound draws my attention. I turn sharply, peer through the dripping red rubies to a tall rock formation on the other side.Something leaps into view on top of a large white boulder. I gasp, surprised. At first glance, it looks something like a cat, with a long, lithe body. Tufts of white hair trail from the tips of huge, triangular ears. Rather than paws, however, it boasts nimble, claw-tipped hands, more like the pet monkey Sister Magrie kept at the convent. I’d never liked that monkey, with its devilish little face.

This creature, however, is rather sweet-looking, save for the fact that it has no eyes. There is nothing but dark patches of fur where eyes should be. No socket. No lid. It reminds me unsettlingly of the hideous cave devil I’d encountered upon my arrival in the Under Realm.

Shuddering, I turn away and hurry up the path. More of the little creatures follow me, however. They scamper around, under, and over the rocks, curious noses sniffing, huge ears twitching. If I get too close, they dart away, but never far.

Just as I’m passing under an arch of greenish gray stone, one of the creatures drops suddenly to my eye level, suspended by its tail. I leap back, a hand pressed to my mouth to stifle a scream. This creature, however, does not scamper away as the others had. It grips the base of its own tail, twists around so that it can angle itself upright. Its pointed little nose sniffs with interest, its tufted ears cupped toward me.

I hold my breath, uncertain what to do. The path I’m following leads directly under this arch. I don’t see any other way to reach the tall crystals, which still subtly call to me.

Chewing my lip, I take a step forward. Maybe the animal will squeak and skitter off as the others have. Instead, it makes a little burbling noise and angles its head to one side. Its fur is so vivid: purple and orange, streaked with blue. I’ve never before seen such brilliant colors on a living creature. It’s beautiful.

Slowly, haltingly, I hold out one hand. The animal elongates its neck, touches the end of its wet little nose against my fingertip. A vibration hums between us. I blink, surprised. The creature seems a bit startled as well and puts back its ears.

Then abruptly it curls up its long tail and scrambles to the top of the arch. In the same instant, the sound of footsteps draws my head whipping to one side. Someone is coming. My heart lodges in my throat. What should I do? I can’t run—whoever it is will surely see me and pursue. The last thing I want is to be chased through this strange garden in this strange world.

So, I do the only thing I can. I grip my pendant, steel my spine, and turn to face whoever is coming.

2

VOR

Needle-sharp teeth pinch my earlobe.

“Morar-juk!”I snarl and sit upright, pulling my hands away from my face. The mothcat on my shoulder lets out a squeak and leaps to avoid my backhand. Tail flicking, it springs to my knee then launches itself onto my chest and scrambles around behind my neck. All so nimble and quick . . . but not quick enough.

I lash out with one hand, catch it by its long sinuous tail. Surprised, it squeaks again and squirms in my grip as I hold it at arms-length. It pins back its tufted ears, flashes two rows of tiny teeth.

“What?” I scowl at the little beast. “Do you also think it’s high time I pulled myself together and started acting like a king again? Perhaps you’d like a seat on my council. There’s a place available right between Lady Parh and Lord Rath, I believe. You’d fit right in.”

The mothcat chitters and gyrates in my grasp until I release my grip. It drops, lands on its feet and immediately clambers onto my knee. There it perches, angling its face up at me. I roll my eyes but, succumbing to its charm, deign to run my fingers under its chin and around behind one large ear. Then, leaning back in my seat, I gaze out at the view before me.

The bench on which I sit was placed here by my father as a gift to my mother soon after their marriage. This particular spot was her favorite. She would come to the royal gardens often to sit here and admire the crystal cliff and cascading falls. When I was small, she often brought me with her. We’d sit together and enjoy the droplets of rainbow-shot mist settling on our skin and the voice of the falls singing across the crystal-clear lake before us.

Afterwards—after my mother’s departure and my father’s remarriage—I did not visit this spot for quite some time. But I liked to envision bringing my own bride here. Someday. I pictured it all in vivid detail—a picnic luncheon thelusterlingafter our wedding night. A chance to show her one of the most beautiful sights my kingdom has to offer. She would still be uneasy, of course, in this strange world so unlike her own. But when she saw this place, everything would begin to change. I would kneel before her, grip her hands in mine, and promise her that all of this—all this splendor along with my own hand and heart—was hers for the taking.

Such a foolish dream.

A growl reverberates in my throat. Startled, the mothcat leaps from my knee and scampers away before it turns, back arched, and bares its teeth at me. “Forgive me, little friend,” I say. “I’m not myself this morning.”

When I stretch out my hand, the beast allows me to stroke it from the top of its head down its slinky back to the base of its tail. It kneads its little paws in the air, purring loudly, all fear forgotten. Shaking my head, I lift my gaze back to the waterfall. Delicate white streams tumble between ledges of age-shaped crystals. It’s a truly spectacular sight. One of the finest to be had in all my kingdom. It holds no attraction for me this day, however. Though I came seeking peace and clarity, my mind is in as much turmoil as ever.

I must make a decision. About Faraine.

Sul departed yesterday, escorting the princess’s companion, Lady Lyria, back to the Between Gate. With him he carries a message for King Larongar—my demand for the Miphates mages to be sent at once to serve at my bidding. I worded the message with care so that it contains no overt threat to Faraine’s life. But neither have I promised her ongoing safety.

Not that I expect my demands will do any good. I’ve witnessed firsthand Larongar’s disdain for his eldest daughter. He won’t be moved to protect her, not if it works against his interests.

I bow my head, bury my face in my hands. And there she is, in my head. Faraine. I hear the soft crooning of her voice in my ear. Her gentle moans as my palms swept across her trembling flesh. The little gasps of delight which punctuated each kiss I pressed to her skin. How sweet she’d tasted, fresh, delicious. Andmine.

Then I’d opened my eyes. Seen my lovely, delicate bride for what she truly was. A traitor. False and two-faced.

The mothcat makes a suddenprrrrrltand sits up on its haunches, front feet dangling. It angles its ears toward the gardens, then, with another trill, scampers off among the stones. Heart heavy, I watch until it vanishes from sight. I must go soon as well. Return to the palace. I positioned Hael at the main entrance to the gardens and commanded her to let no one through, but I can’t hide out here much longer. Mythanar needs its king.

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