Page 50 of Ties of Shadow

Uncle Koll was enthusiastic about the new racerbristle potions, despite some initial side effects. Once I’d added too much mossweed, and he started vomiting. Another time, I’d brought the dose downbut trialed a hemty powder, and his toes went numb. The worst was when his skin turned green with swollen yellow spots after I used litten pine needles. It took several healing potions, a few days, and several dips in the shared hot spring before he returned to normal. The Shade brought us a few old potion books he’d stolen from the castle. The menace seemed wholly unrepentant for his thievery, but if it helped the queen and Uncle Koll, then maybe I could overlook it.

Many nights, the wolf pup and her mother joined us—at first sitting by the stairs, but as the nights passed, the pup grew more comfortable and less wary. The mother would sometimes fall asleep on my feet as I worked, her pup batting at my skirts in between rolling around and pouncing on shards of light.

A couple of weeks into this new routine, the sleepy Shade was suddenly sitting on the edge of his seat at our evening breakfast in the dining room. His gaze dashed from the table to the door, to the windows, to me, and back again to the door. I felt a buzzing tightness in my chest and prodded into his mind to see if I could steal a thought or two—he was a solid fortress.

Smiling as I held my teacup close to my lips, I said, “You might as well just say what has you so agitated. You look as if you might explode. But I can’t tell if it’s nerves or—”

“Excitement, certainly.” He tried to pick up his spoon but overshot and hit his bowl of porridge, sloshing the contents. He pulled his hands back into his lap. “Perhaps I’ll eat later.”

The kitchen door swung in with the help of a raccoon, and Jamison fluttered in, carrying a box with a black napkin thrown over it. The bat deposited his package on the table and took up his post hanging from the coat hanger beside us. After he murmured his thanks, the Shade placed each hand around the small, palm-sized object. He cleared his throat. “So I’ve been working on a special project.”

“In what spare time? When did you sleep?” I asked. At least, now I had a reason for his recent fatigue.

“Death does not need to sleep.” I rolled my eyes, and he continued. “I… It’s for you.”

Pushing the parcel toward me, I felt a wave of fear, quickly masked again by the buzzing anxiety. Our fingers brushed, and I heard a quietly whispered, “Please.”

I studied him a moment, curious what would cause Death to say please before I untied the knot and released the thick black fabric. The object burst into blinding light, filling the room with searing brilliance. Several of the animals squawked, yelped, or squeaked, then dove beneath the table or fled from the room to hide from the light.

“Sorry, sorry!” the Shade cried. “Perhaps…” He reached forward and draped most of the thick black material over the back side of the square glass cube. “For the animal’s sake.”

My vision was dotted with echoes of the brilliant light. I released the hand that was pressed against my chest and reached forward to tap a fingernail along the edge of the glowing object. It wasn’t hot at all. The glass square was filled with liquid light. Picking it up, I marveled at the amount of constant light—bright but no longer painful—that poured out.

“How is this possible? I see no flickering candle. And it’s not luz.”

The Shade shook his head, “Certainly not. I admit I’ve been working on this idea for some time, trying to uncover a new source to replace luz, but I was stuck. It was only when we saw the glowworms that I knew what I was missing.”

I pushed the cube away. “There are glowworms in here? Innocent worms?”

“Dayspring, you know me better than that.” He shook his head and reached to tilt the cube back. A cloud of light sloshed within the glass. “I did study one or two, I confess—stars rest their tiny souls—but then I realized that with the right mix of ingredients and a lovely dose of glowing water bacteria that I could keep alive in my room, this will stay this bright for days. So far, it’s lasted eleven days.”

“That’s so much longer than luz.” I marveled. Luz had to be replenished daily. “But how do you restart the light?”

The Shade pulled out another glass cube, opened the top, dropped in a round morsel of sugar, resealed the top, and shook it. The second cube also began to glow, its intensity growing brighter moment by moment. “Between the sugar, air, and agitation, the whole process begins again.”

“This is brilliant!”

“Obviously.”

“This could change everything in Nuren!” I froze my animated hand motions. “This could stop the drilling and mining and smoke. It could help the queen. Help Uncle Koll.”

His green eyes glinted. “They will have to find a new pretend enemy now.”

“You could come back to the castle with me!” All warmth fled from his face, and I stumbled through my words, pressing him to understand how incredible this could be. “You would be lauded as a brilliant inventor and given high honor!”

The silence lay heavier than stones in a cave in. “So you do wish to return?”

My heart thudded; I felt instinctively that I had made a mistake, but I didn’t know what it was. He didn’t want the honor? “I wish to save the queen, as I always have. But Shade, this could save you too. Bring you back to the village. You wouldn’t need to be alone anymore.”

He threw his body up, knocking the chair back with a screech. “I do not need saving.”

I slowly rose, my hand out as if to calm the agitated beast. “I didn’t mean to imply you did, but what if you could return?”

“Return to the city that despises me. Return to those who betrayed the trust of a child? Return to the true monsters?”

I thought of Chef. “But they aren’t all monsters, why—”

“Moon and stars, Dayspring! Every time I think you’ve made progress toward independent thought and healing from your own betrayal, you defend them again. Why would you go back to them?”

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