Page 2 of Cursed Shadows 2

I let it find a new burrow, a new home, unbothered.

Then it’s gone, and I’m alone again in the moody light of the forest.

The more I stay in the dark, the better I see the beauty…

Somehow, it welcomes me now.

Sometimes, I might like to stay.

2

the night he made a trail for me

††† TEN YEARS EARLIER †††

Moodiness has settled over my face. I watch the flames in the hearth flicker blue, then settle back on their dull orange hue. An hour has passed since I expected Daxeel to toss a stone at my window.

We share an unofficial, unspoken routine.

Our shared constellation lessons are followed by him walking me home. Then I don’t see him the next day or night. Then my favourite time—when he throws a stone at my window, and we hide in the willow fields together until the threat of dawn steals him away from me.

So tonight, I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

By two hours after nightfall, my face is twisted into a scowl, arms are crossed over my chest, and my sandalled foot taps over and over and over on the floorboards of my bedchamber.

Luckily, it’s just that annoying brownie servant, Knife, in the room below me, a little storage cupboard stuffed full of hay. If he’s even in there, not in the kitchens preparing for tomorrow, so I’m not too fussed about disturbing his maybe-sleep with my incessant, angry foot tapping.

With a strangled grunt—a shout I fight back in the quiet hour of the night—I push up from the chair and stomp towards the windows.

My eyes are brown pits of venom, snakes writhing, as I glare out into the moonlit gardens. Then I see it.

Not Daxeel. He isn’t out there like he should be, like I expected him to be. But he left something in the treeline forme.

From the distance, and in the night, I can’t quite make out what it is. But I know it’s a jewel or a bauble of sorts. Whatever it is, its silvery shine winks at me.

That’s all it takes before I’m sliding up the window in the pane, careful to move it slowly so it doesn’t creak. Then I bunch up my slip, the one with slits that reach up to my hipbones, that reveal too much of me, and so I’m not allowed to wear it out.

My sandals press flat on the ledge as I angle myself for the lattice.

Expertly, I descend, knowing exactly which vines I can touch, which ones I can lean my weight on—and which ones bite.

The lattice on the other side of the window is the one to avoid entirely. Those other vines will tangle around anyone who touches them, and they will hold them there until someone else comes along and has to cut them free.

My sandals are quiet on the damp dirt as I let go and land on the ground. But I freeze anyway, arms spread, and eyes narrowed—

I wait.

No lights flicker beyond the windows, they are all dark and undisturbed. Sleep goes on in the house.

A wicked gleam sparks in my eyes as I turn and run for the treeline. Before I disappear into the shadows of willow trees, I snatch up the silver prize.

It’s only when I’m tucked behind the long leafy drapes of the willows that I give myself enough to pause to see what it is.

A silver bauble, a ceramic ball from the human lands.

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