Page 13 of Her Shadow so Dark and Lovely
“Healer—” I call out. Gella, one of the junior healers, appears at my shoulder. “Poison,” I tell her.
“Dawn King have mercy— Clairabel, fetch Lune. She’s in the apothecary,” says the Gella, calling out to another healer nearby.
“Right away,” Clairabel replies. She drops what she is doing to scurry out the back of the infirmary.
“Bring her in here, Librarian,” Gella instructs, leading me to the private rooms off to the side.
“There are others,” I tell her as we walk down the hallway. “Two more if you are lucky.”
“Let’s hope we are,” Gella says, throwing open a door. “Here. I’ll send Lune along.”
I lay Lorel down on the bed, with a care I rarely afford anything. As if she is some fragile thing, as likely to shatter on a cushioned mattress as she is on stone. And she is so fragile, with her fleeting little life and her bat-wing flutter of a pulse.
I kneel at her bedside and push her hair back behind her ear, her skin soft and burning under my fingertips. Somehow, she is still breathing. I take her glasses off, impatient that the Cupbearer is taking so long.
I set her glasses aside on the bedside table and hover there. I could smother her in shadows, and she would never know. She wouldn’t suffer. There would be no awkward questions, given I suspect she should not even be alive. I doubt anyone will expect her to survive.
My fingers twitch, and the shadows thicken for just a moment, and then the Cupbearer is at my side with all her usual noise. At least her care for Lorel, for my scribe, is genuine. I let the shadows go. It is out of my hands now.
“I leave her to your care, Cupbearer,” I say, turning on my heel. I can be of no use here, just standing there staring at her like a light-struck rat. If there is anyone who can help her, it will be the wretched Cupbearer. There is no one that could administer the correct antidote better than the King’s poisoner herself.
I step aside for the other healers and scribes as they rush past me. I gather from their hurry that, for now, they all still breathe. I do not care about them, though. I shouldn’t care about any of them.
When I am finally alone in a corridor, I pass into the shadows, embracing that dark space in between. No one will be able to hear me scream here.
How many months had it been since I started watching her? I had been presented with so many opportunities. My scribe is so prone to misfortune that she should have been easy to do away with. I tear at my hair and it comes away as shadow. I scream from deep within my chest, letting loose every bit of frustration. Somewhere under my heart, one of my two tethers is stretched taut. There is one for the Heart of the Library, to which I am pledged as a Librarian. The other ties me to my Dark Lady, Queen of the Eventide Court. The only thing keeping me anchored to the world and the only thing preventing me from fading away like so many of my kind before me.
It is pulling at me, tugging at my soul, and stretching to breaking point. Time is running out.
I will have to kill her tonight. Because if Lorel does not die, then I will.
Chapter 8
Lorel
It is dark.
I am cold.
I’m grounded in a void that I think must be the place we go when we’re sleeping. Still tethered to the world. Not dead then.
Not yet.
The dark moves, shifting like smoke against my skin. Soft. Gentle. I repress a shiver and open my eyes to a place absent of light. It presses in, overwhelming me.
The curse that rests in the cavity of my chest stirs. A candle gone out. A cat stretching lazily. I thought I was cold before, but the temperature drops again. Colder. Darker. Something brushes my jaw. Holds it tenderly.
A cold blooms in the back of my skull, running down my spine like ice.
You need to wake up now.
The thought is not mine. It isn’t even really a thought— more of a feeling. A stranger's presence in my mind, like nothing I’ve ever encountered.
I don’t want to wake up. I want to stay here in this darkness forever. It’s cool, and my skin is burning. It feels safe. It cradles me. I close my eyes and relax into it.
The new unknown presence reaches in, cutting through the void. It pushes aside the darkness, grasping at my face, my hair, my eyes. The curse inside me pushes against my chest and throat, trying to tear itself free. Like it has done once before.
The illusion of peace is torn apart as the strange forces tear at my flesh and rend through my bones. I try to scream. I remember that I can’t.
