Page 22 of Her Shadow so Dark and Lovely
Sila’s sigh is loud in the chamber. “Lorel. There are some things I cannot answer for you.”
I don’t understand.
“You wouldn’t understand— No, it is not because I doubt your intelligence. You would think me a liar.”
Now I certainly do.
That wry twist of her mouth again. “Are you always this mouthy? Usually you’re so circumspect.”
Those men recognised me. They were going to kill me. They killed that other scribe. You were going to kill me— what am I supposed to make of that? Who will protect me from you if you change your mind?
“Oh, little mouse, it is far too late to change my mind,” Sila says. “But let us make a bargain, if that will put you at ease.”
A bargain? That is a faetale.
“Hmm, is it? Let’s see, shall we?” Sila holds out her hand, clenching it into a fist and then opening it again, her palm fills with shadowy smoke. It drips from her palm. Curls in the eddies of the air.
This is absurd. You are not —
“While you bear the curse mark, I will not harm you. You will have my protection, and you will stay where I can do so,” she says.
The shadow curls, as if listening to her words. It is impossible. A bargain is a fae thing, and there is only one true fae left— the Dawn King. There is no one else in the Citadel that could make such a bond.
Sila has fae blood, that much is obvious, but how much of her power comes from being a Librarian? A Librarian cannot walk through walls, or move through shadows. They do not summon blades, and while they can be horrific nightmares, I had never seen anything like Sila when she had wrapped me in her darkness.
“What is there to lose if it’s not real? Take my hand again.” I wanted to trust her. I wanted to feel safe here, because where else could I even go? There was nowhere else Iwantedto go.
I reach out and grasp her hand and the shadow twists, suddenly sharp, cutting a clean line into each of our palms. I feel the warmth of my own blood, thin and red as it pools in our hands. Sila’s is a deep, dark red that is almost black. It’s cold and thicker than I would have expected. The shadow wraps around our hands like a handfasting ribbon, soft as silk. Sila clasps my hand, and her features lengthen, the light dancing across her face, her hair bleeding into the room's many shadows.
“While you are marked,” Sila says, with a strange echo in her voice. Inky darkness drips down her cheeks. “I promise you my protection. Your turn, little mouse.”
I can’t speak aloud, and I have only one hand. It isn’t like this is really happening, anyway. Though the blood pooling in our hands suggests otherwise.
I will stay where you can protect me,I mouth. The shadowy ribbons constrict tightly around our clasped hands until it almost hurts. I gasp, a sharp intake of breath as the shadow melts into my skin, sealing the promise as it heals the wounds it left.
Sila stares at me. It is a full minute until she lets go of my hand. Her fingers brush against mine as she goes. I inspect my palm and there is a shiny stripe of freshly healed skin. The only evidence on me of the bargain struck. It hadn’t left another open wound across my writing hand, but?—
It shouldn’t have worked.
I look up at Sila, and she’s smiling softly.
How?
“I am fae,” she says, shrugging.
That isn’t possible.
“I warned you that you would not believe me,” Sila says. And she’s right. She did. I’m still not sure I do, but there is a surety from the bargain that settles over me. Some part of the magic of it that leaves no room in my mind for doubt. Sila will protect me. I will stay where she can do so. Sila is a true fae.
I rub the scar tissue. Now there will be scars on both my hands. I look up at her, and she’s watching me intently, face impassive.
How can you be fae?
I don’t expect an answer, but this time she gives one. “I am old,” she says.
You would have to be ancient.
Another shrug. “As pleased as I am that you are taking an interest in me, these are not the most interesting questions you could be asking.” She’s smiling again, just a soft curve of her lipsand a gentle sparkle in her eyes, as if I amuse her. She’s right. There are more pressing matters.
