Page 1 of Her Shadow so Dark and Lovely
Chapter 1
Lorel
“Lorel, you finally appear.”
It’s a warm day in the scriptorium, the wing of the Library devoted to the production of books. It’s my first day back since theincidentand naturally, my sister has sought me out to ruin it. On this particular morning, she perches on my desk, her silk skirts draped perilously over my paints and charcoal.
Her voice cuts through the quiet of the scriptorium, bouncing off the dull stone walls. Each section of the scriptorium sits surrounded by shelves on all sides except for where it opens with high arches onto an open courtyard that lets in dim, filtered light. Never full sunlight, of course. Never a glimpse of the stars through the clouds at night. Our desks sit in orderly rows. There are four in my section, giving us ample elbow room among the tall shelves that surround us.
This is a place of silence,I sign to her.
“You know I can’t read your little hand signs,” she says. “Use your tongue. Properly, like the rest of us.”
I glare at her. So do the other scribes in my section, Trefor and Sybri. There are the three of us, under Elris, our illuminator.Orielle seems impervious to us all. We are but lowly scribes in her eyes.
“Your Librarian turned me away when I came to see you. Am I not allowed to see my sister?”
You know you’re not. Particularly when you’re speaking in the scriptorium during the working hours.
I ensure I sign slowly for her, but she just stares at me blankly. There’s no reason for her to not know the hand signs by now. I’ve been a part of the Library since I turned sixteen. I’m twenty-six now and in the last stages of my apprenticeship. She really should know the rules of the scriptorium at this point. Not in the least because she doesn’t seem willing to let me go.
A noise of frustration catches in the back of my throat. It is entirely against the rules to voice it, but that hardly matters because it doesn’t come. I’ve not been able to make a single sound since the incident six weeks ago. It’s not just the loss of my voice, but a complete silencing. It doesn’t matter what hour it is. Working hours, leisure hours, mealtime. I couldn’t utter a word even if I wanted to. I am cursed.
Not that I want Orielle to know that. It is why I have refused to see her, after all. That and the strange presence of the curse in my chest, resting below the curse mark that had appeared across my skin. It doesn’t like it when Orielle is near. I can’t think why, not since she’s such ajoyto be around.
I pull out my chair, heedless of Orielle’s skirts. She doesn’t take the hint.
“Lorel,” she says, catching my chin. I twist away from her, recoiling at the sudden touch. The last thing I need is for her to pick up on anything different about me. “I merely wish to check that you are alright. It’s hardly my fault if I can only catch you here during the day hours.”
My hand signs in response are as swift as my tongue would have been.
This is when you always turn up. Don’t pretend any differently.
The elegant roll of her eyes is all I get in response, but what did I really expect? Orielle is a talented mage and courtier devoted to the circus that is the Suntide Court, and my life must seem small and insignificant to her. I don’t even know why she bothers to visit anymore. Perhaps I should be glad of it, but I can only feel ungrateful at the intrusion.
Orielle, golden child. Grey-eyed and clever enough to rise through the ranks of the Dawn King’s ruthless courtiers. Tall and shapely. Always perfectly dressed, every hair exactly in place. Always with her chin tipped up.
I have just enough fae blood to make my pointed ears irritating to lie on. Orielle has enough to make her a prodigy. She belongs in those lantern lit halls. My dark-haired, pale self is happiest in the Library’s shadows. Out of sight, and as far out of mind as I can get.
Which unfortunately, is never as far away as I would like. Unlike Orielle, extra attention is the last thing I want. The whole ordeal of the past few weeks has been a nightmare.
“You seem in fine form. I can’t see what all the fuss was about,” she says. She settles herself more firmly on my desk, as if I don’t have a job to get on with.
The crude hand sign I use to tell her to move is clear, even to her.
Orielle wrinkles her nose, looking around at the other scribes settling into their place. Elris will be along soon, and I don’t want him to think I’m slacking.
Move. I need to get to work.
Orielle makes a noise to express her distaste. “Is this really where you want to be, Lorel? A mere existence amongscribes?” she says. It echoes loudly in the chamber.
The King have mercy on me, I’m going to kill her. Why is she like this?
Iwantto be a scribe. I am content here. I have no ability for anything else and I can barely cast a permanent ward, let alone a proper sigil.
My hand signs are frantic. She understands them about as well as she understands me. There’s no point in such an outburst. Even so, my hands shake with the fury that only a sibling can conjure.
I doubt I could have picked a profession more distasteful to her. My lack of magical skill bars me from most things she’d deem worthy. Of all the things I could be, this is something I am capable of. I’ll never excel at it. I’ll never rise to be an illuminator with my own team of scribes. I am lucky that sometimes Elris trusts me with the initial wash layers, but I know I will never be as skilled as he is. I don’t need it hammered into me every time my blessed sister appears to express her disappointment at my mediocrity.
