The shadow stops dead in its tracks, cocking its head as if listening for something.
A wave of icy dread washes over me as I hold my breath. If it turns around, it will stare straight at my eye, but I don’t dare move lest I make another sound. Its head moves slowly from side to side, and I swear I can hear the faint sound of sniffing. It’s halfway turned in my direction when it pauses, head tilted as if it’s contemplating something, then decides against it and redirects its attention toward the couple.
My heart beats with such an intensity I’m surprised it’s not bursting through my ribs, and the previous intense pain of my brace has become but a faint hum in the background. Whatisthat thing?
The shadow is now hovering over the woman and her husband, but because of my angle, it’s challenging to discern the nature of their interaction. The concept of making them forget baffles me. How could such a thing be possible? It holds the sound of magic, and if there is one thing more forbidden than light in this godforsaken city, it’s magic. Just mentioning it could be enough for a death sentence.
A moment later, the shadow retreats. I stare at the motionless couple. Are they dead? No, their chests are moving—not by much, but enough to let me know they are alive. Besides, the minister wouldn’t want to rob anyone of the excitement of another burning. It’s what the city lives and breathes for.
“We will send someone to pick them up later.” The minister gives the shadow a curt nod, spins on his heel, and strides toward the door,wrapping his wolf cape around himself as he departs. A moment later, the shadow follows.
I close my eyes, trying to comprehend it all. So, it’s true after all, what the prostitutes are whispering about. Infants born at the end of Fifth Week are killed. Whatever a moonborn is, I have no knowledge of it. What is a moon, anyway? Nevertheless, it’s apparent the minister considers them a grave danger that has to be eliminated. Perhaps the moonborn is the evil he always preaches about lurking beyond the mountain pass—evil that has the power to bring down the Almighty Father. Yet that doesn’t explain the shadow creature.
I fight the urge to empty my stomach as a wave of pain rolls through my body. Cursing the brace, I clench and unclench my fingers, forcing myself to ignore it. I should feel bad about the infanticide, and a small part of me does, yet it’s hard to care when a handful of people burn to ashes every week. Besides, if the baby wasn’t human, it was no different from taking down an animal in the woods, was it? That shadow creature, on the other hand...
I frown. Magic should not be part of a society. Power like that corrupts your soul and paves a path straight to damnation. Such should belong to the Father alone.
Another wave of pain leaves me with no more time to contemplate the ethics of the minister’s actions. Experience tells me I can only push the limits of the brace for so long before I pass out, and the black spots that dance before my vision tell me it’s a close call.
Breathing deep, I peek around the corner, scanning the narrow lanes for any signs of movement. An eerie, almost vacuum-like silence hangs over the town, broken only by the occasional caw of a crow. I let out a sigh of relief when the black scavengers are the only living beings in sight, the streets devoid of any other life signs. With one last glance around, I step into the street.
I have not made it far down the winding road when I spot the tall frame of a deeper darkness in the night. I freeze in place. A mere few streets away, that same dark creature stands immovableas a stone. Its dark silhouette is barely discernible, yet I can feel its penetrating gaze fixed upon me. Holding my breath, I tiptoe backward, seeking refuge in the darkness of the narrow alley behind me, sending a silent prayer for the darkness to hide me. A moment passes, then another.
Oh, Father. Why can’t you ever do what you’re supposed to do?Not for the first time, I wish I had been born a different person.
Despite the cool night air, sweat forms on my forehead. I count to one hundred, forcing my breath to be slow, before I dare a peek around the corner.
The creature is gone.
Without hesitation, I set off down the deserted streets in the opposite direction, lifting my skirts scandalously high as I race toward the safety of my home.
By the time I arrive at the Coperie estate, I’m gasping for air. Breast heaving, I take a moment to calm down before I slip through the iron gates and toward the servants’ entrance in the back. The steep descent of the stairs is made perilous by a thin layer of ice, threatening to send me tumbling, but gripping the rail in a firm hold, I make it down in one piece. It doesn’t help that my legs are threatening to give out on me.
I lean an ear toward the door before I look inside. Everything is silent save for the familiar snoring of Master Coperie’s footman, sleeping by the fireplace. I’m not the only one who takes advantage of our master’s drunken nights.
He looks peaceful where he sleeps, the soft glow of the dying embers illuminating his face. Still, I have to fight the urge to kick him as I pass by. He’s snitched on me too many times to count, and my body bears the scars to prove it.
Tiptoeing across the wooden floor, I take care to avoid the squeaky floorboards as I hurry toward my small chamber in the back. Once inside, I turn and lean against the door. My legs give out, and I sink to the floor. Rubbing that hollow space in my chest, I leanmy head back and let out a long-held sigh. Thank the Father no one noticed I was gone.
I don’t know how long I sit there, but at some point I manage to push myself back up. Peeling off my thick gloves, I turn and hang my felt cloak on a peg by the door, then stumble into bed. Sleep, that’s what I need. I’ll deal with the implications of what I witnessed tomorrow.
A PIERCING SCREAM WAKES ME from my slumber, and it takes a moment before I realize it’s my own. I sit up with a jolt, gasping for air. My heart pounds in my chest, and my body is covered in a thin layer of sweat.
The dream won’t leave me; I try to shake it off, squeezing my eyes shut, which only causes it to vividly repeat itself.
Hovering, as if witnessing my own dream, I watch myself, bound to the floor, while a hooded dark figure trails the perimeter of the circle, methodically breaking the necks of one infant after another, their bodies falling to the ground with a sickening thud.
I’m in what appears to be a temple, or some place of worship. The stone walls are lit with torches, while tall, twisted shadows move in my periphery. I’m bound in the middle, limbs stretched out into a pentacle, resembling a centerpiece of some depraved ritual, while thirteen of the ominous dark creatures, their features hidden within their hoods, use their writhing tendrils to hold me in place.
At the head of the circle stands a man wreathed in darkness, powerful and terrible as death itself, his hands raised, palms facing me, draining me of my very life force. I can see it leaving my body as I’m sucked dry.
I shake my head to dispel the unsettling images.
Relax, Laïna. It was just a dream.
With a glance around the room, I take in its familiarity—the dark stone floor, the neatly folded clothes on the stool near the door, the washbasin in the corner. After lighting a candle, I tiptoe over the freezing floor toward the washbasin, cursing the cold as I crack the thin layer of ice that has formed on top of the water. Determined to scrub away the haunting events of the night, I reach for the soap. My hands shake, and it’s not only because of the nightmare. I take a deep breath, inhaling the gentle fragrance of pine emitted by my soap, and splash some of the cool water onto my face.
I stare back at my pale reflection in the bulky mirror. The lone candle does little to banish the shadows of the room, but it provides enough light for me to notice the deep circles beneath my eyes. Pushing the boundaries of the brace always leaves me drained, and this morning, I’m a hairbreadth away from looking like a ghost. Blue veins are visible through my translucent skin, and my pale eyes are sunken and bloodshot. If Master Coperie sees me like this... My stomach churns. It’s a telltale sign I’ve been acting out of place.
