But her tale isn’t a unique one. No mother wants to give birth at night, for the Shades are drawn to new life almost as much as art. Scripture claims it’s a mockery of our deities to procreate before we’ve earned our gods’ forgiveness. It is therefore a sin, hence the Shades’ attraction. Funny how it’s the one so-called sin that isn’t forbidden. Almost makes you wonder if it’s bullshit. Or if there’s a reason the church wants us to keep populating the continent to perhaps—oh, I don’t know—replace all the people who are sacrificed to the Sinless?
I lower my eyes to the horizon, spotting the faintest beam of light above a silhouette of hills and trees. That must be Nalheim, far behind us. I slept through our exit from the gates, but based on the pitch-blackness surrounding us and our proximity to the city, I didn’t sleep for more than a few hours.
A cool breeze dances over my arms, reminding me of another thing I’ve missed during my time in Nalheim—cold. The Holy Brazier not only illuminated the city but maintained the perfect temperature year-round. Not once did I need a cloak while walking home at night, or extra blankets on my bunk despite it now being late into fall. That may sound ideal to some, but I love experiencing seasons, from shivering before the hearth in the winter to wiping sweat from my brow beneath the relentless summer sun. It makes me feel alive.
I shift to the side, muscles aching from the half-sitting position I slept in, and search for the wool cloaks the Shadowbane pointed out when he loaded us into the wagon. Only…there’s already one covering me like a blanket. I frown down at the warm weight on my lap, the corner of the cloak slipping down my torso. Maybe it was the chill that woke me, the cloak having come down from over my shoulders. But how did it get there? Did either of my companions drape it over me after I fell asleep? I doubt I have the Shadowbane to thank for such a kindness.
A glance at Harlot and Bard shows they too are tucked under cloaks, eyes closed. Bard still sits with his back facing theShadowbane, but his head is lowered, bouncing with the movement of the wagon. Harlot is slumped on her side, using her sketchbook as a pillow. I’m about to tug my cloak back over my arms when I note the warm weight in my lap is from more than just the fabric. There’s something heavier pressing down on my legs.
My heart stutters as I stare down at myself, noticing a thickening of shadows that form the mass of some large beast.
With its head in my godsdamned lap.
Terror courses through me as I recall the snuffling breaths by my ear, the tongue that slid over my cheek. Is this…a Shade?ThatShade? The monster the Shadowbane threatened me with? What the fuck is it doing on me?
As if alerted to my rising panic, the shadow beast lifts its head, meets my eyes with two onyx orbs, and scrambles back on four paws. Then, with canine grace, it darts for the raised driver’s seat and plants itself beside the Shadowbane.
“She’s awake.” The voice slithers from the Shade, just as slow, deep, and ethereal as it sounded in the hallway. Sharp breaths strangle my lungs as I stare at the creature. It’s semitransparent with a body like rippling black smoke, its silhouette so like a wolfhound. Most Shades manifest in vaguely humanoid shapes, with too-long limbs and featureless faces, their edges forever wavering and shifting. Some, though, appear as beasts like this one. “She was warm.”
“I don’t know about warm, but she is pretty,” says a second voice, familiar in its seductive, lilting tone. One of the other Shades that spoke in the hall. Even though I can hear it, I see no sign of it.
“You think anything with a face is pretty,” the Shadowbane mutters under his breath.
“The brunette is pretty too.”
“She’s a child, Lust. Not even eighteen.”
Lust. Is that the Shade’s name? Or its…origin? Everyone knows the monsters are born from the seven human sins. They coalesced from mankind’s wickedness during One Hundred Days of Darkness, and more continue to be born on dark nights or in shadowed places. It never occurred to me each Shade might embody a singular sin. It also never occurred to me a Shade could talk, yet here we are.
“I didn’t say I wanted to fuck her, you godsdamned pervert. I just said she was pretty. I wouldn’t fuck the big one either…though I might let him fuck me.”
The Shadowbane heaves a grumbling breath. “I’m sure you would.”
“I can’t believe you letherjoin us without offering a single apology.” That’s another voice I recognize, the sternest one. “She should have gotten on her knees and begged forgiveness for the disrespect she showed.”
“I didn’t know you liked them on their knees.” Lust’s voice again. “So do I.”
“Of course I do. It’s the sincerest show of respect.”
A chuckle. “That’s not at all why I like it.”
“Gods, enough,” the Shadowbane says.
“Do you find it as strange as I do that our new master talks to himself?” Harlot’s whisper is so unexpected, I nearly jump from my skin. Pulling my gaze away from…whatever the hell is going on in the driver’s seat, I find the young woman is awake and has shifted closer to me.
Keeping my voice low, I say, “Almost as strange as the voices that talk back.”
She furrows her brow. “What do you mean?”
“The other voices.” When she looks only more perplexed, I add, “You can’t hear them? You see them at least, right? His shadows?”
Harlot glances to the front of the wagon. The Shadowbane’s posture has stiffened. He knows we’re awake and can probably make out our conversation. She gives a wary nod. “I can see them. Or…one, at least.”
“Shadowbanes cast abnormal shadows.” This time it’s Bard who speaks. His head is still lowered, but he stretches his legs and tugs his mandolin tighter to his barrel chest. “That’s how you can tell you’re in one’s presence.”
“I’m not talking about actual shadows,” I say. “I’m talking about the Shades he controls.” Bard says nothing, and Harlot only shrugs. Why don’t they seem as disturbed as I feel? “Are the two of you fine with this arrangement? How’d you even get wrapped up in it? You aren’t the ones who inadvertently attracted attention to yourselves.”
Harlot pulls her head back. “What do you mean, how did we getwrapped up in this? We were chosen first. He spoke to Bard and me between performances and made us an offer to buy out our contracts. Freedom after six months of service? That’s better than Rockefeller’s terms.”
