I can’t pretend that wasn’t enchanting, for it was. But what kind of person finds any interaction with a Shade enchanting?
The kind that whispered stories to them when she thought no one was looking, I suppose. Or the kind that stroked Sloth’s shadowy fur instead of pushing him away in the wagon the other night.
Speaking of Sloth…
“Where the hell has the Shadowbane been?” I ask, turning from the window.
“Sleeping, probably,” Calvin says as he sorts through the new clothing we’ve received, placing them in different piles on his bed. I’ve already selected my chosen articles: a wool skirt in green plaid, a thick chemise, a brown leather bodice, and a fur-lined cloak.
“Is he too good for our company?” Harlow says in between bites of cream-dolloped scones. Every meal we’ve received, she’s scarfed it down like it’s the last food she’ll ever have. Good for her. Might as well fill our bellies before we’re forced to sustain ourselves on Calvin’s cooking again.
“His room is next door,” Calvin says. “He always sleeps alone.”
“Always?” Harlow smirks. “How ordinary. What about all that talk about blindfolds—”
I choke on my own breath as I realize what she’s getting at. My eyes whip to Calvin, though I’m not sure if I’m more desperate for him to answer or not to.
“Oh, that,” he says. “Can’t say I’ve seen him take a lover for a night, but if we’re visiting a place that offersthatkind of frivolity, I’m the first in bed with…” He snaps his mouth shut, eyes flicking to Harlow.
She stares at him through slitted lids.
Calvin dons an unconvincingly innocent expression. “I’m…in bed with perfectly angelic behavior.”
Harlow scoffs, and even I chuckle at that. I’m sure wherever Calvin goes, he has no shortage of lovers. He isn’t my type and is six years younger than I am, but I can see the appeal of his lovely face, his messy blond hair, and even his slender figure. Not to mention his flirtatious manner. He looks like a boy who can be easily broken yet knows his way around a lover’s body. There’s probably great satisfaction in being sexually obliterated by such a fragile thing. Or sexually obliterated at all…
Not that I’m contemplating sex. At least not with Calvin.
That, of course, begs the question: WhoamI contemplating sex with? Dominic’s face floods my mind at once. I recall the weight of his gaze after I finished my story for the flying squirrels. When our eyes locked, he didn’t look away. Didn’t try to hide his fascination, or the open vulnerability on his face. Our gazes snagged and tangled for what felt like an endless moment. I was still wrapped up in the awe of what we’d accomplished, in the awareness of our power as artists, and Dominic’s expression compounded that tenfold. I felt powerful. Beautiful. In control. And the memory of that now sends a pool of heat to my core, a sizzling fire between my legs—
I shake the thoughts from my head. “How long will we be here?” I ask, changing the subject.
Harlow’s expression turns eager. Even Bard, who has spent much of the last two days either sleeping or silent, lifts his gaze. Though neither has complained about their chance to rest in comfort, Iimagine the idle time is getting to them as badly as it’s gotten to me. For two years my days have been filled with manual labor, first at the textile mill, then working for Rockefeller. The sudden inertia is unsettling. Yet there’s nothing for us to do here. There’s no such thing as leisure time in small towns. Days are dedicated to work, whether at home, for an employer, or for a certain trade. There are no specialty shops, no books to read save for the holy texts, no gardens to stroll. I didn’t even know such things existed until I lived in Nalheim, and even then I never engaged in such pastimes, for those were reserved for the elite, not servants.
“Two weeks is the minimum for a Shadowbane’s post,” Calvin says. “Whether we’ll only be here for the minimum duration depends on the next couple of nights. If the dragon re-forms or nightly Shade activity is higher than average, we’ll work to draw the threat away until it settles down. Dominic said last night was quiet, so if tonight and tomorrow prove the same, we’ll move on to our next post at the end of next week.”
“He’s been keeping watch at night?” I ask. “Doesn’t he need us with him in case there’s an attack?”
“He’ll wake us if there is,” Calvin says.
I turn back to the window, my lips tugging down. I don’t know why I’m annoyed to hear Dominic has been keeping watch without us, but I am. I may have felt powerful the other night, but I’m reminded we’re only tools. What else could we be to him? He calls us his crew, yet he keeps a separate room and hasn’t said a damn word to us in two days. I’m starting to understand why no one ever mentions Summoners, only Shadowbanes. We’re just their dirty little secret—artists who get to use their forbidden craft, unbeknownst to the public—to take out when needed and put away when done. We do all the fucking work in drawing the Shades away, yet the Shadowbanes take the glory.
It’s a wonder no one has revealed this secret.
Then I remember. We’re outlaws. What fucking reason would we have to out the truth? We’d only be outing ourselves. Our crimes. Losing our slim chance to gain safe passage off this continent.
My lips curl in a cold, humorless grin. What a flawless system.
After nightfall, sleep eludes me. Perhaps my body has had all it can take of resting, for I can’t stop tossing and turning, the light from the many lamps and candles blazing against the backs of my eyelids. I’m all for keeping rooms bright enough to prevent Shades from entering, but it’s a godsdamned nuisance when I’m already struggling to sleep.
I roll onto my back and assess my companions. All three are snug in their beds, their steady breaths filling the room, their chests rising and falling in a gentle rhythm.
A thud sounds overhead. I lift my gaze to the ceiling, and it sounds again. Then again. It’s soft and steady, moving from one end of the ceiling to the other. No one else stirs, for it isn’t loud enough to interrupt anyone’s slumber. It’s only because I’m awake that I take notice. Still, the cadence is very much like footsteps, not the skittering of an animal.
The sound stops at the far end of the room.
Someone’s on the roof.
And there’s one person I expect to be awake at this hour.
