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Chapter twenty-one

Trials

H e did not, in fact, kiss me after lunch. Nor that evening. Nor the following day.

My lips shriveled.

Or they would have if I’d even thought about kissing him, which of course I didn’t. Instead, I threw myself into making new potions for Uncle Koll to test.

The Shade, meanwhile, threw himself into helping me practice saying no.

“The only way to develop a full, heartfelt, powerful yes, is to say no.” He said one morning over a breakfast of tiny quail eggs, lemon greens, and potato pancakes.

I sliced through the smallest fried egg I’d ever seen and pierced a matching-sized half of a sliced and salted cherry tomato. “That doesn’t make sense. They are different words.”

“How can you know where you end and someone else begins? You’re a mushy, muddled mess.” Jamison, ever helpful, was draped over a teacup on the table, lapping up black tea with a bit of honey. The thumb on his wings clutched the top, while the rest of the wings hung over the plate .

The Shade lifted his cup to toast the bat in agreement. “You do seem to shape yourself into whatever would please your audience.”

Ouch. “First of all, Jamison, I’m a well-trained, cultured mess, thank you.”

“Humph.” The bat took a deep sip.

“Second of all, okay. Fine. Let’s practice.”

The Shade finished his tall glass and set it on the table. “Aelia, would you pass me the water, please?”

I immediately reached for the pitcher to refill his glass, thinking about boundaries and— “Sure.”

“No.”

I froze and frowned at him. “What? We already started?”

“The water is in the center of the table, halfway between you and me. There is no reason why I couldn’t reach it. Try again.” He clasped his hands beneath his chin, his elbow resting on either side of the table. “Aelia, would you pass me the water, please?”

My brows darkened my frown. “N…no?”

“A bit of conviction please.”

“No.”

“A little louder, more like Jamison, please.”

That, I could mimic. “No, sir, you have arms and hands. Use them.”

The Shade clapped once and reached for the pitcher himself. “Marvelous.”

Ha. I rolled my eyes. “Oh, yes. I’m the epitome of inner strength.”

He chuckled—a dark promise that, at every opportunity, he would ask more questions.

Sometime later, I was walking down the hall and Uncle Koll stopped me, asking me to come bake bread with him. But the first floor of the Solarium was looking very dry that morning and needed my attention. I almost said yes until Uncle Koll’s wry eyebrow gave away that it was a test. When I passed, with a resounding no, he patted my shoulder and went on his way.

That evening, the badger asked me to open a hallway door. Only after I said no did I realize that the Shade had stored some dried meats in there, and the badger was just trying to steal more snacks. Maybe there was something to this no thing after all.

The rest of our hours were spent pouring over the tables in the solarium. Ingredients were mixed, leaves dried, herbs pulverized. My hands were constantly cramping and needed frequent stretching from the effort. The Shade now worked beside me every hour I worked, moment for moment. But he seemed more and more tired, while I felt enlivened and brimming with excitement. I cast him worried glances when I thought he wasn’t looking.

Something about being surrounded by his shadows made my necklace shimmer brighter too. When I worked here in the manor, it didn’t matter that I didn’t have magic. No one cared if I was a noble or a servant, powerless or the most magical person in the land. The Shade and the animals never looked down on me for what I couldn’t do. And, to my confusion and discomfort, they never treated me better if I did, served, or produced more. They just…accepted me.

To better utilize the nocturnal animals’ help, we switched to working at night. Jamison would wake me in the evening, the Shade and I would finish breakfast quickly with Uncle Koll, and then we’d spend the rest of the night working on new potions. While I focused on new racerbristle potions, the Shade often worked on his healing potions and the sleeping potions as well as the toxic potions to replenish what had been used on the spyrings.

Uncle Koll was enthusiastic about the new racerbristle potions, despite some initial side effects. Once I’d added too much mossweed, and he started vomiting. Another time, I’d brought the dose down but trialed a hemty powder, and his toes went numb. The worst was when his skin turned green with swollen yellow spots after I used litten pine needles. It took several healing potions, a few days, and several dips in the shared hot spring before he returned to normal. The Shade brought us a few old potion books he’d stolen from the castle. The menace seemed wholly unrepentant for his thievery, but if it helped the queen and Uncle Koll, then maybe I could overlook it.

Many nights, the wolf pup and her mother joined us—at first sitting by the stairs, but as the nights passed, the pup grew more comfortable and less wary. The mother would sometimes fall asleep on my feet as I worked, her pup batting at my skirts in between rolling around and pouncing on shards of light.

A couple of weeks into this new routine, the sleepy Shade was suddenly sitting on the edge of his seat at our evening breakfast in the dining room. His gaze dashed from the table to the door, to the windows, to me, and back again to the door. I felt a buzzing tightness in my chest and prodded into his mind to see if I could steal a thought or two—he was a solid fortress.

Smiling as I held my teacup close to my lips, I said, “You might as well just say what has you so agitated. You look as if you might explode. But I can’t tell if it’s nerves or—”

“Excitement, certainly.” He tried to pick up his spoon but overshot and hit his bowl of porridge, sloshing the contents. He pulled his hands back into his lap. “Perhaps I’ll eat later.”

The kitchen door swung in with the help of a raccoon, and Jamison fluttered in, carrying a box with a black napkin thrown over it. The bat deposited his package on the table and took up his post hanging from the coat hanger beside us. After he murmured his thanks, the Shade placed each hand around the small, palm-sized object. He cleared his throat. “So I’ve been working on a special project. ”

“In what spare time? When did you sleep?” I asked. At least, now I had a reason for his recent fatigue.

“Death does not need to sleep.” I rolled my eyes, and he continued. “I… It’s for you.”

Pushing the parcel toward me, I felt a wave of fear, quickly masked again by the buzzing anxiety. Our fingers brushed, and I heard a quietly whispered, “ Please .”

I studied him a moment, curious what would cause Death to say please before I untied the knot and released the thick black fabric. The object burst into blinding light, filling the room with searing brilliance. Several of the animals squawked, yelped, or squeaked, then dove beneath the table or fled from the room to hide from the light.

“Sorry, sorry!” the Shade cried. “Perhaps…” He reached forward and draped most of the thick black material over the back side of the square glass cube. “For the animal’s sake.”

My vision was dotted with echoes of the brilliant light. I released the hand that was pressed against my chest and reached forward to tap a fingernail along the edge of the glowing object. It wasn’t hot at all. The glass square was filled with liquid light. Picking it up, I marveled at the amount of constant light—bright but no longer painful—that poured out.

“How is this possible? I see no flickering candle. And it’s not luz.”

The Shade shook his head, “Certainly not. I admit I’ve been working on this idea for some time, trying to uncover a new source to replace luz, but I was stuck. It was only when we saw the glowworms that I knew what I was missing.”

I pushed the cube away. “There are glowworms in here? Innocent worms?”

“Dayspring, you know me better than that.” He shook his head and reached to tilt the cube back. A cloud of light sloshed within the glass. “ I did study one or two, I confess—stars rest their tiny souls—but then I realized that with the right mix of ingredients and a lovely dose of glowing water bacteria that I could keep alive in my room, this will stay this bright for days. So far, it’s lasted eleven days.”

“That’s so much longer than luz.” I marveled. Luz had to be replenished daily. “But how do you restart the light?”

The Shade pulled out another glass cube, opened the top, dropped in a round morsel of sugar, resealed the top, and shook it. The second cube also began to glow, its intensity growing brighter moment by moment. “Between the sugar, air, and agitation, the whole process begins again.”

“This is brilliant!”

“Obviously.”

“This could change everything in Nuren!” I froze my animated hand motions. “This could stop the drilling and mining and smoke. It could help the queen. Help Uncle Koll.”

His green eyes glinted. “They will have to find a new pretend enemy now.”

“You could come back to the castle with me!” All warmth fled from his face, and I stumbled through my words, pressing him to understand how incredible this could be. “You would be lauded as a brilliant inventor and given high honor!”

The silence lay heavier than stones in a cave in. “So you do wish to return?”

My heart thudded; I felt instinctively that I had made a mistake, but I didn’t know what it was. He didn’t want the honor? “I wish to save the queen, as I always have. But Shade, this could save you too. Bring you back to the village. You wouldn’t need to be alone anymore.”

He threw his body up, knocking the chair back with a screech. “I do not need saving. ”

I slowly rose, my hand out as if to calm the agitated beast. “I didn’t mean to imply you did, but what if you could return?”

“Return to the city that despises me. Return to those who betrayed the trust of a child? Return to the true monsters?”

I thought of Chef. “But they aren’t all monsters, why—”

“Moon and stars, Dayspring! Every time I think you’ve made progress toward independent thought and healing from your own betrayal, you defend them again. Why would you go back to them?”

“Then why did you make this light, if not to go back to them?”

“I made it for my manor originally. Luz is not something I like to casually trade or purchase. No one wants goods or potions from Death.” He sneered his words. “And candle making is tedious. But I couldn’t figure out the key, couldn’t solve the mystery until…you.” He stalked toward the hall, turning his head for a moment. “Dayspring, I made it for you. ”

He strode forward, shutting the door behind him. A small trail of shadows followed him beneath the doorframe.

My chest heaved as I sat heavily back into my chair. The fondness I initially felt for his kindness in making me a light was pierced through with confusion. Why was he so upset? Wouldn’t anyone want a family? Friends? A place in society? I had spent over a decade trying to find my place. Surely any outcast want the same things. And certainly, the prince wouldn’t continue trying to fulfill the prophecy with my death if I healed the queen. There had to be a place for someone brilliant and powerful like the Shade. If only I could understand.

“Well, I’ve not seen that kind of show this side of the moon.” Jamison snickered from his perch. “He used to glower more appropriately before your ill-fated arrival. Then he was” —the bat shuddered— “smiling all the time. This is better. At least he can see you for who you are.”

“And what am I?” I asked quietly, too wrapped up in emotion to snap back.

“A leech. A life-sucking leech who contributes nothing and takes everything.” He fluttered his sinewy wings. “For all the things shared between you, you’ll never know him, not really. You’ll never understand.”

I peaked a brow. “And you do?”

“I was there from the beginning. I was there when he fled under his father’s wrath and his mother’s cries. I hung from his lapel as he grew into a man. I have been with him as he thrived and faltered. I have had his ear…his thoughts…his friendship for over a decade. I know him.”

“Then you’ll know where he goes to sulk.”

“I would.”

Rising, I strode to the door and opened it wide. “Then you’ll show me.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“But you say that I hurt him,” I said. Jamison nodded. “Then wouldn’t you want me to fix my wrongs? Apologize? Stop him from hurting?”

The bat shifted, appearing uncomfortable.

“Isn’t it honorable? Isn’t it right?”

“Fine. But when his shadows sweep you off the parapet, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Always magnanimous, Jamison.”

The bat flew and buffeted my face, sweeping down the hall at a pace that required me to nearly jog to keep up. He ascended a steep staircase, headed down a narrow servants’ passage, and then went up again at the far corner of the manor. The tall tower’s first floor housed a quaint sitting room, full of windows and four hardback chairs. I followed him up another set of stairs, endlessly circling to the rooftop above.

The cold night air pricked my cheeks, but the Shade stood there with his hands on the stone, staring off toward the bright tower of the distant castle. The clouds were mild tonight, and the stars showed through, beaming and flickering their delight in the night. The moon was a sliver, hanging low and distant along the horizon.

“The master, as requested by the lady.”

“Thank you, Jamison,” I said, my eyes fixed on the Shade.

“Enjoy the fall.”

He flew away before I could retort. Something about so much rudeness in such a tiny body triggered a confusing blend of rage and mirth. But I turned toward the source of misery inside my own chest. I wondered for a moment at the fact that I wasn’t afraid of the Shade. At some point, he had garnered my trust. And despite his tiny butler’s threats, I knew the Shade wasn’t vindictive. He wouldn’t hurt me. He wasn’t my father. So I stepped beside him, placing my hands over his.

After a moment’s effort, I brushed away every shadowy brick I had created to protect my thoughts and emotions. I didn’t have any magic. I didn’t have strength in my muscles. And I wasn’t particularly good at witty arguments. But I did have myself, and I would have to be enough. I had nothing to hide from him.

Through the touch of our hands, I only heard bits of his thoughts, but his emotions were a tumult of pain and anger and hurt. My eyes prickled in empathy. The shadows clung tightly to him, threading over our hands and up my arm. One seemed to caress my finger, and I lifted it in response.

“I’m sorry.” For everything I said. For not understanding. For hurting you. “I’m here if you want to talk.”

I looked toward the castle and considered my life there. It was one thing to be a loner in a room full of people. Had it been harder or easier for the Shade to be literally alone here? I thought of Chef and Uncle Koll and ceded to myself that we both had some support.

The Shade intertwined our fingers. “Any loneliness is always hard, Dayspring. I think it’s worse when other people daily betray social rules and expectations. Or even family rules.” His voice was hoarse, like gravel tumbling down a metal roof. He cleared his throat, which only removed a little of the roughness. “I’m sorry I left.”

I nodded, silent, though I knew my thoughts and emotions were unguarded.

“Your thoughts are still safe with me, Dayspring.” He turned his back to the castle and leaned against the stone, not relinquishing his hold on me. His thumb traced my fingertips. Sighing, he closed his eyes. “I ruined your present. I didn’t even finish before I got offended and—”

“Ran away.”

“—stormed, mysteriously and mercurially, like a very masculine man, away.”

“Sure.”

“It was exactly what I have been encouraging you not to do though. To face things. To address the past. Apparently, I hadn’t addressed my own.”

I squeezed his hand and brought my other hand on top of it. “I understand. It’s not an easy thing.”

The Shade shook his head. His hair was tossed by the movement, and a gust of wind filtered his intense gaze. “Why did you drop the barrier?”

“I wanted you to know everything, to know where I stood, to feel what I feel.”

“Strength in vulnerability.”

“It’s the only strength I have,” I sighed .

He tugged me toward him, and I stumbled into his warm embrace. “Dayspring, you’re going to need to start being nice to my favorite person.”

“But I am nice to Uncle Koll.”

His wry eyebrow peaked. “If you continue to besmirch her, you will be encouraged ruthlessly.”

I grinned, and whined, “Oh no!” Then it struck me that he had just called me his favorite person. My heart stilled, and my cheeks heated.

“Oh yes.” The hand that had rested so hotly along my elbow traced my shoulder and pulled lightly on a strand of my white hair. “Aelia, you are gifted and smart. You are an endless well of kindness and forgiveness.”

“You may cease your encouraging now, sir. I quite understand.”

“You have a passion for every detail and small joy that you can see. You’re positivity and light, while I have lived in the dark for so very long. I wanted to give you a small piece of what you had given to me. I-I noticed you cling to your necklace in the darker hallways, and walk from lamp to lamp to stay away from the corners. You shook so much in the cavern, I thought to abort the whole mission and carry you back out to the sun, where you belong, surrounded by your own essence.” He turned toward the distant mountaintop, black on the dark blue sky. “I wanted you to have a vision of what I see in you, a light in my darkness, a tangible box of”—he chuckled, dragging a hand down his face—“of hope. When you wanted to give it away to those wyrm-cursed leaders of the castle, and the rude courtiers that hurt you, and the village that doesn’t know what to do with your giftings, I reacted poorly. They don’t deserve a shard of your light. They don’t deserve a moment of your time or a thread of your thoughts.”

He looked back over his shoulder until his gaze found the castle again. “I admit I also thought only of my own bitterness.” His eyes glinted in the starlight they gazed into to mine. “But you only meant to restore me.”

“I only want to help my friend,” I said quietly.

He tugged me closer, his hand releasing mine to slide across my low back, sending exploding tingles up my whole spine. “Your friend?”

My mouth was as dry as flour. “Essentially a brother.”

He scoffed and raised a brow. His fingers traced my jawline and swept the hair behind my ear, tickling the marking on my neck. How I wished it might be ours. I closed my eyes, trying to think of bunnies and spyrings and cleaning chamber pots…

The Shade laughed loudly into the night. “You forgot I can hear everything.” He leaned forward, his breath tickling my jawline. “You forget I can feel everything.”

Thoughts splattered around me as I became a puddle beneath the heat of his touch. My lip protruded. “That’s not fair. When will you release all of your thoughts to me?”

His smile tightened before it sharpened to a charming smirk. “You’re not ready for my thoughts, Dayspring.” He shook his head, his black hair becoming unkempt in the moment. My fingers itched to touch it. “I’m not ready for my thoughts. I’ll let you know when that time comes.”

A pang jolted through our connection from some internal pain of his. I leaned forward, setting my chin on his shoulder as I rose on tiptoes to embrace him. “I’ll be here.”

He inhaled slowly before wrapping his arms around me in return. “I—”

“There you are!” Uncle Koll bellowed from the stairwell. “I wanted to show you!”

Uncle Koll pranced up the last steps and we jumped apart, mouths agape as he broke into a waltz with an invisible lady on the rooftop. “ Look at me!” And I did. He looked flushed and moved without a limp.

The Shade lurched forward. “Truly? Did it work so well?”

“This stuff is magic! Watch!” He fell into a city jig, one I had seen the servants do only after the nobles had gone to bed in a stupor and the musicians were relaxing in the kitchen. “I feel amazing. Better than I have in years!”

The Shade crossed his arms, falling back into a professional assessment. “We’ll document how long it takes to wear off. And be on the lookout for unwanted complications.”

Uncle Koll was not to be put off. He waved his hands, as though brushing crumbs off the table. “Sure, science, research, blah. But make me some more. I feel ten—no, twenty years younger!” He pulled the potion from his pocket. “Number 117. This is the one!” Uncle Koll passed the glass vial to the Shade and pulled me into a dance, spinning and laughing.

“Let’s celebrate!” he declared. “I’ll get the wine. And my pie should be cool by now.”

“Everything is better with pie.” I grinned.

“Come, come!”

I headed toward the step and saw the Shade take a small sip of the potion, shaking his head as he tucked it into his pocket. His eyes met mine, and he gestured toward the stairs. “Ladies first.”

What did the Shade need with the potion?

He pressed me forward. “Don’t forget to bolster your thoughts back up, Dayspring. But I’m always happy to hear all of you. Anytime.” He smiled warmly at me as we meandered down the hallway. Just before the doorframe, he pulled me back. “And…” He dragged a hand over his face. “I think, if this potion works, we should bring it to the queen. And perhaps…perhaps we could also share the light somehow.”

I leaned and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “We only do all or nothing, Shadespring. Not just perhaps. I want you to be certain.”

He chuckled at his words being thrown back at him. “Let’s do it.”

“More work ahead.” My fingers ached at the thought, but my heart leapt. Perhaps we could do some good and actually help the queen. Maybe we could help all the people, instead of being the end of the world that the prophecy claimed we were.

“More work. More time with you.” He clasped his hands around mine. Mine. “I can’t wait.”