Prologue
Midnight
Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers.
But his delight is in the law of the LORD, and on his law he meditates day and night.
He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers.
Not so the wicked! They are like chaff that the wind blows away.
Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the assembly of the righteous.
For the LORD watches over the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish.
Psalm 1
I saw the world through a gray tinted fabric. In the kingdom ruled by my bloodline, I had no power. I sat at the left of my mother, the queen, my brother at the right hand of the king himself. My father. And yet, as icy fear gripped my lungs I did not dare scream out in fear, did not dare turn away, much less beg for mercy on behalf of the poor soul in front of me. The boy’s name was Herron. He was no more than two years older than me. His eyes were glued to the floor and his knees shaking so badly I could see them from my seat, elevated above his head. He dared not look at the one who would decide his fate, nor the dark figure in the corner of the room who might execute it. His chains pooled on the floor, engulfing his hands. The chain links were so thick he had labored when bringing himself before us. His body was skin and bones, his cheeks, which should have been filled with youth, were hollow, all color had slowly drained from him with malnourishment. This is how he waited for judgment, already half dead. He did not look up; he knew the king held in his hands the power to save him from death, and more likely, the power to save him from a painful one.
“This wretched soul is hereby brought forth to the King’s righteous judgement, before the nobles of the court, and before Erebus himself. With his just hand the king shall rule to please Erebus and the heavens. I, esteemed courtier of the king himself, shall now present the situation in full, without bias.” I stayed stiff, mirroring my mother’s graceful demeanor. I remembered what she had told me this morning: Not a crack, not a splinter. Do not be fooled by our high places, Anella. Our lives are just as much at the king’s mercy as the ones who bow down before us. Not a crack, not even a splinter. The nobles towered on either side of the throne. Their veils blocking their faces. Rings and glittering jewelry and fine velvets enclosed the boy in the middle of the room, dwarfing him in his tattered rags.
I remembered as a young child, barely older than toddlerhood, I grew jealous of my mother and older brother for having the privilege to attend court. On my 16th birthday, when a servant brought to me the official letter of invitation, I could not stop a small swell of pride from blooming within me. Now, at my first time attending court, this boy stood before me, and I felt that pride drain out of me like water from a broken cistern. I had been warned in little ways by Les and my mother of how court was not for the weak of heart, but I had been determined to prove myself stronger than their expectations. How utterly I was failing.
I glanced at Lésandr, standing to my left. His body was rigid, angled toward me. His eyes, usually filled with a teasing or mischievous glint, were stoic and unfocused. He gazed above my head, rather than at me. His hair and skin, though less dull, matched that of the poor boy. I wondered if they had known each other before he was chosen out of the academy to be a royal guard. My throat tightened at the thought, crying out silently to Eyeh for mercy, but with little hope. Eyeh was always silent to my cries, and Erebus was not known for His mercy.
The courtier finished recounting the sins of the boy. I hardly heard him as I stared at the boy’s bowed head. Something about trying to escape the academy. Another one meant to be sent to the mines to work himself to death, no doubt. He did not say a word. I did not know if he had the strength to, even if he wanted to. The courtier bowed deeply, splaying out his open palm before him as he uttered, “I give this criminal over to my wise and powerful king, may he rule justly with the power of Erebus! Long live His Majesty!”
All the nobles raised their goblets, the scent of deep red wine filled the room, sweet and thick. The ruby stones encrusted on the golden cups shimmered in unison as the light streaming in from the windows caught them. They stretched their goblets out in front of them and their signet rings twinkled like starlight as they held their hands in between themselves and the king.
“Long may he reign!” We all shouted in unison, and I lifted my veil to sip it. The dark liquid sloshed in my cup, the fragrance only getting stronger as I lifted it to my face. The deep red was all I saw. This wine was reserved only for the court, even the dinner wines at our table could not compare. I dropped the goblet to the arm of my chair, the taste of it lingering on my tongue. It was bitter.
The king lounged atop his throne, the only unveiled figure in the court, swirling the wine in one hand, his head tilted to the other shoulder. The two guards stood on either side of him, a servant stood before him with a glass pitcher. It was full of the sloshing liquid, but even now before the first trial was complete, it was half gone. He would need to go quickly to the kitchen and refill it soon. The king’s chin was resting lazily on the heel of his palm, his eyes drooping of either boredom or alcohol, and I hoped desperately for the boy’s sake it was the latter. He looked up at the head guard standing next to him, “Bring her in.”
The guard nodded grimly at the pair of soldiers that stood just before the large wooden entryway, they stocked out, returning moments later with a woman, thrashing in their steady arms.
“Please, no! He’s just a boy!” She wept, her dull graying hair fell into her face. Her thin arms were no match for the guards, even if only one held her she could not contort her body enough to slip past him. The boy was still hunched over, and though he made no noise, his shoulders were no longer steadily rising up and down. I wondered if anyone else noticed how much more he was shaking.
The king’s lips tilted to the side, his chin left his hand as he leaned forward. There was such a coldness in his eyes, an excitement and anticipation that alluded to the depths of an icy tundra instead of a soul. He could hardly contain himself, his features twisted into a prideful smile, his teeth baring like a wild animal. He raised his hand, “Commence.”
A looming Executioner of the order of Erebus at the corner of the room stepped forward, each heavy footfall making an echo on the marble floor. Shadows writhed and gripped his arms and legs like cobras constricting their prey. His long hooded cloak revealed only the bottom half of his face, unchanging as he raised his arm and pulled back the sleeve, revealing the Mark given to him by the academy, forever separating him from the soldiers and the apprentices. A round design of swirls showed the symbol of shadows and what lurks in the dark. He curled his fingers up, and the soldiers holding the mother stepped back against the wall. They held onto the mother as she fought harder, but their faces twisted as they held her thrashing body up to the man, almost as a sacrifice. The mother had no more hint of fear in her eyes, only rage and deep sorrow as she watched with too much familiarity what was about to unfold. I knew not how many she had watched or heard of those close to her falling into this demise, only that this was not the first for any peasant in Khataw. She leaned towards the man in the dark robes as everyone else leaned away, even the courtiers leaning back cautiously.
Icy black rose in a graceful arc, like smoke—but heavier, hungrier. Lésandr’s voice rang in my memory from mere hours before: Never look directly at the shadows. They can pull you in. Make you see things you’ll never forget. I forced myself to snap my gaze away, already feeling as though I had to work against myself to do so. Heart pounding, I wondered how close I had been.
I decided to squint my eyes, open barely enough to see blurry shadows where people should have been. The sound of the boy’s voice twisted in horror, mangled and no longer human as visions of fears and emotions of terror filled his mind and the shadows consumed him. His terror cut through the silence, but it was the deep, sorrowful sob from his mother that accompanied the shrill fear and cemented that moment like a chisel in stone. I didn’t need to see to have the sound of the boy’s voice ingrained forever within me. An involuntary sob escaped my lips, followed by a thrill of fear as my mother once again gripped my hand. I was lucky it could not compare to the immense sound that came from the once silent, trembling boy. I would not have thought him capable of this volume, but it tore out of him like a compulsion, breaking through in the only sound that could come close to communicating the depth of his emotions in what he saw. Even the guards could not contain the mother’s body from breaking through their grasp for much longer. They dragged her out of the room before more damage could be done. I never learned what happened to her.
The king threw his head back, his features twisting from neutral boredom to amusement as he laughed. The sound cut through the screams, each one like sharp, stabbing ice. It cut me to my bones and made my stomach turn. I could not open my mouth for fear I would gag audibly.
The nobles around, after hearing the first sound, erupted in a fit of hysteria, a pack of wild hyenas surrounding their kill, toying with it as a stalking cat with its prey. I looked around, the faces and people around me blurring into meaningless shapes and colors, the sound began to fade in my ears. I began to hear a soft buzzing, as if an insect had found its way into my skull.
My mother’s hand gripped mine, the pain of her nails digging into my flesh shocked me out of my stupor, the blurring shapes became people once again, the laughter doubled in intensity. I inhaled a sharp breath, flinching as I tugged on my hand, but she held it too tight for me to move. After she no longer felt resistance, she quickly returned her hand to her lap, her message clear.
I did not chance looking up at her. All I wished to do was empty the contents of my stomach as I ran far, far away from this place. Everything was cold—my dress clung to my skin with sweat, and still I shook. I had known what would happen. I knew what was coming. I’d heard the stories. Now I’d seen one.
So I laughed. I laughed until my body shook, until the sounds of my lungs filled the room and joined the cacophony of shrieking delight. I laughed until it felt as though my head would explode. I laughed.
