“As you always do. But I’ll be back before you know it.” Nefari lifts the latch to open the gate, but Patrix places his hand overtop hers. “Listen, I told Bastian about this, but I doubt he’ll tell you. The villagers told me Grundy was raided a day before we arrived here.”
Her horse, a sturdy cremello mare, whinnies inside the small square paddock, a greeting which goes unanswered with the new tidbit of information. Grundy is a smaller village than Chickasaw and about ten miles north of here. Nefari’s heart sinks with grief. “Were there any survivors?”
“No.” Patrix shakes his head and rubs the mare’s muzzle. “Those who weren’t taken were left for the Bone Criers.”
Nefari surveys the direction of Grundy. The snow has begun, and it’s too thick to see down the road leading to it. “Why is Salix traveling so far north? I mean, we all knew they’d eventually try the west, but why north?”
“I have a theory, but you’re not going to like it.”
“Oh?” Nefari asks. She gives in to her mare’s demands and produces a sugar cube from her pocket. She passes it to the horse.
Patrix puckers his lips. “I received word that someone from Salix’s court might be traveling to the Fades.”
Nefari blinks dumbfoundedly. Of course! If someone important from Salix had indeed crossed Widow’s Bay to travel to the Fades, they would have brought armed escorts of mass proportions. No one from Salix would risk passing so close to the centaur’s mountains without heavy protection, let alone endure the Fades where the crones make their home. It stands to reason they’d raid the villages for supplies and for slaves to profit from.
“Do you know who?”
“Rumor has it it’s the princess.”
CHAPTER THREE
Nefari dreams.
Within the Shadow Castle, her mother brushes Nefari’s hair in the princess’s chambers. Like it always is in their kingdom, it’s twilight outside her windows, but the lanterns full of the glowing Diabolus Beetles brighten the large space as well as the flames roaring in the fireplace.
The large canopy bed is dwarfed by the chamber’s size, but everything in Nefari’s room is soft, white, and clean, all gifts from the people when she was born.
While playing with her dolls in her lap, she peeks at her mother’s face in the mirror of her vanity. Her mother’s eyes sparkle like a million stars, filled with a love even a child can comprehend.
“Do I have to go to bed, Momma?” Nefari whines again. Nefari knows something isn’t right with her mother. Usually, Amala’s lady, Beau Timida, brushes her hair before Amala tucks her in for the evening. Tonight is different.
“Nefari . . .” Amala scolds. Nefari bristles at it. She doesn’t like to be scolded. “I already gave you my answer. Do not ask me again.”
Nefari tugs gently on the doll’s yarn hair. Gen Riversdale had sewn and gifted them to her for her last birthday. Her son, Vale had teased her about them, and she teased him back when he insisted on playing with them, too. She especially loved when they snuck into the hidden tunnels of the castle and played dolls in the room of treasures and old dusty books. The treasure would wink at her, a reflection of the lanterns they took with them.
The last time they were down there, Vale’s father had caught them. Both were put on stable mucking duties for a week, for both knew it was forbidden to travel down there without the King or Queen. He filled them with stories of monsters who roamed in dark places, and ever since then, Nefari couldn’t stand the darkness of her own room at night.
“Why can’t I stay up a little later? Tomorrow’s my birthday. I think I deserve it.”
Through the reflection in Nefari’s mirror, she spies her mother’s grin. “You deserve it?” her mother repeats. There’s a teasing tone to it, and Nefari perks up hopefully.
“Yes.”
Amala playfully pinches Nefari’s nose. “In this realm, no one deserves anything. Nothing is fair. Nothing is just. It is never wise to fancy yourself deserving.”
“Why?” Nefari asks, but she already knows the answer.
Her mother bends and moves a stray lock of hair out of Nefari’s vision. She whispers, “Because, silly girl. All the good we receive in this life is a blessing, and all the bad is a lesson. But no one – you, me, not even your father – deserves what we have, for that is presuming we are better than others.”
The words touch something deep inside Nefari, and even at seven years old, she understands the weight on her mother’s shoulders. She knows that someday, the weight will be hers to bear. Her’s and Vale’s.
Beau shifts her stance in the corner of Nefari’s room. The princess glances at her and returns the grin Beau wears.
The smile fades from Nefari’s lips as her young mind peeks at the shadows moving inside her room. She’s never once told her mother, but the shadows . . . they call to her, bend toward her, wait for her. What they wait for, she doesn’t know. Her mother never seems to notice them. “And what about when we are afraid?”
“Are you afraid?” Nefari nods. “What are you scared of?”’
Everything, Nefari wants to say. But chiefly, the things her mother won’t discuss in front of her. Nefari hears what she says anyway. She always listens closely, even if she pretends otherwise. “That the scary monster will come and get me, and I’ll never get to see you again.”
The brush in Amala’s hand clinks against the vanity surface as she sets it down. Concern is etched in her eyes, but she cups both hands to Nefari’s cheeks. Her mother’s frame is blurry with the oncoming tears, and she wonders briefly if her mother thinks she was talking about the wraith that had made it into their kingdom. “Do you know what I want you to do when you feel alone and afraid, Nefari?”
She shakes her head.
Amala kisses her forehead. Her lips are warm against Nefari’s skin. “I want you to be brave.”
Brave? How can Nefari be brave? “I’m not brave. I’m not like you or daddy, momma. I’m not brave.”
The queen clucks her tongue. “I have something for you then.” She stands from her crouch and strides to Beau. Something is passed between them, but Nefari can’t see from this angle. Amala turns back to her daughter, hiding whatever is in her hand behind her back.
Nefari sits up straighter, and the fear that had threatened to cripple her banishes like fog in the morning sun. The dolls drop to the floor with this new position, and Nefari barely notices her toy left forgotten. “What is it, Momma?”
“An early birthday present.” Amala kneels in front of Nefari’s knobby knees and she shows her the gift. It’s a small square box. Nefari has seen boxes like these carried by shadow women who leave the kingdom’s jeweler.
Her heart leaps with joy. She plucks it gingerly from her mother’s hand and removes the lid. Inside is a black diamond. It winks at her when it reflects the fire’s light. “It’s beautiful!” Nefari gasps.
“Just like you,” her mother says while touching the diamond. “It was mine, my mother’s, and her mother’s before that.”
Nefari picks up the diamond. She hadn’t realized it was a ring, for the band had been buried in the box’s cushions.