Excerpt: Evening Sky

Preface
The Servant and the Shadow

The servant held onto the keys tightly, keeping them from making any sound. It was late, and while he didn't think any of the nobles would hear him, there were still servants awake, and if a superior caught him...
He was just a servant at the bottom of the heirarchy, the lowest creature in the entire castle. He was a dish wahser, a floor scrubber, nothing more than that. What did he think he was doing? What kin of crazy idea was this?
He knew, though. He remembered what had happened the last time he'd been down in the passages, when he'd been there by orders, not by choice.
Every sound made him jump, even his own footsteps, or his boots scuffing against the stone floor. He was too nervous, too alert, too acutely aware of everything around him. In the darkness, his mind played tricks on him, making her edgier by the second.
He pressed himself against the wall, relieved that at least he wasn't obvious agains the stones. That was the purpose of the dirty gray of their clothes: servants were meant to be perfectly invisible. To the nobles, he didn't exist— not, at least, until he did something wrong. Even if someone were to walk down the hall now, they would have to be looking for him to notice him, blending in with the wall behind him, with the shadows further hiding him.
A glance in both directions showed that the coast was clear. An inch at a time he crept along the edge of the hall, pausing behind the columns to listen for any sound other that his breath and his hammering heart.
He glanced down at the rings of keys. Not only should he not be anywhere near here, but he shouldn't even have the keys. A key- keeper was far, far above him on the scale of worth, and if the one he'd stolen the keys from found out they were missing, there would be no telling how awful his punishment might be.
Not to mention he was more than a little unsure which key would open the door. He knew it was large and made of shadow silver, but there were more than one large shadow silver keys on the ring, and it could be any of them. He wouldn't know until he tried.
He touched his shoulders and brushed the tips of his fingers across his eyes as he passed between the two statues guarding the door. Even he could recognize the figures: twin Priestesses, one with her arms folded in honor of Sara All- Seeing, the other with her fingers laced, holding a chain on which hung the symbol of Cythera.
Slowly, carefully, he looked at each key in turn, examining the lock to see which ones would fit. After a moment, he selected a probably one and slid it into the lock. It felt like it fit, but when he turned it, nothing happened. “Come on,” he hissed, and jiggled it, so the other keys clattered and clinked against each other.
Pulse racing, he pulled the key out. He didn't have much time. There were still servants awake, servants who were on duty and not sneaking around where they didn't belong. He flipped almost feverishly through the other keys, trying to find another one that might match.
He heard a sound, and the keys slipped from his trembling fingers. He hissed a curse and snatched them up again.
“Who's there?”
His eyes widened and he shrank back into the shadows behind one of the Pristesses. He was small and un- noticeable. If he didn't move...
He couldn't see the guard, but he saw the faint, dim light around the edge of the statue opposite. Slow, heavy footsteps came towards him and he could hardly breathe for fear of discovery. The guard stopped, not two strides from where he was standing, and looked around, holding a sphere of light over his head with one hand.
Cythera, please don't let him see me, he thought wildly. He faded out as much as he dared, almost to a wisp of smoke, but not quite.
“Show yourself!” The guard searched the shadows, but his eyes skimmed over the servant. He took a few steps down the hallway, looking around, and then a few steps in the other direction. “I know there's someone here...”
He looked around for a moment longer, his dark eyes narrowed to see into the darkness. Then, incredibly, he turned and walked away, back where he'd come from, leaving the servant behind, both relieved and even more tense than before.
Quickly, he looked through the keys. Was that— no, that was the one he'd already tried. Where could it be? He had to have it!
He found another one that looked promising and jammed it into the lock. His hand twisted and he heard the click of the blot sliding back.
Cautiously, he opened the door a crack. It moaned in protest and he flinched, slipping inside and closing the door behind him. Its hinges squealed, and he locked it tightly, then waited for a moment, listening for the guard, but he heard nothing.
After a pause he straightened. The torches were unlit, but it didn't matter. He might be the lowliest of all servants, but he wasn't so powerless that he couldn't even summon light. “Lumena,” he whispered, and a glowing globe of silver-blue flared to life at the tips of his fingers. He raised his hand and slowly began to walk down the stairs, the tips of the fingers on his free hand trailing on the wall.
As he descended it got colder, and he began to shiver. By the time he reached the bottom, every breath formed mist in front of his face, and he felt frost on the walls before it melted under his touch. The last time he'd been down here, he'd been carrying a torch, which had at least kept his hands and face warm. He'd been at the head of one of the columns in the procession.
The catacombs below the castle were twisting and labrynthine, with more paths and chambers than anyone could explore in a lifetime, but he remembered the way to the chamber where he'd seen the Shadow. Every step of the way was clear in his mind. It wasn't the sort of thing that was easily forgotten, after all.
The floor sloped gradually down, even now, as he made his way towards the grandest of all the chambers hidden in the catacombs. He'd been down here only once before, but he'd heard stories of the noble chambers, with their fine carvings, and nothing he'd ever been told could have possibly compared to the Royal Chamber.
He touched his shoulders and his eyes again as he stepped between the intricately carved columns supporting the arched doorway. His light went out in a heartbeat. Taper candles flared to life as he passed them, hundreds of tiny flames ranging from amethyst to the palest blue. They cast eerie, flickering shadows of the life-sized carvings. To his left were the Queens of years past, going back generations; each stood across from the King of her time.
The servant didn't like to think of himself as overly superstitious, but after he'd seen the Shadow here, it was hard not to imagine things might not be entirely what they seemed, down here, miles below the castle. He kept his head down and rested the first two fingers of each hand against his temples, a sign against evil he'd gotten from an older serving woman. She'd been killed three years ago when she'd been unable to work anymore.
He crossed the chamber a step at a time, never daring to lift his head. When he reached the dais, he stopped and looked up. Slowly, he mounted the first stair, and then the second.
The last time he'd stood up here, Queen Twila had been lying on the marble plinth. He remembered it all too clearly: her face colorless, her lips blue, her black curls lank and tangled around her face. Her gray eyes had stared lifelessly at the arching ceiling; her dress was nothing more than a crumpled white gown, and the only dignity she'd been given were the white starflowers clutched in her fingers.
He could still see the fire reflected in her glassy eyes as he'd lowered the torch to the nest of silk within the black wood coffin.
“So,” said a soft, mocking voice from the darkness beyond the tapers. “You came back after all.”
The servant turned, raising his hands to his face, and took a step back as he saw the Shadow. “You doubted me.”
“I don't deny it. I thought you were too cowardly to show your face.”
He almost hadn't; it had been a struggle to get up his nerve and come. “I'm a servant. I was busy.” It was only half of the truth, but it was close enough.
“So defensive,” the Shadow taunted. He took a few steps forward, so the bluish light almost fell at his feet, but not quite. “I don't intend to punish you.”
“That's good to know,” the servant mumbled, looking away. Ashamed as he was to admit it, the Shadow frightened him, and had since they'd met weeks ago at the Queen's funeral.
“Clearly the fever didn't kill you,” the Shadow said. “I take it you've considered my offer?”
That was true, although the servant wasn't eintrely sure he had actually come to any kind of decision. “Yes,” he said. And even though he was still uncertain, that was his answer to two questions— both the one the Shadow had asked, and the one unspoken behind it.
“You'll do it?”
He nodded. Whatever doubts he might have, he was sure of that answer. He always had been, for that matter.
“I'll do it,” he confirmed. “Only--”
“What? You have some other condition?”
“I won't have to do anything really nasty, will I? Like killing someone?”
“Of course not.” The Shadow came into the light. “I wouldn't make you do a thing like that.”
“Swear it.”
“Upon my blood, no one will be hurt if I can avoid it.” The Shadow spread his hands. “That's all I can promise.”
“It's good enough,” the servant said.
“So, you're in,” the Shadow breathed.
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, hoping he wouldn't regret this decision and knowing he'd made his choice. “I'm in.”
The Shadow held out one hand. “Give me your word.”
“I swear,” said the servant. “I swear before the past Kings and Queens of Lumenatra and the eyes of Sara the All- Seeing One, I will help you however I can, in order to help my own people.”
The Shadow nodded slowly, raising his head for the first time and fixing the servant in a gaze as red as blood. The servant shivered, but he didn't look away. Pushing away all thoughts of doubt, uncertainty, and reluctance, he reached out, and the Shadow's fingers closed around his hand.
Chapter One
Chapter Name

It was an honor to come to the Festival, and Cailen knew it. Only a handful of people were able to go every year; the rest were needed in the village to work, tending the fields and caring for the animals. He was proud to have been chosen, but it didn't stop him from being a little nervous. He had never liked crowds, and the thought of all the people who would be swarming within the walls of Merinesse made his stomach twist with dread.
Still he managed to keep a smile on his face and didn't let anyone in their little band see he was worried. If anyone realized just how scared he was, next year it might by Tylia chosen instead of him, and he certainly didn't want that.
“How much farther is it?” he asked the party in general.
“From here, about two leagues,” replied LEADER1. “It shouldn't take us two marks yet.” He looked at the sun and nodded. “You excited?”
“Yes,” Cailen said, mostly honestly. He was looking forward to it. He just wasn't sure how well he could handle such a mass of people. Now, surrounded by the energetic cheer of the group, he was no less happy than any of them. When they reached the city, well, then he didn't know.
“You checked that gift?”
“As if I would let anything happen to it,” Cailen said, grinning. He patted the head of the old pack mule carrying most of the load, and she snorted. He suspected she was part of the reason he'd been chosen. Last year had been a good one, and a good harvest in fall meant a bigger tribute the next summer. A good work horse couldn't be spared for the Festival, and the old jenny was stubborn, but he could get her to listen.
WOODLYN1 laughed. “That's our Cailen.”
“That is indeed,” agreed LEADER1, laughing himself.
“Is this your first year?” asked one of the other villagers. Cailen thought his name might be VILLAGE21, but he couldn't remember for sure. He looked a lot like the youngest from VILLAGE3.
Cailen nodded. “Last year I wasn't old enough.”
“I was, but I wasn't picked,” the boy said. “Can't say I expected to be going this year, either, to be honest. Won't complain about that, though!”
“That's the truth,” Cailen said, and they both laughed.
It was mid afternoon when they reached the city's gates. LEADER1 dismounted his horse, and the leaders of the other villages, LEADER1 and LEADER2, followed suit. A city guard greeted them, the sunlight gleaming off the gold trim on his emerald green uniform.
“LEADER1, hailing from Woodlyn,” said LEADER1, “with WOODLYN1 and Cailen, the Captain's son.”
Cailen waved. He resented being called the Captain's son, even though he knew his father's influence was the reason he had been chosen to make the trip, but if his smile was a little forced no one seemed to notice.
The guard smiled at him. “Will you be wearing sapphire yourself one day, son?” he asked.
“Maybe,” Cailen said, as casually as he could manage. He wasn't sure he wanted to be a soldier, but if he did follow in his father's footsteps, he would be far beyond bround to wear the blue uniform of the Castle Guard.
“You've got your tribute?”
LEADER1 glanced at Cailen, and he recited the gifts carried between the three of them. “Two loaves of bread, freshly made, one heavy, one raised; three wheels of cheese aged three, eight, and fifteen years, and five pounds of grain.
“Carry on,” said the guard. “And you, sir?”
LEADER1 led his horse past the guard and into the passage through the wall. WOODLYN1 followed, with Cailen on his heels.
Even from inside the pass, he could feel a shift in the energy. It was no less cheerful than that of their party, but it had been multiplied a hunderedfold. He had always sensed and, to a degree, reflected the emotions of everyone around him, even complete strangers. The overpowering excitement of the crowd within the city washed away any concern he might have had.
Now that he was relaxed, he could forget about everythign else and enjoy himself. After a brief discussion, WOODLYN1 agreed to take the pack mule to the inn with the tribute.
“It's your first time at the Festival,” he said. “I know I didn't want to be stuck leading around pack mules or helping with the tribute when I was your age. Go have some fun.”
As Cailen turned to dive into the crowd, LEADER1 shouted after him, “But don't forget the tribute is your responsibility!”
“I won't!” Cailen called back, and then slipped into the tide of people and vanished.
It was a strange feeling, to be submersed in a crowd and not have a care in the world. It wasn't just how confusing it was when everyone in a group was in a different mood; just the closeness of so many people tended to bother him. He wasn't much for small spaces, whether they were enclosed by walls of stone or of men and women.
But here, now, the heady, dizzy feeling of everyone else's complete elation was enough to make him forget about being claustrophobic. It was almost intoxicating, and he loved it. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't worry about anything today.
Once he got over the pleasant rush of it all, he looked around at the city, and was stunned again. Merinesse was colorful: banners flew from every window and balcony, fluttering in the light breeze; the canopies of the stalls in the market place were more brightly dyed than any cloth he'd ever seen at home; people wore clothes of every imaginable style and color, and even a few Cailen could never have dreamed of.
Then there was the noise— a sort of chaotic music made of the chatter of people in the street, the stall holders shouting about their wares, and laughter. There were flutes and singers and lyres, water spilling from the fountain in the middle of the square, and birds chirping on the roofs and among the cobblestones as they snatched pieces of dropped food.
He looked around to see where he could get something to eat, and caught a whiff of something cooking, amidst all the other smells. He tried to find it again, and lost it under rich ladies' perfumes and horses and chickens, and bread baking somewhere not far away, and spices he recognized by their scent, and others he couldn't identify. There were aromas he had no name for, rich and powerful, but he couldn't smell the trees, or the soil, or the grass.
He shook his head to clear it and went in search of whatever stew someone was cooking not far away.
When it changed, he didn't see it, but he felt it. It spread like a ripple in a stream, a subtle change in the energy of the crowd. Their chatter got quieter, and their happiness was no longer so intense. It seemed like everyone in the city knew there was something wrong, but Cailen couldn't see what it might be.
In the center of Merinesse, where the castle stood, a deep bell began to chime. It rang four times and then was silent, the sound of it reverberating through the streets.
Cailen felt a chill and didn't know why. He wasn't the only one, either; he could hear the whispers in the crowd around him. Did it get colder? But it's the summer solstice! It can't be cold!
No one knew quite what to make of any of it, Cailen included, but whether there was any cause or not, he was worried. The uncertainty spreading through the crowd made sure of that.
“Look at the clock tower!” someone called out loud. Cailen raised his head, but he could see nothing. The clock tower was hidden behind another building. He edged through the crowd, trying not to knock anyone over, and then he saw it.
From the tallest tower in the Castle, a wisp of what looked like cloud was rising. The whispers in the crowd were growing more frantic now. What is it? Is that smoke? What's happening? Is the tower burning? Is the Queen alright?
The coil of smoky cloud was unfurling now, spreading out over the Castle. The sky grew darker, as if night was suddenly coming much faster. Cailen watched, both fascinated and frightened. He didn't know what was happening, but he didn't like it.
It didn't help his sanity that the mood had reversed, and in the few minutes since it had begun, the crowd in Merinesse had gone from elation to fear. At least he was no longer so helpless, but now he was so scared he could barely think straight.
The smoke— no, it wasn't quite thick enough to be smoke; it was more like fog— had spread over the walls, turning the day to a creepy half-light. The whispers were quiet now, but instead there was a silence that was in some ways even worse. It felt like the whole city, perhaps even the entire country, was holding its breath, waiting for something without a name or a face.
Cailen edged through the crowd, trying not to push anyone. If nothing else, he had to know what was happening. People stared at him as he wove between the clustered men and women, but he didn't care. He was scared and curious and he wanted to be away from the crush of people, where he could barely move, could barely even breathe--
No, he told himself. Don't think about that, don't think about it, find something else to distract you...
It was true he could hardly move forwards. The crowd in general was going the other way, retreating from the Castle, and he was struggling against them like a fish swimming up stream, and he knew he couldn't fight the current forever. He would lose this battle if it went on for much longer.
Suddenly, the street opened up onto the square, and he saw something that chilled him far more than the breeze did.
The soldiers marching away from the Castle in rows of four were like nothing he'd seen before. Their heavy boots struck the ground like thunder at every step, and huge metal claws flashed in what remained of the daylight. Each had a sword at his side, four feet long at least and gleaming darkly, and a spear in his hand with a deadly-looking barbed tip.
But none of their weapons was nearly as frightening as the soldiers themselves. Cailen didn't know what they were, but it wasn't human. They weren't quite there, it seemed; their forms wavered and shifted subtly, even though by the ringing of their footsteps against the cobblestones they must be entirely substaintial. Their uniforms were like soot and charcoal, and their shapeless faces could have been covered in coal dust.
The only clear features they had at all were their teeth, huge and sharp and as bright as stars, lining a jagged gash of a mouth, and slanting eyes set into their misshapen skulls like scarlet coals.
The leader opened his horrible mouth and hissed, a blood- curdling sound that froze Cailen in place. He could barely think with the sound of it echoing in his ears, but some part of him was aware of the danger he was in, the need to run, now, as fast as he could.
The soldier-monster was looking directly at him.
Chapter Three
Chapter Name of Doom

It was impossible to sleep.
The thin layer of moldy straw in the corner was itchy and hardly more comfortable than the floor, and the moth- eaten blanket didn't offer any protection from the cold and damp down here. Out in the corridor, massive black rats scritched and chattered, and the weak light of the sputtering torch made the shadows flicker and dance.
Even if she could have ignored all that, she was afraid to close her eyes. If she closed her eyes, she would dream, and her dream would unfold to be just as bad as the reality.
She scrubbed at her eyes with the back of one filthy hand to wipe away tears. “Some job you're doing,” she whispered to herself. “It's been less than six months and you've let everything fall apart. It's all been destroyed now, and you did nothing.”
She stood up, wincing as her stiff joints protested, and stretched to get rid of the ache in her muscles.
In six months, her whole life had been torn to pieces. The fever, the Queen's death, her cousins, her father. The servant, Craynessethen. The shadows.
She crossed the tiny cell to stand at the door, looking out into the hallway. The construct guarding her glared back, red eyes burning into her until she tore herself away from its gaze.
How long had she been down here? There was no way to judge the passage of time. At least a day, she thought miserably. A day since she'd been dragged down here by the constructs. Maybe longer.
What was she going to do?
She leaned against the wall and then slid down it to sit curled on the floor, wishing she had a way out. She missed her mother. She missed Star. She missed her old life, back before everything changed, when the world was by no means perfect, but it had been much closer than she was now.
Footsteps on the stairs made her eyes narrow, and she scrambled back to sit against the wall, her hands curled tightly into fists at her sides.
The keys clattered in the lock and the door creaked open. “Hello, my dear ex- Majesty,” said that cool voice.
She stared at his feet, unable to look him in the eye. “What do you want, Craynessethen?” she asked softly.
“So you've finally decided to call me something other than traitor,” he noted. “A shame you still refuse to show proper respect, but it will come in time.”
“What do you want?” she repeated, her voice trembling.
He smirked at her. “Poor, scared little dolly. All alone, aren't you?” His scuffed boots thumped softly on the floor as he came closer. “Aren't you, Evie, dear?”
She bit her lip. “Just leave me alone,” she whispered.
“I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that.” He reached down and forced her head up. “Care to repeat it?”
She shook her head, closing her eyes so she didn't have to meet his gaze. “Nothing,” she whimpered.
“Of course not,” he agreed. “Now, get up.”
Slowly, she got to her feet.
He grabbed her arm, not even the least bit gentle. “Come with me, my lady Quiet Evening.”
She had no choice but to follow. “Where are we going?” she asked cautiously.
“To witness the beginning of a new age,” he replied, and laughed cruelly.
Two of his elite guard fell in behind them, their darksteel spears angled down just slightly, threatening her into compliance. Maybe it would have been better to anger one of them, and let them kill her, but she was too afraid to die.
When they stepped into the light, she was nearly blinded by it. The pale lilac of the sky looked beautiful after being down in the darkness for so long, but then she noticed it was stained with smoke.
“You want to see?” asked Craynessethen. “I'll show you.”
She flinched as he dragged her to the windows overlooking the City of Stars. The former beauty of the city was no more; only a shell remained, full of soot and filth and refuse.
“You think I've destroyed this city?” he breathed. “This is what it looks like, Eve. This has always been what it is underneath.”
She stared in horror, unable to believe it had been so transformed.
“Can you see them?” he asked quietly. “Look at them— what you would call peasants. My kind. They scrabble in the dirt and garbage to survive. To have a single one of your stara is like a priceless treasure for one of us.”
“What have you done?” she whispered.
“I've done nothing,” he said coldly. “Your kind were the ones who laid out the intricate illusion of beauty here.”
He pulled her away, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away until he marched her around the corner and the windows were out of sight.
It was a chilling sight to see the shadows lining the halls on each side. It seemed that the Castle could barely contain so many people— but she knew there were at least as many servants there. It was just that you didn’t see the servants. The shadows were hard to miss, even in the dim hallways.
She was aware of them following behind, as well, marching in the shadows several paces back. Their eyes on her gave her chills, but she tried to ignore them as Craynessethen dragged her through the castle, up stairs and down corridors, until they were standing on top of the castle’s great wall. It should have been summer, but the wind was bitterly cold.
“Where are you taking me?” she said, barely loudly enough to be heard.
“Farther than you could ever have dreamed you would go, ex- Majesty,” he sneered.
His long strides made her stumble as he stalked across the wall towards the clock tower. She thought that must be where she was going, but she had no idea why that might be.
“You must know something of your own history,” he said coolly. “Did your lessons ever teach you of another world? One from which people came, in your past?”
She shook her head, eyes wide.
“A shame,” he sighed. “But it matters not.” A thin smile crossed his face. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
They ascended the stairs, Eve nearly running to keep up, winding upwards and upwards through the tower until they stood at the top, far above the other turrets. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering in the icy air.
Craynessethen reached into his pocket and pulled out something that glittered even in the ditry light. “Recognize this, Evie?” he asked, holding up a fine silver chain, from which hung a shining diamond.
Her hands clenched, her nails digging into her arms. It was the Twilight Diamond: at once a symbol, a source, and a conduit for her power as the Lady Queen of Lumenatra. Then he had led his lonely revolt and somehow managed, single-handed, to take over her country.
“What are you planning to do with it?” she breathed.
He ignored her and crossed to the center of the tower, where the time crystal sparkled in its shell of darksteel and shadow silver. The clockwork turned endlessly overhead; little did it care that Lumenatra was under the tyranny of a new self-proclaimed King. She wondered if the Land between the Mists had ever before had a sovereign king.
It was then that she realized the constructs were surrounding them, clustering closer to the center. She looked around at them in alarm, but they stopped dead an arm's length away, watching their ruler.
“I do hope you're prepared, my lady,” Craynessethen hissed. “Say goodbye to Lumenatra.” She looked up, afraid, and his empty eyes met hers. “You won't be seeing your home again for a very long time.”
He held his hand out, letting the Diamond swing like a pendulum directly above the time crystal. The clock began to chime, and both brilliant stones flashed, so brightly Eve was blinded for a moment. The world outside of the tower whirled, and the clockwork seemed to turn faster, spinning around her. She closed her eyes.
The next thing she knew, the tower was little different, but everythign outside had changed. Gone were the pale sky and the City of Stars spreading out far below. Nothing below them was familiar at all, not the city nor the land beyond its walls. Even the sky was strange, far brighter a sky than she had ever seen, lit with a huge golden orb three times again as bright as Lumenatra's moon.
What was happening?
“Soldiers,” said Craynessethen. “Hold her.”
Two of the constructs grabbed her. She shrieked at the touch of their claws and struggled weakly against them, but there was no point. She was already a prisoner and there was no escape from the shadows. And they continued to appear, spilling down the stairs as more rose up from the ground in a swirl of smoke.
“Now,” said the former servant, “you shall witness my rise to power. There is nothing-- no Queen, no army, and certainly no Hero-- who can stand in my way this time.”
The Twilight Diamond turned smoky and a dark aura gathered around it. She caught her breath as tendrils of the swirling shadow mist stretched away, rising through the clockwork and spreading out around the tower to form a dusky curtain across the blinding sky.
“I am the king of two worlds,” snarled Craynessethen. “I reign supreme over all things light and dark!”
“You're a monster,” Eve whimpered, and his cold black eyes fell on her for just a moment. She thought she might have seen a spark of malice there, but before she could be sure she looked away, at the constructs.
“Take her to the dungeon, then return to me,” he said. “You know your instructions. You know who you are to hunt down. If you find them, you will bring them to me. If anyone else gets in your way... kill them.”
Chapter Three
Chapter Name

A premature twilight settled over Merinesse without warning. Marlyn looked up at the sky and her eyes widened as she saw how much darker the sky had become. She tugged at a strand of her hair that had fallen out of her cap, her mind struggling to come up with some logical explanation. She'd never heard of sorcery that could do that, and she'd studied sorcery and magic of all kinds. Certainy there was nothing nonmagical that could bring dusk over the city so cleanly and completely.
That left only one explanation: whatever the cause of the sudden darkness, it was completely and totally unfamiliar. That was the thing about it that frightened her, the not knowing, because there was no way she could handle a situation she didn't understand, and she had a strong sense that something was wrong about this.
Nor was she alone. All along the street, the crowd had gotten very quiet, but a murmur had risen among the people that whispered of evil and misfortune.
Marlyn didn't know what to do next. Her first thought was Kellynne— she would already have been frustrated and worried the whole afternoon, and whatever was going on would only make it all worse.
But Marlyn could take care of herself, and as much as she might hate to admit it, Kellynne knew it. No, she needed to find Talia.
She began to make her way southwards through the crowd, towards the Three Stars Inn. If anyone could tell her what to do now, it would be Talia. If only she could get there before anything else happened...
It seemed as if everyone in the street was fighting her now. A part of her wanted to rip off her cap and start shouting at them, but her instincts told her that if there was trouble, that would only make it worse.
After all, if whoever had caused the shadow had some sort of malicious intent, chances were they would be after the Queen.
“Excuse me,” she said as she shoved between two people. “Sorry! I'm sorry!”
Two sides of her were at war— the dutiful side which knew she had to be polite, and the temperamental side, which was getting more annoyed by the second. What were these people doing in her way? She was already ruler over all of Valensia, and her official coronation was in less than a week! A Queen's duty is to her people. Yet how dare they stand in her way?
Someone turned and knocked into her. She opened her mouth to snap at the man, but was distracted by her hat slipping as she stumbled. Her hair tumbled down on one side, her messy hair falling over her shoulder. The man stared at her, and he wasn't the only one. She must be quite a sight, a young lady dressed in a man's clothing, and with her hair down even her slightly boyish face didn't help, but the most important thing was that now she had no way to hide.
Almost relieved there was no time to shout at the man for his carelessness, she steadied herself and took off at a sprint, trying to shove her no- longer- perfect curls back under her cap as she ran.
She could barely stop, let alone hide, when she saw the creatures marching up the street. They were inky black and roughly humanoid in shape, although they were most definitely something other. They saw her, and the one at the lead shrieked, a sound that hissed through its teeth and cut straight through her.
She rocked on her heels, and before they could charge for her, if that was indeed what they meant to do, she whirled and headed back the way she'd come. The things looked deadly, but not clever, and she knew the streets of Merinesse as well as any city child.
She dove into a narrow alleyway, almost invisible in the dusky light, and hurried down it. At the end, she glanced both ways before dashing down the street. The Festival Market didn't cover this road, and it was nearly empty, save for a skinny beggar woman shuffling along with her head down. There was no time to hesitate, or ask where the shadows were. All Marlyn could do was run.
As quickly as she could, she darted into the crowd, across the wider EAST ROAD, and into the southeast quarter. It didn't matter any more whether her hair was down or not. There was nothing that mattered except getting to Talia's.
A hiss made her whirl and she was met with another troop of shadows. Her breath caught in her throat. The leader's crimson eyes flashed. She stumbled backwards and glanced over her shoulder to see more of them behind her. Panic rose in her chest, and fury at her own helplessness. Where's all your wit now? Where's your brilliant plan?
She raced down the street, the shadows on her heels. When they marched their steps were heavy, but when they ran they barely even touched the ground. Yet another thing that was so completely beyond her knowledge that she could do nothing against it.
In the back of her mind, she knew she was in even worse trouble than she wanted to admit. The shadows were too fast to allow her time to run to either side, and they were channeling her right into a dead end.
The wall loomed up far too quickly. She ran right at it and spun, meaning to move to the right, where there was another alley she could slip into, but that way was blocked already. The the left, yet another band of the things was approaching. She was trapped.
The shadows advanced slowly and she pressed herself against the wall, looking around at the mass of them. Their weapons glistened. The leader of the first bunch reached out his steely talons.
No sooner had the claws brushed her shoulder than the shadow leaped back, shrieking, blinded by the flash of light that had exploded outwards when it grabbed for her. Marlyn shoved straight through the monsters, thanking Cwynavair for the brief moment of protection. The shadows had all staggered away, and none of them could see her.
She was sure she'd made it, she was free, when a sudden pain seized her arm. She bit back a scream and twisted away, but she could barely move. Her head turned back, and she saw one of the soldiers with its claws in her arm, piercing deeply enough to bring blood flowing down the thing's arm.
Tears welled in her eyes and she smothered a sob of pain. She'd been caught. How could she have been caught?
“What do you want?” she demanded, trying again to pull away, with no further effect. “What do you want from me?”
Another shadow, this one with bands of red on its uniform, used its spear to knock away the one with its claws in her arm. She was in too much pain to think, let alone escape. Slowly, she sank to her knees. She was far from beaten, but if they thought she was defeated, perhaps she had some shadow— no pun intended-- of a chance.
The red- banded soldier snarled. “Orders,” it hissed, or that's what she thought it said.
“Whose orders?” she demanded bravely.
“King's.”
“What's he need me for?”
“Silence!” The shadow poked her with the butt of its spear. She glared up at it, and then moved, grabbing the spear's long shaft. The shadow's grip was too strong for her to break, but she clung to the spear, trying to wrestle it away.
Two more shadows, unbanded, came out of the swarm and snatched at her. She ducked to the side and grabbed a sword from one of them. Her hand was shaking, and the huge broadsword was even heavier than those in the armory.
Or maybe she'd just gotten weaker...
She backed against the wall again, this time by strategy. If her back was to the stone, they couldn't sneak up behing her. They watched with their ruby eyes. When one came close enough, she swung clumsily at it, but they all stepped backwards before she could get at them. She was too dizzy to fight, and the sword was so heavy she could hardly lift it.
She looked down at her arm, which was soaked in blood, as were her clothes.
Those claws hurt, she thought bemusedly. They're so sharp...
The sword slipped from her fingers and clanged loudly on the ground. She swayed, closing her eyes as the world spun around her. She'd lost too much blood. She could barely even stand. Slowly, she slid down the wall, unable to support her own weight any longer.
The shadows began moving in for the kill. She could do nothing to stop them now; she was entirely at their mercy. There wasn't enough strength left in her to so much as raise her hands in defense.
The leader reached for her with its talons, and that was the last thing she saw before she lost consciousness.