Reign of Shadows (Reign of Shadows, #1)(10)

My bare feet moved across the cold stone as I approached her, waiting for her to bolt. I swept my gaze over her, inches from her now. Still, she gave no reaction. Unlike me. My breath grew shallow. I was reacting but she didn’t seem to notice.

I studied her. She was too clean and her attire far too fine. The gold thread woven into the bodice transfixed me. It was a long time since I had seen a female wearing so fine a dress. Most people wore threadbare garments, worn and patched.

Shaking my head, I looked at her face again, from the smooth and shining hair to her bottomless dark eyes. Now, in the lamplight, I could detect tiny flecks of amber in the deep brown depths that I hadn’t noticed outside.

Her lips parted slightly with unspoken words. I was close enough that I could count the smattering of freckles on her nose. They weren’t sun-kissed freckles. There was no chance for that. Not in this life.

She stared back at me, her stare fixing dead center on my chest. An alarm went off in my head, warning me that something wasn’t right. Something wasn’t as it should be.

“You . . .” My voice faded as I struggled with an idea that couldn’t be possible.

“What?” She lifted her chin, her expression mild, unaffected, her eyes now looking directly at me.

Through me.

My heart hammered in my ears as I slowly lifted a hand between us. Not touching, but simply putting it out there with all the stealth of a hunting predator. “You should have knocked.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I echoed like I was testing the word, tasting it. This close, her body radiated a warmth that settled into the pores of my exposed skin. “Are you really so bold you don’t . . .” My voice constricted into that strangled hoarseness again. I looked down at myself and then back up to her face again. Still no reaction on her part. She folded her hands in front of her, the fingers laced. She wasn’t this bold. No. She was something else.

I took her hand. She started at the sensation of my callused fingers on her softer skin. My pulse jumped and skittered at the base of my throat, but I ignored it, placing her chilled hand, palm flat, against my bare chest. Her fingers spread wide, each one a burning imprint.

She made a choked, mewling sound.

“Because”—my voice scratched out of me—“I’m naked.”

Fire scored her cheeks. It was the blush I expected when she first walked into the room.

Now she knew.

But she hadn’t known before.

She gasped, tugging her hand. I held it against me for a moment before letting go. She pulled away as though stung. I stepped toward her, this time waving a hand before her face.

“Stop that,” she snapped, sensing the air stirring in front of her. Only sensing though. Not seeing. She swatted at my hand, stopping when her back hit the door.

“You—” My voice broke off and I dropped my arm.

She shook her head fiercely. Her eyes gleamed, panic moving over her features. She reached for the door latch at her hip, ready to flee.

But it was too late. I knew. And I said it.

“You can’t see.”





SIX


Luna


THE EXACT MOMENT of the eclipse, as darkness descended on the land, I entered the world. No one was paying much attention to my arrival in that moment except, of course, my mother, and the servants attending her. Even my father didn’t know, already off fighting the mad crowds banging for entry at the gates, unaware that there was nothing he could do to stop the dark tide from rolling in.

But beyond that night, beyond my birth, the people ushering me into this world did not know that I lacked sight. There would have been no way for them to know then. Especially not with the distraction of thousands of dark dwellers breaking through the ground and swarming like ants over the land. Such a distraction made it easy to ignore the birth of a princess.

Perla, the wet nurse standing by at my birth, fled with me before I, too, was slaughtered. Sivo, one of my father’s royal guards, found us in a corridor. A mercenary in his earlier years, a warrior at heart, he reacted quickly, leading Perla from the castle. Together, they escaped through the melee of the capital and made it across the country to the secluded tower Sivo had discovered with my father all those years ago.

My father had turned the tower into his private retreat, stocking it with supplies, enjoying its isolation and that no one knew of its existence. According to Sivo, he didn’t believe in cursed woods in the same way that he had not believed in the legends of monsters living beneath the ground, waiting for darkness so that they could emerge. Those tales had been part of childhood. Adults knew better than to believe in such fantasies. My father would bring my mother to the tower occasionally to enjoy the solitude and life away from court. It was hard to fathom wanting solitude. I had more of it than I could stand.

I was almost two years old before Sivo and Perla realized my condition. I was already walking, running, and talking. I behaved as a normal toddler in the confines of our tower, if not too active for Perla’s tastes. She would laugh and say that I needed a leash—a fact that almost came to pass when she caught me scaling the wall tapestry in my bedchamber. I was almost to the domed ceiling. She was overwhelmed in those days. With my lack of caution, life was just as dangerous within the tower as it was out of it.

I behaved as though I possessed sight, recklessly barreling full speed ahead. They only discovered the truth because Perla asked me to pick out the blue ribbon for my hair one morning and I handed her the green. I didn’t understand blue. Upon further investigation, she realized I didn’t understand the difference between porridge and stew until I tasted them. I couldn’t understand because I couldn’t see.