Chapter 19 Shade
Shade
Shards of sharp, jagged memories rattled around in my brain, tearing a bloody path through my thoughts.
My skull was attempting to split itself in half, I was sure of it. White hot agony sliced between my ears, burrowed behind my eyes, gouged beneath my nose.
I had to fight to stay upright. My knees threatened to give out.
Darkness swallowed the edges of my vision, almost obscuring it entirely. The sounds around me faded into a high-pitched ringing.
I braced myself on the trunk of a tree. The rough texture against my palm grounded me, gave me strength.
I breathed through the pain, dragging air in my nose, shoving it out my mouth.
Moonvale came back in bits and pieces.
First, the chirping of a bird somewhere in the distance, the rustle of branches flowing in a breeze.
Then the smell of crisp leaves, wet dirt, toasted vegetables somewhere far away.
And finally, my own feet, planted against dry, smashed grass.
My pulse thundered so hard I could feel it in my throat.
I took a moment to gather my bearings, running my hands through my hair and straightening my cloak.
And then I remembered what started this strange fit.
The painting.
Lady Darkness Herself.
The Original Shadow Wielder.
Who was that?
My mind went blank again. I had no fucking idea.
I shivered just thinking about it.
The crowd of idiots had thankfully drifted to the other end of square, leaving no witnesses for whatever the fuck had just happened to me.
When I was sure I wouldn’t stumble, that the light wouldn’t blind me, I lifted my head, allowing my eyes to drift.
My wife. Where had my wife gone?
She wasn’t where I’d last seen her—near the center of the clearing, clutching that cursed painting in front of her.
It took me a moment to spot her, and when I did, my shoulders dropped an inch.
She was with the group, of course, but she was toward the edge. She nervously laughed at something the green witch said, and then her eyes flitted around, as though unsure where to settle. Every few seconds she glanced toward the three dragons playing in a pile of discarded paints.
She was certainly searching for her husband, whether she realized it or not.
The corner of my mouth curved in a wry smile.
My smart, sneaky wife. Even if she denied me, she still sought me out.
My mouth dropped into a flat line again.
And there was something strange about her painting. Something powerful. Was the faun woman somehow a dark mage? A magic wielder? A prophet? How could I possibly have missed that?
Were there clues that I overlooked? I watched her so closely, so carefully…
Perhaps there was another explanation.
I would cherish her regardless, of course, but it would be rather inconvenient to clean up her sacrifices and murders all the time, if dark magics were part of her routine.
I supposed every relationship had its burdens.
With a quick pop of my knuckles, I drifted further into the shade of the trees to await the conclusion of the day’s trial.
I didn’t venture any closer to the commotion than absolutely necessary—those folk were exhausting.
I quietly watched Ginger as I waited.
She was so lovely, my wife. So graceful. Her hair was tied up elegantly, exposing her long neck and delicate collarbones. She moved like a leaf drifting upon the wind.
I swallowed, quelling my body’s reaction to her. The task was nearly impossible.
She was even more stunning awake than she was asleep.
Even more exquisite in the light of day than when she was home, alone, when she thought nobody was watching.
The fates had crafted her perfectly for me, placing her in my path just when I needed her most. Why wasn’t she ready for me, as I was for her?
She had accepted my courting gifts—did that mean her heart was softening?
A voice sounded next to me, startling me from my near trance.
“Enjoying the festivities?” an old woman asked. I glanced at her sidelong. She was short, extremely so, and long silver hair hung down the length of her back. Natural magic radiated from her in subtle waves. A witch, then.
I straightened. “Enough.”
She nodded tightly. “And why are you here?”
I looked at the woman again, more thoroughly this time. How dare she question my presence. “It is an open invitation, is it not?”
“To residents of Moonvale.” Her gaze was stern. Unyielding.
“And who is to say I’m not a new resident?”
“We both know you’re not from here. I’d wager you’re far, far from home.”
I hid my shock behind a stony mask. I would never admit that I had no memories of home. No memories of anything. I simply said, “Perhaps.”
“Be on your way, then. We don’t need the likes of you around here stirring up trouble.”
“The likes of me? How dare you—”
“Just leave us alone, Dark One. This town has been through enough. Trouble will find you. Be far away when it does.”
The crone drifted off without another word, and without a sound. I could hardly even feel her presence as she departed.
A cat meowed somewhere behind me. It sounded old. Scratchy.
Whispers of unease trailed over my shoulders.
I hadn’t even noticed the witch’s approach. And I always sensed the approach of others.
I knew one thing for certain—I would not be heeding her warning.
I had nowhere else to go.
My sole reason for existing was here.
And if Ginger was here, I would be too.