Page 91 of Where Shadows Bloom
“I don’t know my story anymore,” I murmured. “A few days ago, I thought my mother had one name, thatIhad the de Bouchillon name. Now... my name is the least of what’s changed...” My voice petered out.
The Shadow King leaned forward, as if prompting me.
“My mother vanished,” I began, “and in my attempt to find her, I learned that she was keeping so many secrets from me. That she had been in love with the king. That she had... That the king was myfather. All I wanted was a family, for us to be together and to move past the lies and the secrets, but... my father is a wicked man.”
When I tried to sum up the whole of my life, it sounded so small, so pathetic, so tangled.
“I don’t really know who I am anymore,” I said.
My life wasthrough. My story had ended. And its ending had been full of lies. Daughter of Mirabelle, daughter of Marisol, daughter of the king, daughter of a monster. Lope’s friend, Lope’s beloved, then the girl who broke Lope’s heart.
Could growth or evenhopebe possible in a place like this?
Glancing up at the monster, my heart hammered quicker, and I balled my fists tight. The Shadow King was the ruler of this place. He’d not done anything to harm us, true, but even looking at him made my skin prickle. I needed to do what he asked. I needed to tell him a story.
“Once upon a time,” I said softly. The king of Shadows sat taller, the embers of his eyes twinkling like stars.
“There was a girl who was faithful to me ever since my childhood. She played with me. Laughed at my silly jokes. At night she fought to protect me from the monsters outside my walls. And sometimes, when she found a moment, she liked to write.” My throat grew tight. “Her name was Lope, a name she picked because it was a poet’s name. She composed beautiful poems, and sometimes she shared them with me. Little gifts of words. And one day I asked her to come away with me to a palace, a wondrous but dangerous place. She forsook everything and nearly gave her life for me. Still, I didn’t see it—I didn’t see that she loved me.”
With every word, it was growing harder to breathe. Harder to see, with the tears fogging my vision.
“How does the story end?” he asked, his voice light with wonder.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Thinking about her, about this girl I loved so, was enough to make me ache. “I broke her heart. And then I was sent here. And she, she’s still up there. Which is better, I suppose. But I miss her so. I wish I could apologize to her. I wish she could know that I really do love her.”
I shook my head, wishing that were enough to erase my thoughts. They were too painful. “It’s not a very good story, I suppose, if it has no ending.”
“Tell me another?”
It was a request, not an order, hopeful and gentle. The kindness in his voice made me lift my gaze, only to recoil again. He still lookedfearsome. Like a man’s shadow come to life, but bent at the wrong angles and with piercing white pinpricks for eyes. Something about him, something unnamable, made me unable to look.
“Is it all right if it’s a pretend story?” I asked him. “It hurts to talk about my life. Now that it’s over.” If it was. If I was truly...dead.
“Any story,” he said.
I cleared my throat and closed my eyes. My life was filled with dozens of storybooks that I’d read aloud to Lope at night, cuddled under blankets when the nights grew cold. And of course, the ones I made up for us, to playact or just tosee her eyes widen with surprise at each new twist and turn.
I told him the story of the two girls who flew to a foreign land on a giant bird. Of the knight who rescued a princess with nothing but a rose. Of a castle made of snow and the heartbroken prince who lived inside. Story after story, and after a few, the Shadow King stopped taking notes on his scroll and simply sat, his hand against what could have been his cheek, his pinprick eyes ever on me.
After a seventh story, my voice was growing hoarse. I leaned back in the chair, daring myself to look him in his eyes. “All right,” I said. “Now I’d like to hearyourstory.”
He blinked and lifted his head, as if he’d been woken from a dream. “I have not been asked that before.” He bowed his head and wove his long fingers together. “No one has wantedmystory before.”
The sadness in his voice was startling. If he had been a human, I would have reached out and touched his hand. But I was too afraid to do so. Instead, I said, “I imagine the story of a god must be very interesting, sire.”
His eyes seemed to shine a little bit brighter.
And he told me his story.
“Long ago, before Earth was made, the gods were. I was the youngest of them. We were given roles to carry out in the creation of the world. One to give it light, one to grow the plants, one to carve out rivers and oceans, on and on.
“The other gods finished their tasks, creating the world,creating the animals, creating man, and, satisfied with their work, prepared to enter their Kingdom Above to stay and to rest.
“‘What can I make for this world?’ I asked them.
“The gods scowled and recoiled from me. They found me ugly and frightening. ‘You have no place in this world,’ they said, ‘so we will give you one of your own.’ And the gods gave me this world below. It was cold and dark and desolate, even more so than what you see today.
“Though it had been many years since I walked on the earth, I remembered bits of what the world looked like. I remembered the moon and the stars and the sea. Sometimes, on a very rare occasion, a mortal would rip open a door between worlds and speak to me. I relished these moments. Relished the sound of another voice and the chance to hear tales of the world above. I am a god, and so I do what all gods do: I create. I tried to create a world for myself out of the pieces I heard about the world above us, the world you came from. I created animals of my own, and I created my own being, the beings you call Shadows. They are my messengers, and when a door opens between worlds, they slip through and gather stories for me. When they return, they whisper the stories they’ve captured on the breaths of humans. It is the only way I can hear about the world above. In addition to the seven of you.”
