Page 10 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

Across the yard, Cam swung up onto his own horse, and for half a heartbeat our eyes met. The argument still sat unfinished between us, but his look said one thing clearly: watch your back, Wain.

What would come, would come. I just wanted to survive long enough to spare my people from suffering.

Chapter 4

Lunette

I woke after a long nap to a pair of enormous, slitted green eyes glaring inches from my face. I groaned, head throbbing painfully. “Ughh, Muffin. You can feed yourself! Go murder a rat or something, you terror!”

The little veska’s claws scrambled across my chest, seeking purchase on the cloth of my dress as I half-rose. My vision blurred, and I instantly regretted the quick movement.

I rubbed my aching temples. Maybe it was time I started demanding more for draining myself so no one else would have to suffer. I’d forgotten to eat this morning after performing an emergency healing before the sun rose, so this afternoon’s case of magical exhaustion felt more like a hangover.

Slow and steady then.

I stood but immediately had to brace myself on the nearest chair. But instead of grabbing wood, my hand landed on the apron I’d worn to cover my clothes. It was still covered in blood. Half-dried flakes came off with my hand.

Gross.

To my incredulous delight, Muffin hadn’t chewed through anything while I was passed out. Instead, he was perched on the headboard, his tufted ears twitching as he tracked a fly. His elongated, beige, fur-covered body was a coiled spring as he waited to pounce on the intruder.

Built like a sausage, bent on violence.

I washed my hands and body quickly then changed into my most worn-out linen dress, glad for its familiar softness as I slipped it on over tired muscles. It had holes all over the front and shoulders from Muffin practicing his climbing when he was still a kit, but this afternoon would leave me filthy with so much to do in my little garden. Plus, my only visitors would be those too distraught to notice my appearance—not that anyone cared what I looked like anyway.

My cabin was tiny. Three people had lived here once then two for a time. Now, only I and the moody veska I’d adopted called these four walls home. I crossed the small space between my bed and food preparation table, limping from stiff muscles the whole way. Muffin followed on four stubby legs, long furry body snaking around furniture and up the side of the cabinet to demand treats with a high-pitched growl.

With a crack of the seal, I opened one of the containers I stored his food in and pointed a piece at him. “If you weren’t adorable. I’d let the tanner make you into something useful like a neck warmer.” I didn’t mean it, of course, but he was my mirror in so many ways—a loner who turned grumpy when hungry.

He blinked once, utterly unimpressed by my threat. Unfortunately he wasn’t the only creature in Selmont who knew I was harmless, but he was the only one I didn’t mind exploiting it. The jerky would keep his mouth busy long enough for me to make something to settle my mutinous stomach.

When I creaked open the wooden shutters covering the windows, the sun was already lowering in the sky. I’d slept the entire morning away. Some cheese, a thick slice of bread, and a few gulps of apple juice were all I made time for. I had to harvest a few pumpkins and root vegetables then see if I would be lucky enough to find mushrooms on my walk through the forest later.

The fading sky through the window was a muted pewter, heavy with the scent of the changing weather. A storm would be here in two nights—a trial for my aged roof. I’d have to get a few buckets ready to catch the leaks.

As I gathered the materials, I fumed. I desperately needed new shingles, and the villagers were supposed to pay me for tending to the wards and healing them. Keeping me fed was no longer enough. Soon, I’d tell the men plainly: help me with my roof or the wards wouldn’t get charged. They could decide if they valued their safety more than their scorn of me.

The thought brought a bitter spark of satisfaction that only lasted until I opened the door. I found the usual offerings left on my porch: a generous basket of oats, some thread, and parchment-wrapped jerky. I could name the worth of every item they gave me by weight and season, but none of that measured up against what they refused to give me. One look. One thank you. One person saying my name like it belonged to a woman and not a tool.

I took their goods anyway, because hunger didn’t care about my dignity.

I stooped and gathered the basket against my hip, hauling it inside. I told myself it was enough. I didn’t need their gratitude, their trust, or their company. I told myself that the barter of silence suited me.

I told myself these lies often enough that they almost sounded true.

“Lunette!”

A boy’s sharp cry rang down the lane leading to my forest-wrapped cabin. All my senses snapped awake at the sound.

I turned just as Louie, the potter’s son, hurtled into my yard, trousers muddied, cheeks bright with breathless exertion and the streak of urgency seemingly common to all eight-year-olds. His dark hair was sticking to his forehead as he skidded to a stop, shoulders heaving.

“What is it, Louie?” I asked, heart rate picking up.

Before he uttered a word, his small hand was already pulling me toward the lane. I followed, pushing the last of the offerings inside and closing the door.

“Sis dropped a pot! Has a nasty gash on her face, and her arm won’t quit bleeding. Mama’s panicked. Says that unless it’s fixed, her prospects for a good marriage are doomed. Had to get you!”

An open artery apparently ranked lower than a hypothetical husband. People’s priorities were a marvel. I wanted to scream at the state of the world, but it was pointless. My voice would change nothing when no one wanted to hear it.