Page 26 of The Stygian Crown

Rutherford sputtered. “Well. I’ll have to ask him about that one at our next game of cards. You don’t have the look of his get. He always did have a weakness for the wenches, though. Hmph. His late wife is probably twitching in her grave.”

Kara gulped and took another sip of whiskey. Hopefully Calim’s leverage over the Earl was sturdy enough to secure his silence. “And your estate, Lord Rutherford? Where do you hail from?”

“I’ve a house in the city, but my ancestral seat is in the Black Hills. That’s where we make the whiskey.”

She raised her glass. “It’s divine.”

The Black Hills were Sanguine territory. He’d be a ripe target for an alliance, or even blackmail. Did the Sanguines have something over him? “Lord Kendrick and I were discussing the clans the other day. Do you have any trouble with the Sanguines at your estate?”

Aidan stiffened beside her, and Lady Sheridan snapped her fan open and began rapidly fanning herself.

“No, actually. They're perfectly civil. I'd be more concerned about that Stygian whispering in the princess's ear.”

“You mean Lord Melbourne?”

“Lord? Please. Another of Calim's shortsighted gestures. He's a degenerate. A dog in black leather. Why he’s welcome at court at all is beyond me. Mercenaries and royals shouldn’t mix. I wouldn't trust him on the hunt, in the dark of that cursed forest. Too many nobles go missing when that one’s around.”

“Now, now, Ruthy. Calm down. You know I hate talking politics over lunch.”

It had occurred to Kara that Logan may be the one hired to kill Ariana. Was that why he’d let her kiss him? But whose money would he be willing to accept for that kind of job? Not the Sanguine’s. Who else would want the princess dead? Kara stole several more apple slices off Aidan's plate. He smirked and began peeling another one.

Lady Sheridan took a long drag from her whiskey glass. “I’m surprised you learned Melbourne’s true identity so quickly, Celine. Was that the source of your altercation last night?”

“Something like that,” Kara murmured into her glass.

“Have you met him before?” Sheridan asked. Kara knew her sort. Like a dog with a bone or a small, squeaky animal. Determined to flog the question until they’d squeezed out every bit of juice. She’d have to give her something to get her to heel.

“No. My maid shared some of the kitchen gossip surrounding his arrival with me, that’s all. He, ah—he thought to monopolize my dance card last night. I took umbrage.”

“Good stuff always happens when I’m at the card tables,” Rutherford muttered. “Still, he’s a bad influence on Ariana. Can’t have her going the way of Calim. So eager to right the sins of his grandfather he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

Lady Sheridan swatted at Rutherford with her fan. Aidan asked him a question about the whiskey-making process, which set him off on a mind-numbingly detailed explanation.

Kara stared into the treeline. Even the birds avoided the royal forest, choosing to perch on the few trees scattered across the open field rather than land in that lush tangle of branches. All she’d managed to learn was that Rutherford hated Logan and wasn’t shy about his dislike for Calim’s politics, but it was a start.

By the time she finished her second glass of whiskey, Kara’s bladder caught up with her. She excused herself and walked into the forest, where the shadows pressed in on her, crowded and thick. She’d expected something groomed over and cleared out, with well-delineated paths, but it was much more primitive than that. The forest whispered under its breath. Unintelligible voices tickled her ear, just out of reach.

Kara walked farther into the forest for privacy, then leaned against a tree and pressed her forehead into the bark, letting its ragged edges abrade her skin. Light stretched through the trees in staccato bursts. It was a relief to be alone, to have a moment to be herself. Keeping up the appearance of Lady Grey was a welcome distraction from her issues with Logan, but the entire charade was wearing on her spirit. A reckoning between them was coming, and she wasn’t sure she could weather the storm.

Kara squatted in a nearby bush and relieved her bladder. A shadow moved at the edge of her vision as she pulled up her pants. She whirled around. No one was there.

She was jumping at shadows. She’d drunk too much whiskey too quickly, and it was clouding her senses.

Kara glanced down to buckle her belt.

Then her shadow moved, but Karadidn’t. Icy hands wrapped around her throat, squeezing tightly. She tried to tuck her chin, but it was too late. Who the fuck had managed to sneak up on her? Kara gripped the hands choking her, clawing at them with her fingernails, and pain shot across her hands. As if she’d been scratched…

She stepped to the side and swept her legs beneath her assailants’, bringing them both to the ground. Kara blinked as her attacker rolled away, not fully comprehending what she was seeing. A being made of shadow rose from a roll to its feet in a smooth, practiced motion. It was transparent, the forest murky but visible through its body. It had the curves and bust of a woman. Was it some forest spirit she’d stumbled upon? Why the hell was it so angry?

The shadow launched itself at Kara, eating up the ground between them with long strides. Kara barely scrambled to her feet in time, her reactions sluggish. She blocked the shadow’s punch and kicked it in the gut. White hot pain seared her abdomen. She stumbled backwards at the same time as the shadow creature. It felt like she’d been kicked by a horse.

Kara regained her footing and studied the creature closely as it circled her. The shadow woman was favoring her left side, where Kara’s own abdomen ached. Kara blocked the creature’s attacks, staying on the defensive and studying her attack patterns. It was the same way Kara fought, with quick, darting bursts and lithe dodges. When Kara glanced behind herself at where her shadow should be, her fears were confirmed. There was nothing there.

How was she supposed to fight her own shadow when every strike she scored hurt herself? Thank the goddess she hadn’t tried to stab it. She could hardly kill it. Was this a spell? Had something at the picnic been spiked? Rutherford had consumed the same things as everyone else.

Kara hesitated to call for help. There was no telling who from the hunting party or picnic might show up, and they’d have questions she couldn’t answer. But she had an idea. Magic separated her from her shadow, but magic tended to follow the path of least resistance.

Kara began leading her shadow deeper into the woods, where the tree canopy knit together and less and less sun broke through. It began to flicker at the edges, its legs slipping flat against the earth, then rebounding into its full form as it staggered towards her. The shadow was becoming difficult to see, but light still spilled in from the edges of the forest. Kara backed into a tree, then spun around it. The shadow leaked towards her still, growing large and thin. Fear pulsed in her chest. Darkness, she needed darkness.

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