Page 1 of Stitches
Chapter 1
Ashmedai
Thesoundofanail striking the metal plate of Ashmedai’s candle clock alerted him that it was morning. He closed his book, careful as always with his sharp clawlike nails around the delicate pages. He had been reading by the light of the bright white crystal in his study. Candles were far too dim and better used to tell time than as light sources, especially in a kingdom where the sky was always dark.
Every morning was the same for Ashmedai, ruler of the Shadow Lands—a lonely rousing from a familiar book and a solitary walk through an empty castle. Once, a thousand years ago, the Amethyst palace would have been filled with attendants, even when the only member of the royal bloodline was a prince not yet married to call himself king.
Ashmedai was not that prince, but even without a consort, they still called him king.
He had read everything within the shelves of the large black bookcase beside his chair by the window. They were his favorite tales, though he had also read every book on every other shelf in the castle countless times. Even after centuries, well-written stories never grew stale.
Ashmedai rose and crossed to the candle clock. The metal mount holding it to the wall was almost reflective enough to be a mirror, marking down the hours as each inch of wax melted away. Within its surface, Ashmedai could only faintly make out his white skin, long black hair, and pointed ears. The image was distorted. Fitting, since he preferred to not see himself except when dressing to look presentable.
He ran his tongue across his sharp teeth while staring at his indistinct eyes glowing within the metal—white-on-black. This was the largest candle clock in the castle, meant to monitor an entire day and night. Ashmedai placed a nail at the base each morning, and now, he plucked it from the plate, blew the candle out, and swept with his hand from the base upward to rebuild the candle anew, using its own discarded wax collected beneath the plate in a basin.
Like before, Ashmedai secured the nail into the lowest portion of the wax. Then he snapped his fingers for the wick to relight. He paused a while to watch the flickering flame. Leaving his study was always the hardest part of each morning, but eventually he had to.
The castle no longer looked as it once had. Polished stone and marble in brighter hues had all been turned black. The red and gold accents Ashmedai had added over the years only solidified the macabre atmosphere, though frankly, that was his preference while living alone.
“Prrp!” A chirp from his pet, Aurora, preceded her appearance as a reminder that he was not entirely alone, but the floating, translucent feline wasn’t quite enough to fill the void of lost companionship.
Ashmedai stroked the shimmer of her lustrous not-quite-fur regardless, pleased to have her with him and enjoying the way she purred and rolled in midair at his attentions.
Many of Ashmedai’s subjects had volunteered to retain positions in the palace to help with upkeep, but their labor was better served farming, hunting, preserving the city, or pursuing their own passions. Besides, their offers were from the belief that they owed him, when intruth, Ashmedai’s solitude was the punishment he had bestowed upon himself for failing them.
For failinghim.
A toll of the bell that someone was outside was not uncommon each morning, usually marking the arrival of the same citizen—Ashmedai’s advisor Dreya. His customary walk was almost always a precursor to a meeting with her as the start to his day. Some days she was his only interaction.
He supposed he hadn’t always secluded himself. Once, in the beginning, people other than Dreya frequented these halls quite often, and Ashmedai would venture out to visit friends, especially his dearest friend, the alchemist, Braxton. But as the years passed, Ashmedai had shuttered himself away more and more, rarely admitting guests and only leaving the castle when he had responsibilities to attend to.
He loved his people, whether those from the beginning of their endless curse or those newly born into it. Ashmedai’s penance was to rule them, and to ensure they never learned the truth of what had caused humans, elves, and dwarves alike to become incomprehensible monsters, turning what once had been Amethyst into the Dark Kingdom.
Forever.
“Good morning, Dreya,” Ashmedai greeted as he opened the doors.
“Good morning, Ash!” She breezed past him, full of energy and on a new mission each day. “Ready to work?”
Dreya was a mayor of sorts, a representative of the people in charge of morale and day-to-day management. She was also the youngest of Ashmedai’s advisors, as she had only been born thirty years prior, not an original inhabitant when the curse struck.
Her parents resembled a dryad and a satyr, and she was a perfect mix of both. She had bark and moss along her arms and legs, with a furred lower half from her knees up. Her ears were long and drooping like asatyr’s, but she had leaves for hair that changed from green to red in autumn and were nearly black now in winter, with two medium-sized horns protruding from the top of her head.
She also wore a miniature top hat, which rested somewhat lopsided in front of her horns. As someone who had never been outside the Shadow Lands, Dreya was fascinated with what the rest of the world was like. Hats had gone out of fashion here centuries ago, since most of the citizens couldn’t properly wear one anymore, but although that was also true for Dreya, she didn’t let it stop her.
Covering her horns with a larger hat, she’d told Ashmedai once, would look ridiculous.
“But first!” Dreya turned about as Ashmedai shut the doors. She clicked her tongue to capture Aurora’s attention and conjured a small squishy red ball between her thumb and pointer finger.
Dreya’s innate magic to conjure something out of nothing—especially something solid, even if only nonliving, nonmagical items—was invaluable but could only be exploited so much. Everything she conjured had an equal cost of energy, but she always spared a little each day for Aurora.
“Who’s a good kitty?” she cooed and tossed the ball across the foyer, where it rolled into an adjoining room, and Aurora took off through the air after it.
Dreya paused, craning her ears as she waited, and Ashmedai waited patiently with her. Every day, Dreya hoped Aurora would bring the ball back, playing a true game of fetch. Ashmedai was certain he’d open a closet someday and become buried in balls Aurora had been hoarding over the years.
“Anyway—” Dreya shrugged, disappointed but undaunted that once again Aurora hadn’t returned. “—shall we discuss the hunt? Or start right on Festival Day?” She conjured a thin slab of wood, a piece of parchment, and a quill. “Only a few weeks to go!”
Mention of the yearly celebration almost made Ashmedai wince, but he managed to suppress it. He knew it was better that his people looked back with fondness on the day of the curse, but their good nature to make the most of an unfixable situation didn’t change the tragedy of it.
