Chapter 19: Chapter XIX

I wait until darkness falls. Then I dress in my normal clothes: white shirt, leather vest and pants, and my sturdy boots. Just as I always do, I cover the bottom half of my face with a strip of cloth, hoping to protect my identity should I be discovered. I arm myself to the teeth and make sure I have my trapping jar and the glass vial in the pouch attached to my belt. On the off chance that I have misjudged the prince's greatest fear, I'll probably have to force it out of him. And if I can't even manage that, I'll have to flee this castle.

Lighting a candle, I pray to the gods that I am right. I have to be right. Then I blow it out and watch the smoke rise. It looks silver in the moonlight.

I put on the Immaterial Ring and leave the duchess's room, striding through the halls with new confidence despite my intangibility. For the first time, I don't even flinch as I pass through the door. I'm ready to end this.

But when I see the prince, I hesitate. He's lying on his stomach, sound asleep despite it only being nine in the evening. An empty wine bottle, tipped on its side, lies on the ground beside his bed. One arm hangs off the edge of the mattress, as though he only just dropped the bottle. What truly shocks me, though, is the white bandages that are wrapped around his otherwise naked torso. They have beaten him again; his wounds the first night weren't enough to necessitate this many bandages.

He meant what he said, then. They will have to beat him until he breaks. I wonder if he will break; I know that Victor won't allow him to sign that contract, and neither will I. For Adrian's sake, I hope the king dies before too much time has passed.

I stare at Adrian's face. He's so calm in sleep—gentle, it seems—despite the dark bruise on his cheek and the fact that his bottom lip is no less swollen than it was two days ago.

I pull the ring off of my finger and shove it into my pocket, allowing myself a moment to catch my breath as my body returns to its substantial form. My feet sink into the soft carpet, and I can feel my tight clothes hugging my body with their comforting familiarity.

Once I light the candle on the prince's bedside table, his shadow comes alive on the wall on the far side of his bed. His back rises and falls ever so slightly with every full breath. Creeping to the wall, I stretch one hand out and stroke his silken shadow. It's smooth beneath my fingertips, fine as one of my many gowns. Adrian shudders in his sleep. He can feel me.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself to take his shadow. My fingers extend, stretching towards its throat, and I whisper his greatest fear.

"King Thurstan."

They close on air. I can't do it. Why can't I do it?

I stagger backwards, clenching my hands into fists at my sides. I can't take Adrian's shadow. I was wrong. By the gods, I was wrong.

Shoving the Immaterial Ring back on, I pass through the door, my mind reeling and my heart beating heavily like Burr's hooves as the prince and I raced through the woods. This time, the cold hollowness grabs me like an icy hand reaching into my gut. It combines with that ocean wave feeling, that drowning sensation, and I can barely breathe or see or hear. I stagger through the halls until I think I'm a safe enough distance away, then rip the ring off of my finger, habitually shoving it into my pocket.

Frigid emptiness still grips me. That icy hand seems to close around my heart as I think of the flowers Adrian gave me. It squeezes tighter when I remember his sinful smile, his crimson lips that I've never gotten to kiss.

I still hate him. More so than ever now. What has he done to me?

My ringing ears detect a voice faintly calling my name. I blink, forcing my vision to clear, and find myself staring into Lord Dustin's eyes.

"You're a tricky one," he sneers. Grabbing my numb arm, he drags me forward. I stumble along, trying to clear my mind enough to come up with a strategy.

Dustin brings me to his room: a dark chamber lit only by a few flickering candles. He shoves me to the hard stone floor, and the force of it knocks some feeling back into me.

Thank the gods. I blink again, forcing the fogginess away, and raise my eyes to meet his. I know what to do: pretend to be weak until I find out what he wants from me.

He reaches down and yanks my mask off, revealing my mouth. "So you're the Shadow Thief."

"Congratulations," I mutter. "You've caught me."

"Give me that ring."

He's so weak that wearing it will probably kill him. I hand it to him, laughing when he gasps at the sudden cold and drops it. It sounds like a coin when it falls to the ground, letting out a loud ring that reminds me of a bell.

"What is that?" he snaps.

"Some wicked magic," I reply.

He yanks his foot back and slams it into my gut. I curl into a ball, coughing from the sudden explosion of pain.

"I could have you hanged—or worse, thanks to your deception."

"The only thing worse than a hanging would be another hour in your presence," I wheeze. While I've been in my fair share of fights over the years—living on the streets of Itoria means that such scuffles are inevitable—it has been some time since I've found myself in such dire straits. But I'm not going to let myself worry about it just yet; there is only so much damage a fool like Dustin can do to me.

"Vile whore," he snaps. "Were you planning to steal the prince's shadow? Is that why you chased him like a dog?"

"I didn't chase him like a dog," I say, grinning in opposition to my pain. This is exactly what I needed to clear my head. "I chased him like a shadow. No matter what he does, he can never escape me."

Dustin grabs me by the throat and drags me to my feet. "You're going to die, Shadow Thief."

"You can't kill a shadow." My voice is hoarse, crushed by his strong hand, but he understands me. In one swift motion, I yank my blade free and jab it into his gut, just deep enough to force a cry of pain from his mouth. He drops me, gasping as he tries to silence himself.

I run to the wall and grab his flickering shadow, shouting out Dustin's greatest fear as I do.

"Bowing to the Silver King."

It's like gossamer in my hands, insubstantial as the flames that give it life. Dustin screams and the shadow screeches, writhing in my hands. Thank the gods—I got it right this time.

I shout at him over the cacophony. "Tell me who the prince's mother is."

Dustin's whole body shakes. It's immensely satisfying to watch. "I don't know her name. She was some woman from the brothel."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"He was born to one of the king's whores."

"Why do you hate the prince?"

Dustin scowls. "He's wicked, wild, and lazy. He will make a rotten king."

I swallow. I already know the answer to my next question, but I have to ask. "And what did you want from me?"

The scowl morphs into a sneer. "I wanted you. And I wanted to keep you from him."

"Why?"

"He should have no happiness."

I shake my head; I can't understand it. "Why not?"

Dustin's body is shaking almost to the point of convulsions now. "He is much easier to control that way. His loneliness makes him weak."

"And you think I make him happy?" I ask in a small voice.

"He has said as much."

"Then why wouldn't he let me into his room this morning?"

Dustin smiles through his pain, contorting his face so viciously that I almost have to look away from him. "He's far too proud to allow anyone—especially you—to see his battered body."

I swallow. The banshee-screech of Dustin's shadow barely reaches my ears anymore. His words are far too distracting for even the most horrible of sounds to affect me. "What did you do to him?"

"I beat the resolve out of him."

"Why?"

His face twitches as he struggles to withstand the discomfort of my hands gripping his shadow. "To force him to sign a contract."

Oh, no. Why is Dustin still so resilient, despite the fact that I have him in my complete control? "Did he sign it?"

"Yes." His voice is hoarse now, strained from happiness marred only by being forced to succumb to my disenthrallment.

"When?"

"Barely an hour ago. And do you want to know what pushed him over the edge?"

If I'm holding his shadow, why does it feel like Dustin is in control? "Tell me."

"You."

There are voices in the hallway. Someone must have heard us from outside. Though only Dustin and I can hear the screams of his slippery shadow, writhing in my hands, we almost had to shout to converse with one another. We must have aroused the suspicion of the guard patrolling the upstairs hallway. I didn't see him when Dustin was dragging me to his room—he must have been on the far side of the hall during that time—but he must have walked past at some point and overheard us.

I have to decide what to do next, and quickly. If I put Dustin's shadow in my trapping jar, I'll have to deal with telling him what to do and ensuring that he acts normally. I'm not sure how long I'll be able to keep that up, especially if I have to deal with Adrian at the same time. And what of the contract? What if Dustin finds a loophole in my instructions and is able to command the prince?

And then there's the matter of my identity. Now he knows that Lady Nyx, the duchess's niece, is the Shadow Thief. Whether I possess his shadow or not, I don't want anyone walking around with that knowledge. My identity is not only my livelihood, it's also my life. As he said, I could be hanged for what I've done.

No. There's only one thing that I can do.

I tighten my grip on Dustin's shadow and rip it apart. It lets out a shriek—the most horrible sound I have ever heard; one that echoes in my ears and leaves them ringing. Dustin screams as well, writhing on the ground just like his shadow. His eyes roll back in his head, his limbs twist at odd angles, and his back arches unnaturally like a man possessed by a demon. All of my muscles tighten as I tear at his shadow, slowly severing it in half. When I finally succeed, my brow and underarms are damp with sweat and I pant, struggling to breathe.

My heart might burst out of my chest. I have just killed a man. But there is one more thing I need from him. Pulling one of my knives free, I jab the tip into the pad of one of his fingers. Then I pull out the crystal vial and squeeze three drops of his blood into it. As loathsome as Dustin is, there is still royal blood flowing through his veins.

I shove the vial into my pouch, then grab my black cloth from the floor and tie it over my face again. Once it's secure, I find my ring, which is still lying on the ground where Dustin dropped it. Just as I stand, the door opens. To my utter shock, it's the Silver Prince who opened it. His overnight guards are behind him, panting as though they have had to chase him here.

Adrian's mouth falls open. "Who are you?"

"I am your ruin," I murmur. Then I slip the black band around my finger. The prince's guards all gasp, but I ignore them, sprinting straight through their bodies to reenter the hall. The coldness returns with a vengeance, and I barely make it to the duchess's chamber. I don't take the ring off until I'm in my own room.

I drop the cursed thing as I collapse to the ground, yanking down my mask as I hyperventilate. I have never killed before.

My mind races. All I can see is Dustin's face, shiny with perspiration, frozen in eternal agony. I killed him. I ended his life. For what he did to the prince, I know my actions could be justified, but I still can hardly believe that I have done such a thing to another person. Disenthrallment is different—I can always give back a stolen shadow. But I can't give back a stolen life. As despicable as Dustin was, I don't think I had any right to erase him from this world.

It's too late now, though. I made my decision. I have brought him to the River of Death, with its unbeatable current. Only the gods can help Dustin now. He'll either drown in that river or wash up on the Shores of the Afterlife. There's nothing I can do.

"Nyx. Nyx!"

The duchess, appearing as a ghost shrouded in her pure white nightgown, kneels down beside me and clamps a hand over my mouth. I am forced to breathe from my nose, and for a moment I panic—I can't get enough air this way. But then my breathing evens, and I am no longer gasping for air.

"That mask," she murmurs. "Your eyes...never mind. Get up."

She lets go of me, but I still can't sit up. My body is numb and I'm trembling almost as much as Dustin was while I held his shadow in my hands.

"Listen to me," the duchess hisses. "I heard several guards passing this door. There's something going on out there. Are you responsible?"

I stare at her, so paralyzed that I am unable to speak.

"That's what I feared." She reaches up and pulls down my nightgown from where Morwen had it neatly folded at the foot of my bed. "Get dressed."

I can't move. Is this even my body? It won't obey me.

Ethel sighs. "I wish Morwen were here. I'm going to have a bed brought in, so she no longer has to sleep in the servants' quarters. It's far too inconvenient for me."

With gentle but hasty hands, Ethel undresses me and shoves my clothes underneath the bed. I want to warn her that I have dried flowers under there, but my lips won't move. Like a lifeless doll, my body is limp as Ethel shoves my arms into the nightgown's sleeves and pulls it over my head.

"There," she says, standing up and dragging me to my feet. She holds me steady while she pulls down the blankets, then pushes me into bed and tucks me in.

"Thank you," I whisper. My voice is so soft that even I can't recognize it. Is that really me?

"Try to rest," she tells me. "They'll be asking us questions tomorrow, I guarantee it."

"Ethel," I say before she can leave. "I'm so sorry."

She frowns, causing wrinkles to appear in the smooth skin of her forehead. "What did you do, Nyx?"

"Lord Dustin forced the prince to sign a contract." I'm not sure why I'm telling her this. Can I even trust her? But it is pertinent to Victor's desire to control Adrian. It's almost amusing to think that Dustin beat both of us to it.

Ethel stares at me, her mouth slightly open. Finally, she says, "He wanted power over Adrian, too."

"He succeeded." I shake my head. "Ethel, I had to get rid of him."

She grabs my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Her skin is as soft as flower petals. "You did the right thing. He was a fool, anyway. Can you imagine what Itoria would be like with him in charge?"

I think of my hesitation earlier, and wonder if I should have taken the prince's shadow tonight. "Do you think Victor will be better?"

"I think he'll be better than Adrian."

I am tired of asking questions, but so many seem to rattle around my skull like marbles. "Why?"

Ethel sighs. "You know what he's like in Durnwall, but you don't know what he's like in this castle. He was a terror even as a child. He would run through the halls and knock into servants, causing them to drop their trays and forcing his guards to chase after him constantly. He would steal sweets from the kitchen and tear pages from the books in the library. When he grew older, his mischief became more elaborate. He would ruin meals by switching salt with sugar or pitchers of water with vinegar. It was merely four years ago that he rode a horse into the castle, and three years since he procured magic seeds and filled the throne room with vines and trees overnight. He's immature, and desperate for attention. Some find his antics amusing, but it's not so humorous when you remember than the man who will someday be king has managed to lock his guards in his room on several occasions, leaving himself free to wreak havoc around the castle."

None of her anecdotes surprise me, unfortunately.

"If you thought selfishness and an untamed spirit were the worse of his afflictions, you were wrong," Ethel continues. "He was a wicked child and has grown into an irreverent adult. Such problems are so imbued into his character that he will not change. It's much better to have someone standing behind him, telling him what to do and vetting his decisions. Maybe Victor is not the best person for the job, but he is far preferable to Dustin."

I've never heard her speak so practically. "You don't think the prince deserves freedom?"

"No."

"If you dislike him so, wouldn't you be miserable if married to him?"

Ethel smiles coldly. "Victor will tell him to behave himself, so I think I can manage."

Again, I feel strange pity for Adrian. There areso many people vying to take his freedom from him—and I am one of them. But nowI am unsure if I'll ever be able to do so.