Winter Shade
Weeks passed and I had been reduced to menial labour under Queen Elowethra's rule. I often wondered how my life had twisted so cruelly, how I had fallen from a Guardian once revered in Thyr Vael to a slave scrubbing stone floors in Noxara.
Yet even in my degradation, my fate was kinder than Kumbuye's.
She had claimed him for herself, turned him into her plaything, her paramour. She used him for her own satisfaction, taking without consent, without mercy. He had no choice. Neither of us did. Queen Elowethra was persuasive in the most dangerous way, her commands wrapped in silk yet enforced with iron. In Noxara, no one defied her and lived without consequence.
Today, I was tasked with cleaning the sheets from her chambers, the very ones she had shared with Kumbuye the night before. My hands trembled as I worked, a strange tightness forming in my chest, something bitter and suffocating that I could not name. She was evil. Perhaps that word alone was insufficient, but it was the closest truth I had.
Castellan Ormric had become another torment entirely. He had seen my power, felt it, yet he kept it hidden even from the Queen. He ordered the guards who witnessed it to remain silent, and they obeyed him without question. I did not understand his reasons, only that they were selfish. Dangerous.
He kept my bag in his possession, examining it endlessly, the compass and the key held like trophies. For weeks he studied them, demanding to know why I had clung to them so desperately. When I refused to answer, he struck me, hard enough to remind me where I stood in this place.
My search for the Cranium had been halted once more, trapped behind cold stone walls and watchful eyes. Kumbuye and I had tried to escape more times than I could count, each attempt ending in near disaster. We were always close to being caught. Too close. Perhaps fortune still favoured us, or perhaps our punishment had simply not yet been decided.
Every night, my sleep was plagued with dreams of Doya.
I saw him struggling through unknown lands, his path heavy with danger, though I could never understand what he was facing. I had missed him deeply. I had reached for him again and again with my mind, calling, pleading, but he never answered.
A darker thought crept in, one I refused to dwell on.
What if he was—
No.
I pushed it away every time. I could not afford that fear. Not now.
As I washed Queen Elowethra's sheets, a sudden tightness gripped my chest. It was dreadful. Familiar. The same feeling I used to get long ago, back when danger was close but unseen. My head spun as I tried to steady myself, my fingers tightening around the damp fabric.
"Wash those sheets faster. The Queen will need them by tomorrow night."
The voice cut through my thoughts sharply. It belonged to one of the servants placed above me, given authority to watch my every move and strike me at will if I disobeyed. She was tall and spare, her face ruined by a livid scar. Her skin was corpse pale, flayed and crisscrossed with whip marks, every inch of her bearing the proof of cruelty. There was nothing left of beauty in her, only damage.
The first days in service to the Queen, I had not been compliant. I could not bring myself to bend easily. Seeing my resistance, Elowethra assigned a watcher to me, someone who never strayed far whenever duty called. Only during rest hours was I left alone. The only moments I had to breathe. To whisper plans with Kumbuye about escaping this hellhole.
I scrubbed harder.
A cold breeze brushed past me.
I paid it no mind. Winter had settled over Noxara, its breath creeping through stone halls and narrow corridors. Still, the chill lingered longer than it should have.
Then I felt it again.
I ignored it, forced myself to keep working. But the third time, it came with force, an unseen shove that knocked me sideways. I slammed into the floor, pain jolting through my body. I froze there for a second struggling to come back up.
Before I could react, the servant overseeing me lunged forward and struck me hard, forcing me back down.
"Do your work, slave."
Rage flared hot and sharp inside me. If she knew who I once was, what I had been capable of, she would never dare treat me this way. I swallowed the anger, pushed myself to my feet, and continued washing.
Something lingered nearby in the shadows.
A Shadowmire?
I could not be sure.
I finished my work with trembling hands, my heart pounding hard against my ribs.
That night, Kumbuye came to my room, a small, dark, rust eaten space that stank of stale urine and bitter herbs. The quarters they kept servants in were a ruin. I told him everything, the feeling, the cold, the shove.
"You have to stay alert," he said quietly. "Perhaps the Forsaken have found you."
My chest burned at the word.
Forsaken.
I had not heard it in so long that I had almost forgotten I was still hunted. Still sought by Balshak's shadows.
Kumbuye spoke of his own day then, how the Queen had kept him close during her duties, parading him beside her like a possession. He had told me that her mind was difficult to read. When he reached into her thoughts, he could not tell whether it was affection or obsession that drove her. Only that she was deeply fond of him, in a twisted and unsettling way.
"Do you have any update on how we can get out of here?" I asked, desperation seeping into my voice.
"They haven't reduced their defences," he replied. "Elowethra's mind is scrambled. That woman is unwell. Disturbed. I can't pull anything meaningful from her thoughts."
I exhaled slowly. "Do you know where Ormric is keeping my belongings?"
"Yes," he said. "I found out today. But I doubt you can get into that room."
"I could try."
"And if you get caught?" he asked sharply. "We can't take that risk. These people are cruel."
He was right.
As we spoke in the dimness of the room, that cold breeze returned. This time, sharper. Biting.
"Did you feel that?" I asked, my voice shaking.
"Feel what?"
"The cold air," I whispered. "The same one I told you about earlier. It just happened again."
We both scanned the room, muscles tense, hearts racing. The lanterns barely lit the space, shadows pooling thick in the corners.
"It's probably just the winter breeze," he said at last.
"But you didn't feel it," I replied.
As if answering my words, something slammed into me with brutal force. I was thrown across the room, my body crashing into the far wall. Pain exploded through my skull as my head struck stone, and I collapsed to the floor. Paralyzed.
Kumbuye sprang up instantly, eyes searching the darkness, hands clenched, ready. The room was too dim to see anything clearly.
Then a sound cut through the silence.
A low, shrill sound. Not quite a scream. Not quite a breath.
My blood ran cold.
"It's a Shadowmire," Kumbuye said grimly.
He rushed into the corridor and grabbed a torch from one of the iron sconces.
I lay frozen on the floor, unable to move even a finger. The moment he returned with the flame, the Shadowmire let out a sharp, piercing shriek. The light burned it. Its form recoiled, folding into itself before it vanished through the curtains like smoke swallowed by the dark.
Kumbuye dropped to his knees beside me. "Are you alright?" His breath came uneven, rushed.
I couldn't answer. I couldn't even nod. My body felt locked, as though it no longer belonged to me. Only my eyes moved, wide and frantic. He must have slipped into my mind then, because his shoulders eased slightly.
"You'll be alright," he said softly.
He brought the torch closer, careful, letting the warmth spill over me. The cold still clung to my skin, deep and biting.
What kind of Shadowmire was that? I asked in my head.
As if he had heard the question aloud, Kumbuye replied, "A Winter Shade."
His voice steadied. "They appear during winter. They don't hunt with purpose, not like the others. It isn't as dangerous as a Riven Shade. In fact, it's the least dangerous kind. It drifts. It startles. Then it disappears."
His hand brushed my forehead, lingering. "You're freezing."
He grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around me, tucking it close as though I might shatter if left uncovered.
"You're safe," he said quietly. "I don't think anyone sent it. It likely sensed your power. That's all."
I wanted to believe him. I needed to. I wasn't ready to face another shadow, not yet.
He carried me fully onto the bed. I still couldn't move, my body was heavy and numb, as though the cold had settled inside my bones. I reached for him in my thoughts, begging him not to leave me alone. Fear clung tight to my chest.
And he stayed.
For the first time, I was grateful that he listened to my mind. I drifted into sleep with the steady presence of him beside me.
Days passed after the encounter with the Winter Shade. It did not return. I continued to my duties, numb but obedient, moving through the castle like a ghost. Kumbuye continued his own role as well, but beneath it all, something had shifted.
We were close.
He had found a way out. A narrow opening. An underground tunnel buried deep beneath the castle, leading toward the sea. It was a fragile opportunity, thin as a breath, but it was real.
We would escape tonight.
The day passed far too quickly. Fate, for once, leaned in our favour. Castellan Ormric had ridden out with his knights on patrol, leaving the upper quarters of the castle unusually light on watch.
Kumbuye found me just before dusk. He had been studying the castle for days, learning its rhythm, the way it shifted with the hours. His mind hearing had evolved beyond sound, beyond whispers, he could now glimpse images, memories, fragments of thought unfolding in the minds of others.
The guards outside Ormric's chambers would change shifts after the second bell. Two of them always left early. One lingered too long. There would be a gap — barely a minute, but enough.
We moved when the castle settled into its evening rhythm, when footsteps became predictable and the corridors filled with the low murmur of servants finishing their duties. We stayed close to the walls, slipping from shadow to shadow, my pulse loud in my ears.
The moment came exactly as Kumbuye said it would.
The guards stepped away, one muttering under his breath, the other adjusting his armour as they disappeared down the corridor. Kumbuye was already moving, his hand closing around mine as he pulled me forward. We slipped into Ormric's chambers unseen.
The room smelled of leather and steel. Maps were spread across the desk, weapons lined the walls. And there — locked inside a reinforced wooden chest with barred openings near the bed — was my bag.
Kumbuye worked quickly, murmuring the combination to me having drawn it from the Castellan's mind. He stayed near the door, alert, listening for footsteps both with his ears and his thoughts. The lock yielded with a soft click.
I barely breathed as I pulled my bag free, my fingers shaking when I felt its familiar weight settle against me again.
The compass.
The key.
All of it was there.
We didn't linger.
The guards returned moments later, but we were already gone, the door closed behind us as though no one had ever entered. We melted back into the corridors, unseen, untouched.
By nightfall, everything was ready.
It was time.
Kumbuye and I met outside the main building, our shadows clinging to the stone walls. Without a word, we moved along the outer structures, careful and silent, searching for the hidden entrance that would lead us into the tunnel and if fate allowed it, to freedom.
My thoughts drifted to Bali. She was still in the stables. I had seen her only a handful of times, never long enough. The thought of leaving her behind twisted something deep in my chest. I wanted to run back, to take her with me, to refuse this escape unless she came too. But there was no time. Survival demanded sacrifice. I promised myself I would return for her if it was ever possible. For now, I had to live.
We reached the stone slab that marked the tunnel's hidden entrance. Relief surged, but I forced it down. We weren't safe yet. Not by a long shot.
Suddenly a soft sound made me freeze. Metal scraping against stone. My stomach dropped. I froze entirely, Kumbuye's eyes narrowing in the darkness. He raised a hand, warning me to stay still.
The sound grew closer. Footsteps. Heavy, measured, deliberate. Not the guards, this was someone more careful, more calculating. Fear gripped me. Kumbuye pulled me closer to the wall, holding my hands tight. The tunnel was just steps away, almost within reach.
The footsteps came closer as Kumbuye and I stayed still, then I recognized the long cloak, the rigid posture, the sharp weight of authority — Castellan Ormric. He paused, sensing something, listening.
We didn't breathe.
He continued forward. Each step a drumbeat against my ribs. My heart thundered in my ears. Kumbuye's grip tightened, a silent warning not to move until we had to.
The tunnel was two more steps away. Two steps. My hands itched to reach for the slab, to move it and slip through.
Then he stopped. He sniffed the air, as though he knew we were there. My chest froze.
"Dana," he whispered, sing-song, teasing. "You thought you could escape?"