The Warden

Chapter 9

"Night wights," he said. "They did this last night." His voice fell apart, broken with grief. Asserting control, he continued. "Calla, could you please see that my parents and sisters are taken and prepared for burial. May they reign in the Grand Palaces Beyond."

The servants intoned the same words back.

"It will be done immediately," said Calla behind him.

Footsteps sounded out behind him as several servants left the room.

"Master Jercons," Masis said, addressing, his steward, still without turning.

"Yes, Your Grace." The man used Masis new title with mathematical precision.

"We have much to talk over." Masis paused to brace himself for the next statement. "This transition must be smooth. The people must not panic because of what has happened here. We must be strong."

His voice broke at the end and his head sank back into his hands.

"Of course," Steward Jercons said. "Out of consideration for your circumstances and age, if you'd like, I can handle all of the preparations."

Straightening, aligning each vertebrae carefully, Masis squared his shoulders. "No," Masis said, turning. "I will see to it. It is my prerogative."

He faced them fully.

All gasped, jerking back.

"What's wrong?" Masis asked, stepping forward bewildered.

All present distanced themselves from him. Calla did so as well, though reluctantly.

"His face," a maid said, pointing, face full of open horror.

"What happened to his eye?" another asked, shrinking back.

"What about my face?" Masis asked, his fingertips desperately searching his skin for any abnormalities. "What about my face?!"

He took a step toward those present, who retreated to the door, terrified expressions on their face.

Master Jercons, the most composed out of the lot, stood in their midst, face calm, almost satisfied. "He's one of the Shadowed."

"What?!" Masis came toward them again, not processing the steward's words.

This time they fled out into the hall, closing the door to seal him into the room.

Turning, Masis scanned the room for any reflective surface he could use to see his face. He leapt to the window, tearing it open to angle its surface into a mirror.

There was his face.

The left portion, pristine, recognizable, normal. His right side held him in place, rooted with terror and panic.

It was his no longer.

The white of his right eye was white no longer. Cavern black, lines now radiated out onto his skin from the dark well, spiraling, elaborate in design, infinite in complexity, extending from his forehead, down his temple, following his jawline to curve back up and end under to his nose, marring half his face.

He had become a Shadow.

Night wights either killed their victims or they would do something far worse: leave them alive—branded, forever set apart, until the day one of the creatures decided to finish the job. No one wanted to be near when night wights appeared to feed, so such individuals were shunned, hated, avoided like death.

Masis had joined their ranks, a pariah no one would think to approach or speak to.

Heart thrumming, Masis fled.