A Darkness at the Door Read online

  Copyright © 2022 by Intisar Khanani

  Cover Art © 2022 by Jenny Zemanek

  Title Design © 2022 Jenna Stempel-Lobell

  Published by Snowy Wings Publishing

  https://www.snowywingspublishing.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For all those who get up to good trouble and

  keep fighting the darkness, within and without.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Four Months Later

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  More From Snowy Wings Publishing

  In the shadow-dark confines of the small room that serves as our prison, I sing a lullaby to the children huddled around me. The water laps against the boat’s hull in a slow and sorrowful counterpoint.

  Life is a river, it carries you to the sea

  Distant is the land that has stolen you away

  But I am the wind in your sail

  I am the current you ride

  So, sleep, my child, with your heart tucked close to mine.

  My voice catches in my throat. Though I’ve sung this song a score of times in the days and nights that have already passed, I find I can’t go on now. When I first swore to engineer our escape, it seemed only a matter of will. But the slavers who hold us captive are many and well-used to their work, and the opportunity we need to break free hasn’t come. More and more, the lullabies I sing sound like lies on my lips.

  To my left, a child shifts and then settles into stillness. There are six of us in this room, though I am the eldest by far. The vents built high into the wooden wall allow us a whisper of fresh air from the hold and a bare hint of light. Just enough to make out the shapes of the children around me.

  “Do you have a plan yet?” a boy’s voice asks abruptly.

  I turn wearily toward the speaker. Fastu, I believe. “The same plan as before. We wait until the boat docks and escape under the cover of darkness.”

  “You’re not going to do anything, are you, Rae?” he demands. “You tell us to trust you, but all we do is slip farther downriver with each hour. We’re not getting out of here like this. I’m not waiting for you to decide to do something.”

  Definitely Fastu. At eleven years old, he is sure he knows best, and can’t see past the fear blinding him. He’s waited three days, and as far as he’s concerned, that’s more than enough. But the ship has to dock soon in one of the larger towns that line the river—for cargo or even just supplies.

  “We need to wait until we’re moored so we can get to land safely,” I remind him. I try to imagine our prison from the outside, but my eyes were covered when I was first brought down here. All I know for sure is we’re aboard a merchant galley—a wide-bottomed riverboat complete with a deck of oars above us for the crew to use when the wind drops. “There are at least thirty men in the crew. We’ll have to slip past them and make it to land without their noticing—if half of them are already on land, it will be that much easier.”

  With my clubfoot and injured left hand—my littlest finger hacked away and my whole hand throbbing now, the skin tight and hot to the touch—I won’t be much good against a single sailor, let alone half the crew, even with my knife. It’s a truth that tears at me, because I should be able to do more. I press down on the desperation clawing at my throat; that won’t do any of us any good. We can’t eliminate the risks, just reduce them as much as possible.

  “If it’s night, half the crew will be asleep,” Fastu argues. “There’s no difference.”

  “There is. We need to be near other people, so that we’ll be heard when we shout for help on deck. If no one’s nearby, we’ll be cut down before we make it to land.”

  “We have the buckets,” Fastu says earnestly. “We can hit them with those the next time they bring our food, knock them over and take their daggers. And then we can run.”

  Buckets? Against armed men? Doesn’t he understand these sailors are used to the desperation of the children they transport?

  Our meals are brought by a pair of sailors, one of them standing guard with dagger drawn while the other passes around the small bowls of oats. He refills the bucket with its water ladle when he collects the empty bowls, and replaces the second bucket we use to relieve ourselves at the same time. There is always someone with a ready blade watching.

  I wish—oh how I wish—I had someone else here with me. The last time I was on a slave galley, Captain Matsin escorted me with a quad of elite soldiers. All I have now is my own bruised and battered body and no idea how to save all six of us with just the bone knife strapped to my calf. Given Fastu’s talk of buckets, there’s no way I’m mentioning the one weapon I do have. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from doing something rash if he knew. My head throbs in time with my hand as I try to think of a measured response.

  “Someone will die in that attempt,” I tell him finally. “And you are forgetting that not all of you can swim.”

  “So they should stay behind! We can get help and come back,” Fastu cries. “I’m not waiting till we’re in a slave market to try to escape. We’ll never get away then!”

  “Listen,” I say, my good hand curled into a fist, as if I could keep hold of my patience with whitened knuckles. “Once we escape, you’ll need the Blessing to stay safe from the Darkness. We’ll need the Speaker at the nearest town’s temple to administer that—you can’t just hope to stumble across a Speaker on the riverbank. Once you’re Blessed, you won’t remember enough to be able to help anyone you left behind.”

  He shifts, the movement short and angry in the gloom, but he knows the threat of the Darkness and the effect of the Blessing as well as I. Purportedly, the Darkness is a curse left behind within those who escape the slavers. It blooms when they escape, stealing the light of their minds and leaving them like empty husks.

  But the truth is it’s a magical attack. Only the wards the slavers have access to can protect against it, and the sash my sister Niya made me. Those, and the “Blessing” that washes the curse from a person’s blood—and takes their most recent memories with it. The Darkness, the enchanted cup used in the Blessing, and the slavers’ wards all have their genesis in the Circle of Mages, who use the gems they receive in payment as amulets, reservoirs of power needed for casting greater spells.

  “I’ll take whatever chance I can get,” Fastu says now, not having heard a word I said.

  I close my eyes, reminding myself that snarling at him will make no difference. He’s young and scared and trying to save himself. I can’t fault him for that. Though I wish to God he were less mule-headed.

  To my right, I hear a faint shifting, drawing closer, and then a small, cold hand latches onto the sleeve of my tunic. I turn my head toward the child. From the size of her hand, the shape of her slight frame as she nestles against me, she can be no more than seven.

  “You won’t leave without us,” comes the soft whisper. I recognize her voice: it’s Cari. “Will you, Rae?”

  I close my eyes, force myself to whisper back, “No.”

  “Promise?”

  It’s not a promise I should make. There’s far too much out of my control to be able to swear such a thing, but still I murmur, “Yes.”

  Cari rests her head against my shoulder. I shift to put my good arm around her, hold on to her as if I could keep her safe when I have nearly as little power as she does.

  Somewhere out there, people are looking for me. I have no doubt of that. I left home to discover what I could about the snatchers, fueled by my promise to my friend Ani, whose little sister Seri was snatched from the streets of Sheltershorn. I served as Princess Alyrra’s attendant, investigating the snatchers on her behalf. I never expected to uncover a network of corruption leading to the highest powers of the kingdom: the Circle of Mages and the spare heir to the crown, Verin Garrin—whom Alyrra still doesn’t know about.

  Regardless, Alyrra will be furious and quite possibly devastated by my disappearance. Perh
aps she’ll send Captain Matsin after me with a tracking spell in hand, if she can acquire one. She’d need to source it from the Fae mage visiting the court in order to trace me past the ward shielding our cell from detection, but Adept Midael fashioned one for my friend Kirrana when she was abducted. His first attempt got us close to her, though not close enough to rescue her. He might do the same now. Perhaps, by the time we dock, Matsin will already be close at hand, waiting to come to our aid. And perhaps I’m only deluding myself.

  Still, I can’t help but hope.

  With a faint creak, the door to our cell opens, letting in a fall of lamplight. It’s a small door, no taller than a man’s waist, easily hidden by the cargo in the main hold.

  I squint against the sudden brightness. Cari scoots up against me, sheltering behind my larger frame. The lamplight brings our tiny prison into focus: the stained wooden walls, the children of varying ages, from six to eleven—the eldest being Fastu. On the other side of our cell, a bucket of stale water sits, a small metal ladle attached. Closer to me than I would like rests the bucket to relieve ourselves in, the floor around it sticky. The sudden rush of fresh air brings the stench of the room into sharp relief.

  A sailor crouches down and peers in at us. He is short and built heavy, like a bull. His gaze comes to rest on me. “You, the old one. Captain wants to see you.”

  The old one, as if eighteen years were an eternity.

  “Why?” I ask, fear building in my chest. There’s no need for the captain to see me.

  The sailor smiles, a twist of his lips that is more leer than anything. “Why not? Move.”

  Cari’s hands clutch at my arm. I shift to my knees, try to tug myself free, but she holds tight. Whatever the captain wants, I can’t avoid it. “Let go, love,” I whisper, jiggling my arm. I’ll only hurt myself if I try to peel off her grasp using my injured hand. “I’ll come back. You have to let me go.”

  “Stay,” she whimpers.

  In the doorway, the sailor leans forward, even more like a bull about to charge. If he has to come get me, he won’t be gentle about it. He’ll yank me forward on my turned foot, and likely kick the poor girl.

  I take a deep breath, not wanting to hurt her. But I don’t have a choice—I have to make her let me go before the sailor acts. “Cari, let go. Let go.” I twist my arm free and scrabble away. Cari begins to cry, softly, but she doesn’t follow. It’s a sound that tears at my heart.

  The sailor backs out of the door now that I’m moving. I ease myself out, my eyes half-lidded against the light. The second sailor—because of course there are always two—sheathes his dagger before shoving the door shut and barring it. He has a scraggly beard that sticks out from his cheeks and chin like a thornbush.

  “Move,” the bullish sailor repeats, gesturing toward the ladder. I push myself to my feet and limp toward it. My whole left leg feels weak beneath me, leaving me slightly unbalanced. There isn’t space to stand in our prison, not for someone of my height. My muscles ache now that I’m moving, my ankle still slightly tender from that last fight on board a different slave ship, when I slipped and fell, and the street thief Bren stepped over me to block an oncoming blade.

  I force myself up the ladder, using my good hand to grip it and hooking my left arm around the rungs, taking them one step at a time so my turned foot doesn’t slip again. There is no street thief to step in and help me, no ally here at all.

  “Can you go any slower?” Bull demands.

  I push myself harder, until finally I reach the top. There’s another sailor waiting there. He stands back, watching as I pull myself out, my legs shaky beneath me. I crouch before him, the relative dark of the world a balm to my eyes after the too-bright lantern. That’s a point in favor of planning our escape for night: after days on end in our prison, daylight will blind us.

  It’s late evening now, only a faint rim of softer blue left in the western skies, the stars bright pinpricks of light overhead. We’re far downriver from the capital city of Tarinon, the plains stretching out to either side, not a soul visible. The breeze is cool and fresh, scented with early wildflowers and the green of growing things. It doesn’t seem like a world that could hold the cruelty of a slave ship.

  Somewhere across the plains is my family, possibly still unaware of my abduction. My parents, and my youngest sister who always gets into mischief—though I’ve now far outdone even her most impressive scrapes—and my middle sister, Niya, with her secret magical talent. She and I are a matched pair, meant to grow old together, be there for each other when everyone else has gone or moved on to build their own families—she because of her secret, and me because of my foot. I don’t want to leave her alone.

  Bull swings through the hatch, hauls me up by my arm, and starts forward at a brisk walk. I can’t quite keep up, stumbling and half-trotting to stay beside him, my gait off-kilter. Even though he’s half a head shorter than me, he’s quick. Finally, we reach the captain’s cabin, Bull knocking smartly upon the scarred wood of the door.

  I glance back over the deck, trying to calm myself. At least I can use this opportunity to assess what we’ll have to navigate to escape. The ship lies quiet, the sails full and the lower deck where the rowers sit empty for the time being—or not. I squint, making out movement, and realize that a good number of men are bedded down between the benches.

  It will never be quiet on deck, not even at night with half the crew on land. For a brief moment, despair claws at me. Even if I could imagine slipping past the whole crew, how could I possibly sneak the children out with me? And yet there’s no question of leaving them behind—they won’t stay, and I gave my word regardless.

  A voice calls for us to enter. Bull opens the door and pulls me in with him, never letting go of my arm. “This is her, Captain Morrel,” he says.

  The captain ignores us. He’s seated at a table, the dishes before him near empty. The scent of lentil soup, fresh bread, and spiced potatoes lingers in the air. I swallow back a sudden burst of saliva.

  The captain takes a slow sip from his mug—wine, I think, from the color. Or perhaps something stronger. He sets the mug down, eyes resting on me. “I see.”

  He’s a strong man, lean with muscle, his brown skin darkened further by the sun. He wears a single silver hoop through his right ear, bringing to mind the rank ring Captain Matsin wears—only this has nothing to do with honor.

  “We don’t normally get older birds like you.” Morrel leans back in his chair. His gaze travels over me, taking in the two messy black braids that frame my face, my stained clothes that, however dirty, speak of wealth. His focus snags on my hand. I look down and catch sight of it in good light for the first time since my finger was cut away by one thief lord to taunt another to violence.

  My hand—and indeed my skirt and tunic near it—are caked in dried blood. The finger was severed at the joint, the skin there puffy and red, raw flesh still peeking out in the gap that should have been closed up. The whole of my hand is swollen, with red spreading across it, lines of crimson running up past my wrist and beneath my sleeve. I knew it was infected from how hot and tight the skin felt, how it throbbed. But this is much worse than I envisioned. It wasn’t Cari who was cold—it’s me who must be feverish. I take a slow breath, then another, but the world has gone strangely unsteady, my knees weak beneath me.

  Morrel grunts and raises his gaze to my face. “I’m curious how you landed here.”

  I focus my eyes on the wide scar running across his knuckles. “Made a mistake, Captain.”

  He huffs softly. “Everyone down below made a mistake, birdie. What was yours?”