Thread of Darkness

Ch. 6: where is your shadow?

Penny strode towards the table.

Or perhaps marched, she thought, was a better word for it; her father had often said that she had the heart of a warrior. He'd once found her dangling upside-down off a wooden beam in the stables, her red plaits hanging like twin ropes, and shaken his head. "My little Penelope," he'd mused. "You're far too brave for your own good, you know that?"

Ryne was the cautious Delafort sibling. The sensible one. He liked to plot and plan and scheme.

Penny liked to gobble up the world. She wanted to taste everything. To greedily devour it.

She could feel Eris watching her as she drew closer. Appraising her. They hadn't seen each other since her father's funeral several years ago, although her older cousin looked the same to her: all raven-black hair and the Delafort green eyes.

"Eris," she said, inclining her head.

His mouth quirked. "Penelope. Sit."

He gestured for the dark-haired women on his left to move over. She did so gracefully, and Penny caught a flash of a curved tattoo on her thigh. A shiver went through her. So this was the Scythe; she'd heard a lot about Eris's right-hand woman over the years. The Scythe hailed from Salvatoria, and rumour had it that she could shape-shift into anyone. Cut to the very core of them and duplicate it.

Penny swallowed.

She took the chair. "How is your hat?"

An innocent question, but a barb. Eris's face didn't change as he speared a berry.

"I have others."

"You must forgive Ryne," Penny said. "He can be quite... spirited."

Her eyes went to her brother, who was staring at a spoon. She'd seen boiled potatoes with more spirit. Eris rubbed his jaw.

"He's not well, is he?"

Penny stiffened. "What makes you say that?"

Eris's amusement felt like champagne, fizzing along her skin. "So defensive, Penelope." He reached for another berry. "Your thoughts are written all over your face. You should work on that, you know. Someone might take advantage of it."

Her heartbeat picked up. "Ryne will make a full recovery."

"Will he, now?" Eris popped the berry into his mouth. "And what if he doesn't?"

"He will."

"The crown," Eris said, ignoring her, "must go to a Delafort. Not a common blacksmith's daughter." His green eyes were hard marbles in the candlelight. "And as you are not male, it will go to me."

Ah.

So that's what this was about.

Penny cut a slice of cake, pressing her fork into the soft chocolate sponge. Red juice oozed on to her plate. "Are you asking me if I'm going to challenge you for the crown?"

Eris waved a hand. "The councilors will never take you seriously."

"And yet," Penny said, "here you are, asking me about it." She set down her fork. "Someone might make the mistake of thinking you're afraid."

Seconds ticked by. The low murmur of chatter filled the banquet hall, broken only by the occasion tinkle of glass or the swell of violin. Eris swirled a glass of wine.

"I heard about your overdose in the winter," he said. "Somnium can be such a cruel master. I trust you're doing well now?"

Penny refused to flinch. "Exceptionally."