The Crooked Stars by Jacquelynn Lyon

Author:Jacquelynn Lyon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sapphic fantasy books, fairy tale retelling romance, short story collection books, lesbian book, romantic fantasy books, gay fantasy fiction, princess knight romance, epic fantasy romance books
Publisher: Jacquelynn Lyon
Published: 2024-04-16T00:00:00+00:00

Early winter morning, a deep silence settled into the bones of the house. Bellen climbed down the dungeon stairs. The laundress descended deeper, deeper than she knew existed. Past the rows of prison cells holding decaying iron chains. Past the rows of cellars meant to outlast a siege. And deeper still, to the places the first kings and queens dreamed up in the blood-addled aftermath of war. Where shadows dwell as different sorts of prisoners.

Tears streamed down Bellen’s face as she walked. Her breath hiccupped against the damp walls.

She held her candle high and reached a place in the castle where the walls seemed to hum with dark life all their own. A place where even the rats feared to go.

Something turned to her there in the lowest levels and bottom of all things. She spoke in a rasp. “Tell me what you wish for now, my laundress.”

Bellen wiped her face and flinched at the spikes of pain down her back. “She had me flogged,” she sniffled, “for creases in her gown.” Shaking her head, Bellen crumpled against the nearest wall. “I am tired. I’m so very tired. I don’t know what to do.”

“I know,” crooned the shadow. “We are all being punished by these wicked ones who hold the crown.”

“I was idle,” Bellen sobbed. “I was careless.”

The words seemed to come from the ceiling, the walls, the air. “What would you have of me?”

“What more could you give someone like me?” She curled up into herself.

“Look. Look at me.” Bellen looked up, and the shadow was not just a shadow. She had long flowing chestnut hair tied in a braid. Cheeks flushed with warmth. Eyes with white pupils and lashes fanning out like small suns. A fine gown swished at her feet that once belonged to someone else.

And finally, she had a heart, golden, in the center of her chest. It was in the shape of a locket.

“I need one last thing,” whispered the shadow. “And then you will not have to fear your terrible mistress again.”

Bellen sniffled and felt stupid and small—never brave. Never clever. None of the things she told herself she was to survive in the walls of the castle. “I’m not sure that’s possible.” Her mistress was every portrait on the wall. Every creak of the steps. A world of fingerprints left.

The shadow’s hand was soft against her bruised cheek. “Many things are possible in the dark,” she murmured in a way that grasped at Bellen’s heart. The one that longed for new buckets and ripe peaches at the end. “But there is one last thing.”

“Yes?” the laundress whispered. “Flesh or bone or whatever else I have.”

The shadow’s eyes flashed. “I need breath.” She hovered closer. “Lend me your breath, and we shall be free of this place at last.”

“Of course,” Bellen said and took a step toward her. “Take my blood, take my hair, wishes, and gowns. All of it, and this too.”

Bellen fell into the depths of the shadow. But it was not a shadow at all.

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