The Shadow at the Gate Read Online Free Page A

about that place that any outside influence would have had a difficult time making itself known.
    There were two people in that city, however, who felt the change in the air and knew it for what it was. Levoreth was right in the middle of tightening the stays of her aunt’s dress when she inhaled sharply. For a moment she stood frozen, staring fixedly over her aunt’s head. The girl in the mirror on the wall stared back at her. She did not recognize the face. The skin was pale and the mouth was set in a white-lipped gash. For an instant, the eyes had a blank, startled look to them. But it was only an instant, and then the eyes flickered—they flashed with animal savagery and the skin of her face felt tight and stretched, as if a wolf’s head was emerging up from the planes of her face and gazing through her sockets.
    “My dear,” protested the duchess, squirming on the seat in front of her, “that’s much too tight.”
    “Sorry,” said Levoreth, and then it was only herself in the mirror on the wall—a tired-looking girl of seventeen.
    In the house of Cypmann Galnes, a window was flung open. Liss stared out toward the sea. Far on the horizon, the last sunlight shone, hemmed in by the growing night. Liss turned and went downstairs. Dishes clattered from the kitchen. She opened the door and walked into the warm light and the scent of fresh bread. A fire burned on the hearth. Sanna looked up from the sink.
    “It’s going to be a fury of a night,” said the old woman.
    “Aye,” said Liss.
    She went outside into the garden. It was nearly true night now. The light in the west had faded to a bloody smear of sky. As she watched, it darkened through reds and purples into deep blue-black. Thunder muttered. She stared up at the sky. A frown crossed her face. Her hands curled into fists at her side. The thunder rumbled, nearer and nearer. Abruptly, she flung one arm out, her fingers fluttering open in the air. Then she disappeared back into the house.
    It began to rain.
    The city seemed to sigh in relief as the rain started to fall, as if it had been holding its breath. The thunder still growled, and lightning flickered, but the menace had subsided. In the inns, the laughter grew more genuine and the ale flowed more freely. Throughout the city, dogs crept out from under beds, looking ashamed. The horses in the regent’s stable dropped their heads contentedly to their oats, and in one shabby house in Fishgate, a kitten strolled in through the door, at which point she was promptly scooped up by a small girl, who hugged her tight.
    But in Nio’s house, the wihht still stood patiently in the cellar, its head moving from side to side, sniffing at the darkness. Up in the regent’s castle, Levoreth frowned down at her dinner plate. The talk of a glittering assortment of nobles tinkled around her, but she heard none of it. And in the house of Cypmann Galnes, Liss sat motionless at a window. Rain slashed down against the glass and she pressed her hand flat against it. She stared out at the sea.
    Old Bordeall stamped down the steps of the gate tower. The rain fell on his shoulders and his white hair. Torchlight bloomed out of the open doorway behind him.
    “I’ll leave you to it, Lucan,” he rumbled. “Don’t know what got into me. Sitting down for a good roast and then I felt my bones go cold. Getting old, I guess.” He spat in the mud. “I’ll pay for it when I get back home—cold dinner and no doubt my woman will dose me against the flu.”
    “The men’ll be on the walls, sir,” said the young lieutenant. “Rain or not.”
    “Keep them on the lookout. Some foolish noble might come straggling out of the night for bed and board at the castle. Wouldn’t do to have them locked out in weather like this.”
    “Perhaps Lord Gawinn will return tonight,” said the lieutenant.
    “Perhaps.” Bordeall turned and strode away into the rain.
    The lieutenant was pleased to have the watch for the night. He was young, just