Excerpt: Where Shadows Bloom by Catherine Baskewell

Fans of Allison Saft and Margaret Rogerson will be swept away into this lush and beguiling sapphic romantasy from the bestselling author of Flowerheart, Catherine Bakewell.

Ofelia has lived her life dreaming of entering Le Château Enchanté—the mysterious court of the gods-blessed King Léo, where the shadow monsters that roam Ofelia’s home never trespass.

Lope has lived her life as a knight, defending Ofelia and her home from Shadows even as she dreams of escaping with Ofelia by her side.

When the Shadows venture too close, Lope and Ofelia are thrust into a journey that will lead them to the heart of the darkness haunting their home: the dazzling and deceptive Château Enchanté itself.

A mesmerizing daydream with a subtle edge of darkness that will leave you utterly unable to put it down, Where Shadows Bloom pits terrifying monsters, chilling secrets, capricious gods, immortal kings, and death itself against the unstoppable love between two girls.

 



It was the perfect evening to run away from home.

Mother had locked herself away in her studio and was surely so concentrated on her latest portrait commission that she wouldn’t even know I was gone. Until tomorrow, anyway, when she found the note on my pillow explaining my plan to her. If all went well, in less than a week, I would finally be walking the halls of Le Château Enchanté. Not long after, Mother would join me, and she’d soon be happy and carefree, painting the palace gardens.

By my side, exploring that magnificent, gods-blessed place, would be my dearest friend, Lope.

Tonight, though, she would serve as my accomplice and protector.

With a pillowcase full of my belongings slung over my shoulder, I crept down the staircase and hid behind a large marble column. I peeked out and, as I had planned, one of the manor’s guards, a young man dressed in a blue coat, was leaving his post. For five whole minutes, the front doors would be unguarded, as the knight who stood vigil swapped places with his replacement so he could have supper. Perfect.

I carried my shoes in my hand to soften the sound of my footsteps as I raced to the double doors and whirled through to stand on the terrace, triumphant. My back pressed to the door and my pillowcase clutched tight in my fists, I could hear Mother scolding me in my head. Don’t go outside at twilight. Don’t be so moony, Ofelia. And then, in her loudest, sharpest tone, from just an hour ago, Never ask me about Le Château again.

But the palace was the only place in the world where Shadows did not roam. And I could no longer ignore the way my mother’s eyes darkened, the way her fear mounted day after day as the Shadows crept closer to our home. We needed someplace safe. If Mother could not overcome her qualms with the palace, then I would take that first step for her.

The lawn was painted orange in the evening light. Our garden was sparse; just a few flowers and some boring boxwoods that were never trimmed. Mother would never pay a gardener for such “frivolities.” But I loved it. The azaleas, peonies, and impatiens that grew throughout the garden were meager, but they were mine.

Apart from these and the paintings Mother made just for us, there were not many beautiful things in my world.

The high wall of stone that surrounded the manor was the greatest reminder of this, and of the monsters that lay in wait not far from us.

But the wall also reminded me of a certain knight. And if my clever and hastily concocted scheme was timed as perfectly as I planned, Lope would now be just outside the eastern wall.

Ducking to avoid the windows, I darted through the long shadows painting the manor walls until I reached my destination. An expanse of the gray stone border wall was covered in thick vines and uneven bricks edged out just so, as if it were made for a girl trying to run away from home.

I had practiced the climb before. Just in case this day ever came.

There had at least been a possibility before our fight that when I turned seventeen, Mother would come to her senses and allow me to be part of society. Would give me at least a chance to leave the cold, empty rooms of the manor behind and experience all the wonders of Le Château. My heart ticked into a gallop. I longed for the palace more than anything. For a world far bigger than the only one I’d known. A world where I could afford to concern myself not with my safety but with happiness. Dances and card games and races through gardens, gardens that flourished. Where nature was not the home of Shadows but simply a place for beauty. I was so certain that my heart would be healed and finally, abundantly happy the day I entered those golden gates.

And perhaps I would find not just joy, but love, too. A girl who loved me. Loyal, kind, and patient. Tenderhearted but brave enough to follow me on even my wildest adventures.

Well. I wasn’t going to have my fairy tale on this side of the wall.

I tied the top of my pillowcase shut to hold all my belongings in, and then, with all my might, tossed it over onto the grass beyond. I heard a gasp and the singing of metal: a sword, drawn from its scabbard. Then, softly, “What on Earth?”

My heart swelled. I’d been right. She was there.

“Lope,” I whisper-shouted. “Lope, wait right there!”

With sweaty palms and a thrumming pulse, I grasped on to the thick vines and sturdy brick in front of me and climbed until I could heave myself up onto the wall, sitting astride it like I was on horseback. Below was Lope, shielding her eyes from the dying light, her mouth hung agape.

“My lady!” she croaked. “What are you doing?”

“Going on an adventure,” I whispered back. I glanced over my shoulder toward the manor, but thankfully, there was no sign of Mother or any guards. When I looked at Lope again, the distance from her was dizzying. I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed the knot in my throat. “I—I seem to have forgotten about climbing down.”

Lope unbuckled the scabbard from around her hips and tossed it onto my pillow-bag lying in the grass. She approached the wall, holding out her hands for me like I was some cat stuck up in a tree.

“Slide your legs over,” she coaxed. “I’ll catch you.”

I pried one eye open. She and the earth seemed miles and miles below. I wobbled in place and took in a sharp breath, screwing my eyes shut. “Do you promise?” I peeped.

She laughed, soft and shy. “I’ll catch you. May the gods strike me down if I’m lying.”

In spite of everything, I smiled. Mother said I was too much of a dreamer, that I had an insatiable desire to be in a fairy tale. But with Lope, that never seemed to matter. I was the only person in the world who could make her smile. Practical, focused Lope, who had a near-permanent furrow in her brow and a hand on her sword, but who always listened with relish to my made-up stories of all things marvelous.

What harm did it do, seeing the beauty in the world? Wanting to have a life happier, more beautiful, safer than the dull one we lived within this crumbling manor? Seeing Lope now just reaffirmed that I was making the right decision. For all of us.

I slipped over the wall, and just as she’d promised, Lope’s arms anchored around me. I was in the warmth of her hold for just a moment before she delicately stood me upright. I dug my boots into the dirt, grateful to be earthbound once more. I gazed up at my dearest friend, taking in the face that was as familiar to me as the ground beneath my feet: pale, marked with faint white scars, her long, elegant nose, the notch in her brow when she frowned. The eyes that could be as bright as silver were dark as storm clouds today, and rimmed with red.

“You shouldn’t cry on your birthday,” I said softly.

She turned from me and scrubbed the heel of her hand against her eyes. “You’re right. Forgive me. And happy birthday to you, too.”

I always found it the most charming, magical thing that the two of us were born on the very same day, under the very same star. It was as if we were fated to be friends.

But despite the happy occasion, I could tell something was amiss. Her short words, her weak tone, the way she kept glancing to the horizon—some very special days, Lope would share her worries, her fears, her pain with me. Other times, like this evening, I knew that she was not ready for me to ask about her heartache.

“I brought you a gift!” I chirped instead, scooping up my pillow. Lope’s sword rolled aside into the grass.

“You needn’t have done that, my lady.” Lope surveyed the countryside, orange and gold as candle flames, with the plains cast in amber. “It’s getting late. You—you shouldn’t be out.”

“I know. But this is my chance.” From my bag, I procured a book bound in red leather with a rose etched onto its cover.

Lope’s eyes widened as I placed it in her hands, her lips tilting into a wondrous smile. “Such a beautiful journal, my lady.” She touched the cover so delicately, so reverently. “This is . . . this is more than I could have dreamed of.” When her eyes met mine, my heart fluttered, perhaps from the sheer delight of choosing such a perfect gift for her. “Forgive me, I do not have a gift for you here—”

“There’s something you can do for me!” I interjected, folding my hands penitently and offering the loveliest, most innocent smile I could muster. “Something that could inspire you to write a hundred new poems!”

As I batted my lashes, she glanced from me to my bag to the wall and then back at me. Her smile slowly began to fade into something like suspicion. “My lady . . . what did you mean when you said you were going on an adventure?”

I took a deep breath. My speech would go much better the second time. “Since I am seventeen now, I’ve decided the best thing for myself, and for my mother, is to go to Le Château and petition His Majesty to let us stay in his courts.” Already Lope was opening her mouth, her brow furrowed, but I kept speaking with fervor. “The stories say there is only one place in the world safe from the Shadows, and that’s Le Château. We must go. You told me just last night that more and more Shadows are appearing, just in the past few days!”

Lope grimaced. “Yes, but—”

“So it’s more dangerous than ever out here! And what sort of future am I meant to have in this manor?” I asked, a tremor shaking my voice. “Am I meant to rot away inside, embroidering and reading, isolated from the rest of the world forevermore?

“And”—I hesitated but pushed on—“Mother is miserable; she’s so lonely, and she worries daily about the Shadows, but she won’t do anything about it because she thinks I am too young and too naïve to live at the palace!” I jabbed my thumb at my chest. “I’ll prove to her that I’m mature. I will go and make a place for us. I’ll show her that I’m capable enough for court life, and I’ll take care of everything. I’ll have a royal carriage fetch her and bring her safely to the palace. None of us will have to fear the Shadows again.”

“Your Ladyship—”

“Ofelia. Please, call me Ofelia.” Lope never listened to me when I told her this, but I’d never given up trying, either. We’d known each other for five years now, since she first came here as a knight-in-training. Part of me wished she would set aside the differences in our stations and just call me by my name, but a smaller part of me felt a thrill each time, at the unending chivalry Lope extended to me, just as a knight in my fairy tales.

A blush rose up on her face, beautiful as a sunset, and she tucked a lock of black-and-silver hair behind her ear without meeting my eyes. “My lady, what happened? What brought this on?”

My throat was still raw from the shouting I’d done. And my heart still trembled as I thought of the fear in Mother’s eyes when she’d said, Put this dream of yours to bed. You are safe here.

Safe. Safe, while monsters crept closer to our walls every day.

“It’s three days to the palace by carriage alone,” Lope murmured into my silence, worry making the little wrinkle between her brows deepen. A part of me longed to press my thumb against it, smooth it out so she could smile again. “Do you mean to travel on foot?”

“It’s not a far walk to the next town, and I can hire a coach there.” I gave the bag over my shoulder a little shake. “I brought enough money to get by.”

“But . . . through the night? What about the Shadows?”

I smiled up at her. She looked as she always did: a knight from an old storybook come to life, noble and handsome, with her broad shoulders and her shining breastplate. My heart quivered at the thought that she would be a part of my story. “That is where I need your expertise,” I said.

But there was darkness in her eyes. Sadness. The same sort my mother had whenever I asked her about Le Château.

“The journey is not safe,” she whispered. “Trust me.”

I shivered at her words. She knew those Shadows well. Sometimes, on a very hot day, she would unwind the cravat that she always kept around her throat. Her neck was long and slender but covered with bruises and scars and scratches. Claw marks.

“You are too skillful a knight,” I said, shaking away the memory. “You would not let a Shadow even steal a glance at me.”

Her full lips pressed into a thin, pale line. In a blink, her eyes had grown glassy. She breathed, squared her shoulders, and then the strange shimmer was gone. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I can’t risk anything happening to you—”

“Nothing will happen to me. You’ll protect me,” I cooed. Inside, my pulse raced; I could feel my beautiful future slipping through my fingers like stardust. “Please, Lope, I’m willing to brave the journey. It is worth the cost. The palace is my heart’s greatest dream. My mother and I . . . we need it. Le Château Enchanté is a place blessed by the gods. It could be our sanctuary.”

There was a book I liked to steal from the highest shelf in our library, a book that told the story of our king. In it, King Léo was crowned with a laurel by six of the gods, clouds artfully shielding their faces even in the illustration. The gods were too far beyond us, too good for us to know their appearances. But they were so pleased with the king that they blessed him.

On the next page was a sprawling depiction of the palace itself. It was surrounded by a beautiful garden filled with statues and hedges and flowers, all drawn in shades of black, white, and gray. The very gates, the book claimed, were covered in gold. I could imagine it, a whole palace surrounded by brilliant light, like the rays of the sun.

It seemed fantastical, too good to be true, but my mother had lived there. She was proof that this place, this story, was real.

Mother could have that fairy tale again, with me by her side. I could change everything. And she’d be happy at last.

“Think of it,” I whispered. “Together we’d dance in the ballroom and ride gondolas on the canal in the gardens . . . and you wouldn’t need to fight Shadows anymore.” I tugged on her hand imploringly. “You must come with me. You must see a world beyond this wall. Think of all you could write about! I cannot bear to see such beauty without you. And also, I’m horrible at reading maps, so I would be quite lost without you.”

At this, she let out a bark of a laugh, and a slow, relenting smile dawned on her face. “Very well. I’ll be your knight.”

I gasped in delight. “Oh, I hoped you would say yes! It’s going to be a dream, I promise; we’ll dress in violet and dance all night and try foods we’ve never dreamed of!”

With a twirl, I faced the horizon, the world sweet as sparkling wine and ours for the taking. There was a forest far off, like a low storm cloud. And then, near the edge of the hazy gray woods was a dark silhouette, a tall person standing afar, their head cocked at a strange angle.

Lope stood by my side. Her eyes narrowed into slits.

“It couldn’t be,” she whispered. “It’s too early.”

“Too early?”

The silhouette seemed to stand taller. Its edges were fuzzy, as if a trick of the fading light. And in the next blink, it had collapsed, melting into the ground. In its place, a vast, black Shadow sped across the grass, like some great bird was flying overhead.

Flying right toward us.

Fear and memories clenched my heart in a cold grasp—I have seen this before, I thought.

Lope swore and dove for the sword discarded in the grass. I whirled back toward the space where the Shadow had been, but—

Sharp claws anchored in my hair, scraping against my scalp before wrenching me backward. I felt the world tilt as I hit the grass with no time even to scream before the breath was knocked from my lungs. Directly above me was a shape that bore only the faintest memory of what a human looked like. Its face was swirling, black smoke, completely featureless. In the void where its mouth ought to have been, jaws slowly unhinged, down, down, far past what should have been possible.

Suddenly, I was seven years old again, as helpless as I had been the night I had first seen a Shadow. It made the same horrible, rattling growl, the sound that lingered in the back of my mind during the darkest nights.

A scream tore out of my throat, my entire body going cold. I’m going to die I’m going to die I’m going to—

The creature howled as it was wrenched away from me by some unseen force. In that moment of freedom, I scrambled up to my feet, just long enough to see Lope atop the Shadow. With one hand, she pressed upon its neck, forcing it down even as it hissed and writhed and snapped its toothless jaws at her. With a jerk of her arm, she held her sword high before she rammed the blade through its head.

It seized and wailed, and then it was gone. Fizzled away into bits of smoke and shadow that melted into the earth like rain.

Lope’s chest heaved. She yanked her sword out from where it was now plunged into the dirt. Aside from the remnants of dark soil against the steel, the blade was unstained. Shadows had no blood.

My trembling legs failed me, and I fell back onto the grass, shielding my head with my arms. Weak, childlike sobs broke from my lips. I was two places at once: I was a little girl in the garden, and Mother was lifting me out of a Shadow’s grasp, her arms weeping blood; I was lying in the field just beyond the wall, breathless with tears.

An urgent voice came from above, from the waning sunlight itself. “My lady, are you harmed?”

The fearless knight, the knight from my storybooks. Lope looked me over with frantic eyes, even as she held steadily to her sword. I could barely fathom how she was so calm.

But Lope had faced such creatures every night since she was twelve years old. Not just one. Hundreds, she said. Dozens at a time, always in the darkest part of the night. That was a Shadow’s domain. They never ever appeared during the daytime— but the faintest bit of daylight still lit the sky a pale, mournful pink.

“I’m going to carry you,” she said, and I blinked past the evening light, focusing on the gray of her eyes. “Keep your arms around my neck.”

The Shadow was gone now; we were safe now, but all I wanted to do was bury my head against her heart and weep. Why could I not stop shaking?

I held on to her like she told me to, but my pulse thundered with her every step. My mind was slowly, desperately trying to catch up with all that had happened. I was going to die. She saved my life. She saved me.

***

Catherine Bakewell is a writer, artist, and opera enthusiast. She has lived in Spain and in France, where she romped through gardens, ate pastries, and worked on her novels. She is also the author of We Are the Song and the bestselling Flowerheart, and you can find her at catherinebakewell.com.





Featured Image – cropped cover (title featured)

 

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