Page 2 of Sun, Moon & Shadow

Nothing.

Narrowing her eyes, she peered into the thick forest beyond the rock wall, listening intently. No sound apart from the trill of the swallows and warblers. She started up again and continued down the road, unable to escape the sensation of eyes upon her back.

Before long, her footsteps met the gray stone streets of downtown Timberfell. The main thoroughfare was alive with the sounds of customers bartering with street vendors for the last deals of the day. Nova paused for a moment beside the florist’s cart, admiring the vibrant pinks and purples of the freshly cut dahlias and chrysanthemums.

“What have I told you about begging in front of my shop?” a gruff voice shouted nearby, drawing Nova’s attention.

She turned just in time to see the butcher yanking a boy, one of the many urchins that roamed the streets begging, up by his elbow. The butcher, a disagreeable, red-faced man, shoved the boy off the curb, sending him careening into the street. He came to rest in a crumpled pile of slender limbs and soiled clothing at Nova’s feet.

She crouched down, took the boy gently under the arms, and hoisted him onto his bare feet. Without speaking, she turned her gaze on the butcher, staring at him until he took several backward steps toward the door of his shop.

“Don’t let me catch you out here again,” he warned the child with a menacing look, jabbing a finger in the boy’s direction. He briefly met Nova’s eyes again, muttering “witch” under his breath, before passing swiftly into his shop and slamming the door.

Nova faced the boy. He appeared largely unharmed, though he stood unmoving, staring at her with sunken eyes as wide as an owl’s. Nova opened her purse and pressed two silver coins into the boy’s grimy hand, dirt caked under his unkempt fingernails. He glanced down briefly then scampered off into the crowd without a word of thanks or a backward glance. Nova sighed quietly and returned the pouch to a pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt.

The streets grew crowded as she reached the Temple in the town square. The faithful pushed past her, making their way inside to secure a seat for the evening ritual. Nova’s eyes traveled from the polished silver collection vessel beside the entrance to the intricate carving in the gray granite above it: the Two-Faced God, a symbol of balance in all things. Life and death. Order and chaos. Good and evil.

Nova preferred the Forgotten Gods, the ancient ones, so human in their spite and passion. But they’d been replaced, lost to time. All she knew of them had been gleaned from a single aged book of folklore.

She turned her back on the towering structure of cold stone and the deity keeping careful watch over the city. The faithful veered around her, a stubborn stone in a riverbed, refusing to yield to the current. The remaining coins in her purse clinked against one another as she began to make her way home. The Two-Faced God had taken more from her than it had ever given; she’d keep her money for herself.

The familiar sound of hushed voices carried from the farm stand across the way. Two young women about her age stood casting sideways glances at her and whispering to one another. Nova kept her expression neutral but fixed her pale gray eyes on the gossips, staring unblinkingly at them until they hooked arms and rushed off, weaving a path through the bustling crowd.

Once the women were out of sight, she looked up to the sky, sensing a hum of energy in the air. A storm was coming. She pointed her mud-caked boots toward home as the sky began to darken with thunderheads rolling in from the west.

Stares and whispers from the townsfolk were nothing new. Nova’s mother had been an outsider, and folk often whispered that she was a faerie from the Wood. That she bewitched poor, unsuspecting Anson Greenmore, saddling him with a strange half-breed daughter when she died in childbirth less than a year after they wed.

As a child, Nova’s eyes had been large, set on her pale face below a cascade of raven hair—a stark contrast to the fair-haired and ruddy residents of Timberfell. It was her eyes that seemed to inspire the most distrust, the pale gray color giving her a somewhat otherworldly appearance. The other children were generous with their taunts. Half-breed. Changeling. Now, on the eve of her twenty-fifth birthday, Nova’s armor against such abuse was damn near impenetrable.

The wind gusted as she turned onto the narrow drive that ran alongside her home, billowing the fabric of her charcoal day dress. Clasping her basket close to her chest, she gathered her skirts in her free hand, preparing to outrun the rain.

She spotted it an instant too late. A carriage sat parked nearly around the corner, hidden by an overgrown bush bursting with pale pink hydrangeas. A cloaked figure emerged from behind a nearby elm, catching her off guard. She sidestepped, bumping against the corner of the house just out of view of the street.

Looking up, Nova found herself face-to-face with Ryker Ramdon, a man she had unfortunately known since childhood. He had been one of her most enthusiastic tormentors, though she’d obviously captured his attention for other reasons once she’d come of age.

“Miss Greenmore.” He addressed her formally, as if there was anything proper about his unannounced and unwelcome visit. He lowered the hood of his cloak, his hair, the color of cornsilk, blowing in the breeze.

“Mister Ramdon,” she replied flatly, pulling her head as far back from him as her position against the house would allow. “How . . . unexpected.”

“I was under the impression that all women enjoyed surprises.” He smirked, icy blue eyes glinting.

“I suppose it depends on the surprise,” she said, glancing briefly at the empty road. No one walking or riding by. She was on her own.

“I expected an answer by now.” He took a step toward her, his body now uncomfortably close to hers. “I think you’ll agree I’ve been more than patient.”

Nova restrained the grimace threatening to spread across her face.

“My answer is no,” she said matter-of-factly. “I have no interest in marrying.”

Placing a palm firmly on his chest, she attempted to push past him. He took her by the shoulders and pressed her against the wall, the corner of a limestone brick digging into the space between her shoulder blades.

Still a bully, desperate for a reaction, after all these years.

Anger tinged with fear swirled in her chest, but she maintained an outward mask of calm, refusing to give him the satisfaction. The wind was picking up speed, and loose strands of her hair lashed her across the face.

“My proposal was perfectly respectable, Nova.” His tenor voice hissed past his teeth, a sneer stretched across his thin lips. “Any woman can see what I have to offer.”

“Then, by all means, go pursue any other woman,” Nova replied, disinterested. Inwardly, she seethed at his use of her first name.