Page 34 of Sun, Moon & Shadow

After a time, they came upon a fence with several collapsed sections. Callan pulled at the reins and stopped before a sagging wooden archway where a path led down a small hill to an abandoned village below. The thatched roofs of the buildings were caved in, the cracked panes of the windows dark. Callan shuddered.

“What happened here?” Nova murmured, a shudder running through her as well.

“You remember the tale I told you of the Shadowbringer?”

Nova nodded.

“This village was one of the first attacked during his campaign of bloodshed. Some of the residents were found dead, mauled by dark creatures. Most had simply vanished leaving no trace. The village stands as a monument to those who were lost.”

Callan urged the horse on, understandably eager to put the ruined village behind his back.

“The attacks have lessened over the centuries. It had been many years since the last report, but a squadron of Tundaran soldiers disappeared just weeks ago under similar circumstances.” He fell silent, and they rode on through the hushed quiet of the forest, even Frost’s hoofbeats muted by the snow.

At last, the Nivali Estate came into view as they rounded a bend in the path. The grand three-story structure rose up before them built upon a raised platform. Several steps spanned the length of the building—each one a single plank hewn from an enormous tree—leading to a pair of towering doors. Dozens of chimneys speared the sky, plumes of gray smoke swirling out before dissipating in the frozen wind.

Callan brought Frost to a halt at the foot of the steps and dismounted, leading the horse to a post and looping the reins around it before offering a hand to help Nova down. He stared up at the entryway flanked by tall windows emitting a warm glow.

He was stalling again.

“How long has it been since you were last here?” Nova asked, hauling him from his thoughts once more. She accepted his hand and slid down smoothly from the saddle.

Callan shook his head. “You still think of time as humans do. It’s different for the Fae.” He clenched his jaw. “Let’s say it has been far too long.”

“How long?”

Callan blew out a breath.

“Two hundred years.”

Before Nova could react, he started up the steps, one hand on the small of her back, guiding her beside him. When they reached the top, he lowered his hood and laid his palms flat on the doors but hesitated, turning his face to hers.

“There is something you should know before we enter.”

His eyes found hers slowly, as if the weight of his emotion made it difficult to lift his gaze.

“I am the rightful Noble Lord of Nivali.”

With that, he shoved his hands against the heavy doors and strode purposefully into the Great Hall beyond.

Eighteen

A hush fell as Callan entered, the gust of frigid wind snaking through the room in his wake nearly extinguishing the fire blazing in the center of the hall. Nova followed, halting inside the entryway and glancing timidly at the crowd gathered around tables laden with platters of roasted meat and fish, loaves of bread, and pitchers of ale.

The space boasted a high vaulted ceiling. Doors lined the gallery walks on the second and third levels, likely leading to private chambers. Some folk regarded Callan with distaste, crinkled noses and curled lips. Most wore looks of shock, particularly the male sitting upon a modest wooden throne on the low platform on the far side of the great room. As Nova watched Callan stride to the foot of the platform, two guards closed the doors with a bang, startling her.

“Callan?” Rising from his throne, the male moved to the platform’s edge, looking down on Callan.

While he had the appearance of a young man, an air of wisdom clung to him, and Nova surmised he was considerably older than Callan. Dressed simply in black breeches, a loose cream-colored shirt, and a brown leather vest, he wore no ornamentation to indicate his status as being above his guests’. He descended the steps to stand at Callan’s side.

“Uncle Thorn.” Callan bowed his head.

The two males stood roughly the same height, but while Callan was solid muscle, his uncle had a leaner build. He had a full beard, and brown hair that fell to his chin, one side shaved close to his scalp. There was little resemblance between the two. Where Callan was clearly a trained warrior, his body a finely crafted weapon, his uncle had the look of a strategist. Nova suspected Thorn relied on a sharp intellect over brute strength.

“My last several letters to you have gone unanswered.” Thorn addressed Callan, but pitched his voice so the gathered crowd could hear. “And, as welcome as it is, you sent no word to inform me of this . . . visit.”

“There wasn’t time. We’ve come urgently to take care of a personal matter concerning my companion.” Callan motioned for Nova to join him.

She approached slowly, uneasy under the sea of eyes tracking her across the room, her footsteps echoing off the high ceiling. She reached Callan’s side and lowered her hood. Startled gasps erupted from the crowd. Two guards posted at the base of the platform rushed forward, weapons drawn in a flash of steel caught in the firelight.