Page 37 of Sun, Moon & Shadow

Nova stared at the door for several moments after Callan was gone, her body acutely aware of his absence. She brought her hand to her mouth, fingers lingering briefly on her swollen lips before she buried her face in her hands. Kissing him had been impulsive. Reckless. It violated a tenet she’d adopted years before, when her first lover abandoned her, leaving her heart battered and bleeding. A belief solidified by the sudden death of her father by his own hand.

Everyone—even those who claim to love you—will leave you.

No. The kiss was a mistake, one that could never be repeated.

Nova ate quickly and swallowed a cup of sweet wine before stripping down to her shift and stockings and crawling under the furs layered on top of the plush feather bed. As she lay there, listening to pops from the dry logs on the fire and waiting for sleep to come, she wondered where Callan had gone. She hoped he’d rejoined his uncle in the hall, or that he was sharing a drink with an old friend. But she knew him well enough to know he’d likely sought somewhere to be alone. Her heart ached for him, but she understood the impulse.

After all, she was no stranger to self-imposed isolation.

The wine had warmed Nova from within, and a loud rap on the door roused her from her sleep before she even realized she’d closed her eyes. Gray, early-morning light streamed in through the lightly frosted windowpane. The fire had died down to coals, and she shivered in the chill room as the blankets slipped down to her waist when she sat up. Callan wasn’t there. The only evidence he’d returned at some point in the night was an indentation on the pelt before the fire.

“Come in,” she called out, fairly certain an assassin wouldn’t have knocked.

A female servant with a slight frame and dirty blond hair entered balancing a tray in her hands. She made a slight curtsy before making her way to the table in the corner.

“Would you mind putting it on the bed instead?” Nova stretched her arms lazily toward the ceiling as the servant set the platter at the edge of the mattress. Nova tried to smile in thanks, but the female wouldn’t look at her.

“What’s your name?” Nova asked.

Not answering, the servant crossed to the fireplace, hurriedly stirring the embers and adding fresh logs to coax the fire back to life. Her task complete, she took the tray from the night before and exited the room without ever looking Nova in the eyes. Nova tried to distract herself with the fresh oatcakes spread with golden honey and sticky berry jam, but the exchange unsettled her.

Once she had eaten her meal, she pulled on her woolen dress from the day before and gathered her hair into a loose braid. Draping her cloak around her shoulders, she left the room intent on visiting the stables. The Estate was still asleep with only household staff and a few early risers moving about the Great Hall. Nova bowed her head as she passed, but no one returned the gesture. Most looked away as they rushed past her.

Nova breathed a sigh of relief when she finally stepped out into the quiet solitude of the frozen morning. The sky was overcast, but the wind had died down since the night before. Fat snowflakes swirled around her, carried on a gentle breeze. She pulled her hood over her head and scanned the area to get her bearings. Trudging through the snow to the rear of the main building, she followed the winding lanes connecting the smaller outbuildings and homes of the common Fae until she arrived at the stables.

The familiar scent of hay comforted her as she strolled down the long row of stalls, each one housing a magnificent creature. Most were docile and friendly, reaching their velvety muzzles over the rails in search of scratches or a handful of feed. One reared back, snorting and pawing at the floor as Nova approached its stall. It was a mare, her shiny coat a deep charcoal, like a patch of cool shade.

Nova neared the gate, extending her hand as she murmured to the horse. The mare resisted at first, releasing an agitated whinny and stomping her hooves, but she moved closer to the railing after a few moments. Once the horse had calmed, Nova laid her hand flat on the side of the animal’s neck. Slowly, the horse warmed to Nova, accepting pats along her graceful neck and scratches behind her ears.

“It seems you’ve made a friend.” Callan’s voice cut through the quiet, and Nova turned her head to find him standing in the archway. An intense flutter filled her chest at the sight of him, like the rapid beating of a hummingbird’s wings.

“You did say I could choose any horse from the stables.” She turned back to the mare and ran a hand along her smooth coat. “May I have her?”

“I’ll have to ask Thorn,” he replied, his voice close behind her. The crisp scent of him reached her, carried on the breeze. The horse snorted, drawing her head back behind the rail.

“Are you certain you want that one? She seems a bit . . . aloof.”

“She’s misunderstood,” Nova tutted, holding out a handful of straw and laughing quietly to herself as the mare nibbled at it, lips tickling her palm. “She just needs a little patience and love.”

“I’m sorry I left last night.” Callan leaned against the rail, facing her. “I agreed to accompany you on this journey, and then I abandoned you in a strange place.” He glanced around the barn, reluctant to meet her eye. “Returning to Nivali has unearthed feelings I thought I’d buried long ago, but it’s no excuse.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Callan. Though your apology is appreciated.”

“You shouldn’t be wandering about without me.” He shot an uneasy glance over his shoulder to the entrance.

Nova swallowed hard and cleared her throat, remembering how eager Thorn’s guards had been to spill her blood before anyone had even learned her name. She tamped down her fear and took a step back to survey the mare, wild and beautiful and perfect.

“I think I’ll call her Shade.”

Nineteen

Callan wove his way through the folk gathered in the hall, drinking and swapping stories as they awaited the evening meal. Nova had returned to their shared room to bathe after a day spent touring the Estate and the fishing village along the sandy shoreline. Callan had been away for so long, it felt as if he was seeing everything for the first time alongside her. He’d forgotten how the morning mist gathered around the tops of the rocky cliffs that guarded the inlet, the musical quality of the language spoken by the folk who fished the frigid waters and traded their catches on the docks each day.

Callan approached an area sectioned off with heavy woven curtains in the far corner of the hall. The guard posted at the entrance stared at him for a beat before bowing deferentially and granting him access to his uncle’s private sitting area. Thorn lounged on a low sofa on one side. Pelts of varying shades and sizes lined the floor, and a low fire crackled in a brazier in the center.

“Callan, sit.” Thorn straightened in his seat and motioned to the chair across from him. As Callan sat, he realized Thorn wasn’t alone.

A slender female stood at the fringe of the firelight. A flowing robe of dark blue velvet accentuated her long flaxen hair, which hung loose down her back, silver beads and small white shells woven into several braided sections. The sharp, icy blue of her eyes and the evenly spaced diagonal lines below her ears identified her as one of the fisher folk whose gills allowed them to dive deep under water to fish with spears.