Page 5 of Sun, Moon & Shadow

She could see him more clearly in the candlelight, though his hood still obscured his face. Beneath his cloak, he wore a gray tunic and black breeches, his leather boots reaching just below his knees. His clothing was well-made but rumpled, the soles of his boots caked with mud. Brown leather bracers covered each wrist, and a dagger sat sheathed at his right thigh. His broad shoulders spanned the doorway, and, while Nova was taller than most women she encountered, this man’s chin could rest comfortably atop her head.

She cleared her throat, ridding her voice of any emotion before she spoke.

“What do you know of my mother?” she asked, motioning for him to sit.

He crossed to the small table and lowered himself onto a dining chair, the seat looking decidedly dainty beneath his large frame.

“Her name was Elena,” he began, his voice low and smooth. He laid his right hand flat on the tabletop and rested his left on top of a long, muscled thigh. “She arrived in Timberfell roughly twenty-six years ago.”

Nova regarded him with interest as he spoke but kept her expression blank, her arms folded across her aproned chest.

“She was a healer,” he continued.

Nova blinked. She hadn’t realized her mother’s interest in plants was anything more than a hobby. She crossed to the sideboard where the candleflame flickered lower and lower, the wick nearly spent. Keeping a watchful eye on her visitor, she rifled through the top drawer for a new taper, lighting it on the old one’s flame just before it extinguished. The small kitchen was bathed in warm light. She placed the candlestick in the center of the table where her visitor sat, taking the chair opposite him.

The light illuminated Callan’s face below his hood. He appeared to be roughly her age. He had the look of a hunter or a tracker. Someone often on the road and accustomed to sleeping under the stars. Damp strands of dark hair fell across his forehead. Stubble covered his strong jaw and edged his full lips. His eyes in the candlelight captivated her. Brown with vibrant gold striations, they glinted against his warm brown skin, reminding her of the tiger’s-eye gemstones from the southern shores she’d once seen for sale in the market.

Nova closed her eyes briefly, reining in her racing thoughts. “Did you know her?” The question felt silly even as she asked it. He could have been no more than a few years old when her mother died.

“No. But I know someone who did.” He leaned forward, placing both hands flat on the table in front of him, as if bracing himself. “Someone who wishes to see her again.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Nova said flatly. “My mother died bringing me into the world.”

“It’s true no one has seen your mother in many years, but she didn’t die the night you were born.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?” Fighting the impulse to laugh at the absurdity of the conversation, she leaned in closer, eyes narrowed.

“Your mother didn’t die,” he repeated, his voice dipping lower. “She returned to her home in Aemoria. The Fae Realm.”

Nova stared at him dumbly for a beat, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone speak.

“Your mother was Fae,” he clarified, his eyes locking with hers.

Nova’s chest seized as if her breath had been stolen, whether by the revelation or the effect of his gaze, she couldn’t be certain.

“And how would you know that?” she whispered, an almost imperceptible tremble in her voice, born of equal parts disbelief and hope.

“Because I’ve traveled from the Fae Realm to find you.” He shifted in his seat and lowered his hood.

A bright light filled the room, seeming to shine from within him. The ends of his dark hair brushed his shoulders, the strands damp and slightly wavy. Silver flecks glistened on his cheekbones, standing out against his rich complexion and drawing her attention to the fine points of his ears. For an instant, gone was the road-weary tracker, and in his place sat a regal Fae male.

The sight of him left her breathless.

Nova sat stone-faced as a shield fell back into place, putting a damper on Callan’s light. Her heart thundered in her chest, so forcefully she was certain it must be visible through her thin gown. She rose from her seat, battling the urge to start pacing before the hearth.

“If my mother is Fae,” she asked, “what does that make me?”

Callan stood, taking a tentative step toward her. She did not shrink away from him.

“It makes you Fae, as well.”

“But my father was a mortal man. He died only two years past.” Her words spilled out of her. The unsettling image of her father’s pale face flashed in her mind once again, but she shoved it aside.

Her grip on her composure was beginning to slip. Suddenly, the room was spinning.

“Nova, sit,” Callan said firmly. He took her hand in his, and an unmistakable rush of energy shot through her at his touch. She stifled a gasp, nearly yanking her hand away. He guided her back to her seat, and she fell into it.

“I’ll tell you a story.” He crouched before her, speaking in a low, lilting voice, as if soothing a skittish horse.