Page 58 of Sun, Moon & Shadow

She bolted upright in bed, the bitter tang of bile clinging to the back of her throat. Her hands flew to her chest, where her heart thundered like the wings of a great bird.

It was only a dream.

She slid out of bed and stumbled into the bathing chamber. Running the tap, she splashed a handful of icy water over her face, rubbing the bracing liquid over the back of her neck. She rested her elbows on the cool stone counter, letting her head roll forward and breathing deeply for several minutes, willing her pulse to slow.

After a time, she returned to bed, crawling under the smooth sheets and drawing them up to her chin despite the warmth in the room. Sunlight streamed in through the terrace doors. Nova focused her attention on the long gossamer curtains dancing in the breeze, the rhythmic motion eventually lulling her back to sleep.

Twenty-Seven

Nova awoke at dusk to the steady rustle of beating wings. A messenger owl swooped in from the terrace clasping a folded piece of parchment in its talons. The bird deposited the letter on the bedsheets beside her and flew back through the gap in the doors. She snatched up the paper, sealed with dark blue wax stamped with an insignia of crossed swords, and tore through the seal, nearly rending the parchment in her eagerness.

Nova released a sigh of relief. Callan was alive and well.

Not for the first time, Nova imagined Callan hefting her over his shoulder. The needling anxiety in the pit of her stomach, which she’d been doing her best to ignore, eased a bit. She feared the unpleasant sensation wouldn’t fade completely until they were reunited.

Flinging herself off the bed, she rushed into the bathing chamber, needing to physically distance herself from Callan’s words and the feelings they stirred within her. She tidied herself at the sink, first cleaning her teeth, then dousing her hair with rose water and wrangling it into a braid.

Rifling through the wardrobe, she settled on a pair of fitted black breeches and a leather bodice cinched over a loose linen blouse. She tugged on a pair of boots, then ventured into the corridor, where she wandered for a bit before getting herself hopelessly lost. Fortunately, she was able to flag down a passing servant who told her she could find Nox in his private garden and kindly offered to escort her there, chatting amiably at her the entire way.

Nox’s back was to her when she passed through the wrought-metal gate into the open-air garden. Similar to the Temple of Illora, the area was crowded with potted trees, shrubs, and flowers in ornate arrangements. With the exception of a few acacias and juniper bushes, Nova assumed most of the garden’s greenery was likely imported.

Her uncle stood pruning the limbs of an impressive magnolia tree. From what she’d seen of Silvergard, very little sprouted from the dry terrain, but this tree was firmly rooted in the coarse black sand. Delicate white moths fluttered around the white and pale pink petals, attracted by the fragrance. Nova crossed the garden to stand beside Nox, quietly watching as he snipped off any wilted blooms. After a few moments, he finished his task and set the shears down on a table.

As Nox turned to face her, Nova took in his platinum hair gathered at the back and his black satin robe. She took a step back, stung by a barb of recognition.

“I saw you,” she murmured, recalling her dream. A shudder ran through her at the memory of Omen’s ruined hands.

“Yes,” he said, eyes downcast. “I influenced your dream. It’s not something I do often or that I take lightly, I assure you. I know it was an invasion, but it was the only way to make you see—”

“Through your eyes,” Nova finished, the pieces falling into place. “You showed me your memories.” She’d thought the visions were from the perspective of a child.

“It’s one thing to hear stories of my father’s cruelty. It’s quite another to witness it firsthand.” He met her gaze, guilt written across his face.

“It was horrific,” she said, aware the word was wholly inadequate to describe the sickening visions he’d shown her. The residual terror of seeing a child powerless to stop the abuse rushed through her.

Nox nodded in silent agreement. “I promise you, Nova: I will never enter your mind without your consent again.” He laid his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

Nova bit the inside of her cheek. “I think I’d like to get to know your, I mean, our people while I’m here.”

“You would?” He grinned. “That’s wonderful. I’ll arrange a welcome dinner for you.”

The heavy gate groaned behind them, and she turned to see Lucan, who’d halted in the entryway, one boot hovering mid-step.

“Lucan,” Nova said flatly. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.” He made a mocking bow of his head. “Sorry to intrude.”

“There’s no intrusion,” Nox said, smiling faintly.

“I thought Nova might want to see the training yard. I’m headed there now for drills.”

Lucan was dressed in light armor of black leather, his curved sword sheathed at his hip.

“Excellent,” Nova said.

Traces of nervous energy still rattled like loose coins in the pit of her stomach, and physical exertion sounded like the perfect distraction.

“Very well. We can fetch some food and eat on the way.”