Page 6 of Sun, Moon & Shadow

“There once was a Fae female who fled to the Human Realm. There, she wed a human male and gave birth to a Fae child. A daughter she shielded with a glamour set to expire on the twenty-fifth anniversary of her birth. Once the glamour faded, her true nature would no longer be hidden in the mortal lands.” He paused. “That child was you.”

Nova felt as if she’d sunk underwater, her movements slowed, Callan’s words muffled and almost unintelligible. She stared at his hand loosely holding her own, unable to decide if she was offended by him speaking to her as if she were an upset child, or grateful he’d sought to find a way to soften the blow.

“Your mother left this for you,” he said, releasing her hand and reaching into a small leather pouch at his hip. He produced a folded parcel of yellowed parchment. Nova peeled open the package and tipped it, something solid scratching along the aged paper as it slid out then landed in her palm.

A ring.

Nova pinched her brows together. A simple silver band set with a white oval stone. She turned the treasure over in her hands, holding it up to the light and examining it closely. It certainly looked like the ring from her mother’s portrait.

Nova slid the ring onto her finger, calling to mind a dream she often had as a girl. In it, she would see her mother calling out to her from the Wood, glowing faintly like an apparition, her voice a distorted, faraway echo. Each time Nova neared, her mother would vanish, reappearing a short distance away and calling her name once again. A wisp luring Nova deeper and deeper into the forest.

Looking back, Nova always considered the dream a manifestation of the childish wish she’d kept hidden in her heart: that her mother was not dead. That one day they would be reunited, far from her lonely existence in Timberfell. Now, she wondered if perhaps the dream was a vision planted by her mother. An invitation extended all those years ago.

“What part do you play in all of this?” Nova murmured, slowly spinning the band around her knuckle.

“I’ve been sent to collect you.”

An image flashed in her mind: Callan slinging her over his broad shoulder and carrying her back to the Fae Realm. The thought sent an unexpected thrill along her spine.

“Time is short,” he said, pulling her from her thoughts. “We have only hours before the glamour expires. You can’t be in the Human Realm when that happens. You won’t be able to hide your true form, and I suspect the townsfolk won’t take kindly to a Fae living among them.”

Callan held her gaze, still kneeling on one knee before her. Nova clasped her hands tightly in her lap, mind reeling. Superstition would have her believe that one should never trust a faerie. She searched his eyes, finding nothing but sincerity there. Deep within her, smoldering like an ember, was an inexplicable but overwhelming sense that she could trust him.

“I suppose I ought to get dressed first,” she said as she stood and tugged at the apron strings.

Nova braved the chill of her father’s chamber for the second time that day, seeking some of his old clothes, still neatly folded in the armoire. Though baggy, the brown breeches were the right length thanks to her height. The gauzy, cream-colored shirt hung loose about her shoulders but concealed her stays underneath. She pulled on a pair of her own brown leather riding boots and a hooded cloak of forest green.

As an afterthought, she lifted the lid of the decorative box atop her father’s chest of drawers, gingerly removing a dagger from within. The narrow blade extended from the base of her hand to just beyond the tip of her middle finger. It was a simple, practical weapon, the blade a bit tarnished and a strip of brown leather wrapped tightly around the hilt. It slid nicely into place inside the makeshift sheath of her boot.

As she turned to leave, Nova’s eyes fell upon the bed. Her chest tightened with the weight of finally bidding her father the farewell she’d been unable to utter in the two years since his death. Her cheeks heated with the shame of how often she’d wished to escape her life. To escape him and the gloomy pall of his melancholy, so oppressive she often feared it might consume her as well. How she, so absorbed with her own self-pity, had dreamt of disappearing and starting fresh somewhere new.

Nova shook her head, as if the motion could erase the terrible memories, and opened the door. She inhaled sharply, startled to see Callan waiting on the other side, his form nearly filling the entire doorway. His face was partially in shadow, lit only by the low flame of a candle. She cleared her throat, unsettled by how silently he moved and the way he observed her. As someone accustomed to being viewed with disdain, she found his benign interest unnerving.

Nova pushed past him, quickly descending the front stairs and heading for the writing desk in the parlor. Once she sat, her pen hung poised in the air over a piece of blank parchment for several minutes. How could she possibly explain to Agnes what had happened? Where she’d gone? Still, she couldn’t bear the thought of her friend finding an even emptier house and no explanation. No, she had to leave a note.

She hastily penned some nonsense about a last-minute journey to visit relations far from Timberfell. She asked Agnes and her husband to look after her affairs in her absence, weighing the paper down with a small leather pouch full of coins. There was no other family, as far as she knew. The previous winter, Nova had paid a magistrate to draw up documents naming Agnes as the beneficiary of her estate. If she never returned, her land and property would legally pass to her dear friend. The knowledge that Agnes and her family would be provided for eased the sting of leaving a bit.

Pressing her lips together, she scanned the familiar room, taking it in for what was likely the last time. The fading floral wallpaper. The small throw pillow on the sofa she had embroidered as a girl.

A faint knock sounded on the doorframe, and she looked up to find Callan waiting there.

“We should be going,” he said quietly, urgency clinging to the edge of his voice.

Nova signed her name to the message and laid the pen flat on the desk. She joined Callan at the parlor door. Biting back sentimental tears, she looked up at him with a resolute nod.

“I’m ready. Let’s go,” she said and blew out the candle.

Four

Callan led the way through the darkened house with Nova close on his heels. He regretted there hadn’t been more time to ease her into the reality of the situation, but it had taken him much longer than expected to track her down.

Humans with the family name of Greenmore lived in nearly every city he’d stopped in along the border with Aemoria. Most were squat and stout, their sanguine complexions clashing with cornsilk hair. He’d known she was the female he sought the moment he laid eyes upon her as she walked along the cart road earlier in the day. An unmistakable energy surrounded her, invisible and crackling. It set her apart from everyone else. Marked her as different. If the interactions he’d observed were any indication, the humans could sense it as well, though they likely didn’t understand what they were feeling.

Callan had trailed her through the city center, keeping close to the storefronts and observing her from beneath his hood. The townsfolk avoided her much as one avoids a root in one’s path, weaving and sidestepping, wary of making contact. Her stony countenance had broken only once, when she’d helped the boy off the ground, and Callan had smiled to himself at her kindness.

When he followed her home, he’d sensed the male hiding behind the elm tree from a distance, but could do nothing to warn her. Callan had nearly revealed himself when the swine laid his hands on her, his intentions clearly written in the sneer cutting across his ruddy face. But before he could act, she’d knocked the bastard flat on his ass and made it safely into the house.

The male had taken his carriage to a nearby tavern, where he proceeded to down mug after mug of ale. Callan watched him like a hawk from a shadowy corner, forcing down bites of stale bread and dry cheese. Hours passed before the fair-haired male finally stumbled out of the pub and into his waiting coach, which carted him off in the opposite direction of Nova’s residence. Only then was Callan satisfied she was safe.