Page 78 of Sun, Moon & Shadow

“What’s your plan, then?” she asked dryly, her mask righted after her brief slip. “Am I to remain chained to the floor until I rot? Surely you have something more grandiose planned for me.”

“I do,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “You’re my key to the throne.”

When Nova showed no reaction, Idrian leaned back against the rock wall, stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his boots at the ankles. She swallowed a groan, realizing he was readying himself for a speech.

“I grew up poor in Stargrave,” he began, his face tilted toward the low ceiling. “My father was a low-level soldier and a piss-poor one at that. He wasted what little wages he earned on drink and female company, never aspiring to be anything more than he was. He disgusted me. We had little food in those days, but my mother fed me a steady diet of stories about the once-noble blood flowing through my veins—a noble bloodline overthrown by your ancestors nearly two thousand years ago.”

She supposed that explained his interest in the ancestry records stored in the hidden wing of the library.

“As I grew older, I vowed I would be nothing like my father. I would aspire to greatness, to be worthy of the throne stolen from me long before I was born. Everything I have, I've earned through struggle. My rank. My reputation. You can’t imagine what a slap in the face it was to see the future of Silvergard laid at Nox’s feet, only for him to piss on it.”

Idrian leaned forward again. Nova nearly flinched at the abruptness of the movement.

“Your uncle is a spoiled, fucking brat,” he spat, jabbing a finger at her. “He’s not worthy to sit upon the Lunar Throne. And neither are you. When I saw you upon the dais, it took every shred of my self-control not to end your life that very moment.”

He paused briefly to compose himself, wiping a drop of spit from his chin with the back of his hand.

“But I made a bargain, and I must honor the terms of the agreement. I’ve always dreamt of taking back what is rightfully mine. But, for reasons that are lost on me, Nox is beloved by the folk of Silvergard. I never could have amassed the support I needed to carry out my plans. That is, until your father presented me with an offer that was simply too good to pass up. A simple exchange, really: your life for the backing I need to retake the territory.”

Her mother’s voice rang out in her head.

If he discovers you in Aemoria, discovers who you are, I won’t be able to protect you.

“What does my father want with me?” Nova asked, barely able to keep her voice from trembling.

“Nothing,” Idrian said matter-of-factly. “Make no mistake, your father wishes you dead. And while he may not be able to dispatch you with his own hand, he certainly means to watch.”

A sinewy soldier with close-cropped white hair entered the room, passing a rolled bit of parchment into Idrian’s hand.

“From one of his birds,” the soldier muttered, shooting a hateful glance in her direction. His nose was swollen and slightly crooked, the bridge flecked with remnants of dried blood. Fresh bruises purpled the pale skin around his eyes. Nova realized she was responsible for the injury. She held his rage-filled stare for a moment before dropping her eyes, taking note of the ring of keys dangling from his belt.

Nova recoiled as Idrian jumped up from his seat, unleashing a vicious snarl. He kicked the stool, launching it across the cell where it crashed against the far wall.

“The bastard is either too weak or too paranoid to leave his Estate. He won’t be meeting us here as planned,” he informed his lackey, crumpling the message and casting it aside.

Idrian spun to face Nova. Inky strands of black hair hung loose over his forehead, his gray eyes gleaming like white-hot coals. Lowering his lids for an instant, he calmly ran both hands through his hair, taming it once more. When he looked at her again, it was as if his outburst had never happened. Nova found his ability to shift so rapidly from seething rage to eerie stillness deeply unsettling.

“I suggest you get some rest, Nova Elsever. We depart for Raven’s Isle at dusk.”

Idrian left, disappearing into the dimly lit tunnel. The light-haired soldier glared at her for a moment before he followed the general. Nova waited for the echo of their footsteps to fade. Finally, she released the breath she’d been holding; hot tears followed close behind.

She threw herself down flat on her back, striking the stone floor with her shackled hands. How could she have been so stupid? Nox, Lucan, Isla, all the folk of the Lunar Court—her Court—were in grave danger, all thanks to her foolishness.

She pressed her palms against her eyes and saw Callan’s face in the sea of glittering blackness, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She cursed herself for all the times she’d pushed him away and denied their connection. The times she’d allowed him to believe he was unworthy when, in truth, it was she who felt undeserving. Her regret sat like a stone on her chest, making it difficult to catch her breath.

Had she lived long enough to join her life with another’s—and she now wished desperately to have had the chance—she could think of no one more perfectly suited for her than Callan Nyhauslen. She’d been handed a death sentence and would never be able to tell him how she truly felt. To tell him what his kindness had meant to her. That she was falling in love with him.

Nova rolled onto her side on the chill, damp ground. She fought to hold back her tears, and an uncomfortable heaviness grew within her chest until she could have sworn she felt her rib cage crack. Tears spilled forth then, soaking her cheeks as she wept for the life she’d wasted and all that would never be. She wept until her tears ran dry, then smeared the tracks staining her cheeks with grimy fingers. Unmoving, she lay there in the silence. As seconds dragged into minutes, minutes into hours, a hollow sensation spread slowly from the center of her chest, creeping along her spine and down her limbs, until she could feel nothing. Until she was nothing. Dreamily, she wondered whether the numbness stemmed from the iron or her despair.

Nova curled her knees to her chest, eyelids growing heavy as she watched the dancing flame of the torchlight. As exhaustion and the effects of the iron overtook her, she imagined she felt the warmth of a body nestled against her back. The comforting weight of an arm wrapped around her waist. It was only a hallucination, she knew, but she could have sworn she heard Callan’s voice, murmuring softly in her ear.

Thirty-Eight

The horses were exhausted by the time Callan and Lucan reached the rocky outcrop, not far from the base of Schadwen Mountain. It was shortly after sunrise when they tethered the animals to the branches of a twisted acacia, hidden from view. Quickly scaling the formation of black bedrock, Callan lay flat on his stomach atop the slanted summit, pulling a spyglass from the folds of his cloak. Lucan joined him a moment later, crouching beside him as Callan scanned the base of the mountain for a point of entry.

“There,” he said, passing the spyglass to Lucan and pointing. The cave entrance was nearly hidden by several desert trees springing out of the sandy ground in front of it. Lucan nodded and glanced up at the brightening sky overhead, handing the spyglass back to him.

“I say we give them another hour to settle in for a rest, then we make our way inside.”