Page 89 of Sun, Moon & Shadow

“If I can’t persuade you to remain here, will you at least promise me you’ll stay out of the fight?”

“I’m sorry. I can’t,” she said, fists clenched at her sides. “Idrian deceived me. I trusted him, and he betrayed that trust. He deserves to pay for what he did to me. For what he plans to do to our people. I intend to be the one to make him pay.”

Perhaps her uncle sensed the rage crackling just beneath the surface of her calm exterior, because he relented without further discussion.

“I understand,” he said, gathering her in a firm embrace and planting a kiss on her temple. “Just promise you’ll come back to us.”

“I promise,” Nova said, believing with every fiber of her being that she would.

It was midday by the time their party reconvened in the black stone courtyard in front of the Estate. The unforgiving sun beat down from directly above. Horses snorted and pawed idly at the ground as their riders tightened saddle straps and readied themselves for the journey ahead. Nova surveyed the assortment of steeds spread out around the courtyard: snowy-white coats from Nivali and silvery-gray from Silvergard. Her eyes settled on one horse, seemingly out of place. A familiar mare with a charcoal-gray coat. Nova jogged over to Shade and ran a hand along her horse’s neck as the animal snorted a greeting.

Arik’s voice came from behind her. “I thought you might like to have your own horse with you.”

“It was very kind of you to bring her,” Nova said, dipping her head in a quick bow of appreciation.

“It’s the least I could do after you saved Callan’s life. I’m in your debt.” He laid his hand over his heart and tipped his head to her before heading off into the crowd.

Several of the others began mounting up around her; it was nearly time to leave.

Nova took a quick inventory. Isla had braided her hair for her, coiling it into a bun and pinning it at the back of her head. She wore full Silvergardian fighting attire of black leather: fitted breeches and a jacket, a thick chest plate, and pauldrons dotted with metal studs. The bracers strapped to her wrists extended to just below her elbows.

She flexed her fingers inside her black leather gloves and patted each of her weapons—her Nivalian sword at her hip and her curved Silvergardian dagger at her thigh. Lowering herself to one knee on the hot black stone, she tightened the straps of her boots that hit midway up her calf.

The pommel of the dagger she’d brought from the Human Realm barely peeked above the top of the boot that concealed it. The blade seemed to have lost its luster, as any human-made item might when held up against even the most mundane Fae-made objects, all of which were seemingly imbued with otherworldly power. She’d nearly left it behind, but something compelled her to pick it up when she’d finished dressing.

She recalled how Anson had once found her playing with the weapon, having taken it from the decorative box in his chamber.

Careful with that blade, girl.

He had chuckled, scolding her playfully as he took it from her and showed her how to hold it properly.

Unless you’re eager to see your insides on the outside.

A large pair of boots appeared before her, and she squinted up to see Callan silhouetted against the bright sky. He extended a hand to her. Taking it, she hoisted herself to her feet.

“Are you ready?” he asked, fiddling with the buckle of her sword belt.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. “I love you,” she whispered, when she finally managed to pull herself away.

It was impossible to know what might come to pass, and she intended to never miss an opportunity to tell Callan how she felt.

“I’ll love you always.”

A few moments later, the entire party stood ready to depart. Nova nudged Shade into a canter, riding out of the courtyard with the others heading north, little more than half a day of hard riding between her and her vengeance.

Forty-Three

The arid air turned misty and cool as they reached the northern coast, the sun hanging low in the sky like a ripe fruit. Callan and Lucan led the patchwork band of riders, as varied in appearance as their horses, behind the large rocky outcrop that had shielded their position only days before.

The archers had ridden two to a horse. Even so, more than two dozen weary animals needed to be fed and watered. Nova slid down from the saddle and guided Shade by the bridle to a spring bubbling out of the ground a short distance away, its peaceful murmuring leading her to it. She crouched at the edge of the reflective pool as her horse drank greedily beside her.

Nova lowered the kerchief covering the bottom half of her face and eyed her reflection on the mirrorlike surface of the water. The face peering out at her was at once familiar and unrecognizable: pale eyes shadowed with the rage it took all her energy to mask. She dipped her hands into the pool, bringing the cool liquid to her lips and swallowing several mouthfuls before rubbing the excess over her sweat-covered forehead smudged with dust. Tiny waves rippled through her reflection, warping her features.

She rejoined the others moments later, everyone spread out, sitting on rocks and sharpening weapons or leaning back against the leafless desert trees. Scanning the area for Callan, her eyes met the golden amber of Lucan’s instead. An almost imperceptible lift of his brows told her Callan was on top of the rock. In the late-afternoon light, she climbed to the slanted summit, carefully choosing where to step, and crawled silently to crouch at his side. He lay flat, peering through a spyglass.

For an instant, he glanced away from the viewfinder, acknowledging her with a friendly, albeit distracted, grunt. With her naked eye, she could barely make out the mouth of the cave that had been her prison and nearly her tomb. Callan’s spyglass was pointed to an area farther east, beyond the foot of the mountain, where the land sloped gradually out of view toward the sea.

“We’ve sent two of the Silvergardian archers as scouts to assess the situation,” he said quietly, returning to the viewfinder. “They should return within the hour with a report.”