Page 1 of Death Will Follow

One

Nova worried her bottom lip between her teeth, eyeing the stack of correspondence mocking her from its perch atop her desk. Nearly five moons had passed since the incursion beside the Gloaming Sea. In that time, she hadn’t heard so much as a whisper from her father. No visits from the dark mist while she slept. Even the raven, which had begun to feel as familiar as her own shadow, seemed to have made itself scarce. She welcomed the reprieve; it allowed her to steep herself in her new role as Emissary of the Lunar Court.

She glanced around the cramped room, cluttered with books and stacks of parchment. The private study, bestowed upon her by her uncle, Nox, went a long way toward convincing her the position wasn’t merely ceremonial. Still, she knew she’d been falling short of what he envisioned when he’d appointed her. With a guilty sigh, Nova returned her attention to the letters before her. She picked up the first one, blew out a breath, and slid a finger beneath the seal.

A tepid response from Lord Siris of the Solar Court, thanking her for her latest missive and promising to arrange a visit to Silvergard “one day soon.” Nova set it down and moved quickly through the rest of the stack. The next came from Lord Thorn of Nivali. Keenly aware of Thorn’s cunning and general mistrust of her, Nova read his message twice in the hopes of parsing out any hidden meaning. Finding none, she set it aside and opened the third sheet of folded parchment. The looping script of Lady Estrid of Pyralis danced across the page.

Though not long ago Estrid had asked Nova to think of the Autumn Court as her home, the Lady’s once-honeyed words had soured. Nova could practically taste them, curt and sharp—tart, like fermented apples—beneath the Lady’s polite veneer. In choosing to make her home in the Lunar Court, it seemed Nova had caused offense.

She snatched up the fourth and final letter, scoffing when she realized it was not a reply but her own letter to Lord Arthur of the Spring Court, returned unopened. She slapped it down on the desk and pressed her lips together, exhaling sharply through her nose. Lord Arthur was new to his throne, relatively speaking, and untested in matters of the Realm. Still, she suspected his refusal to even open her correspondence was due not to diplomatic inexperience, but rather disdain for Silvergard.

Her fingers curled around the small dagger sheathed at her right hip, and she hurled it through the air, aiming for a makeshift target mounted on the back of the study door. The blade found its mark with a thud that rattled the latch. A heartbeat later, the door creaked open, and Lucan poked his head inside. He glanced at the dagger buried in the target before turning his face to her, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Bad time?” He entered the study and took the seat opposite her desk without waiting for an invitation.

Nova leaned back in her seat, pressing her fingertips to her forehead.

“What’s the point of being the Emissary of the Lunar Court when the other territories refuse to engage productively, if at all?” Nova took up the unopened letter to the Spring Court and tossed it into Lucan’s lap.

The commander flipped the correspondence over, noting the unbroken seal. He drew in a breath through his teeth, revealing his sharp canines.

“Diplomacy is often a long game,” he offered, almost paternally. “Or, so I’ve heard.”

Nova chuckled quietly and shook her head. “I doubt I ought to take advice on the subject from someone who prefers to throw punches first and ask questions later.”

Lucan raised his hands in front of him. “Guilty.” He dropped the letter on the desk and leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Speaking of punches, you haven’t been to drills in a week.”

“Apologies, Commander. I’m afraid matters of state must take priority over my training.” Nova straightened in her seat, slid a fresh piece of parchment in front of her, and took up her pen.

“Come now. Zara’s been itching for a rematch since you bested her. She claims the only reason you won is because she didn’t sleep well the night before.”

One of her uncle’s elite guards, Zara often sparred with Nova on training days. Nova kept her head down but lifted her eyes to meet Lucan’s gaze. He was grinning, one dark brow, bisected by a scar, raised in challenge.

“If a lack of sleep is to blame for Zara’s inability to best me with blades, then she must not have slept a wink for the past two moons.” Nova focused on the parchment before her, once more penning a response to Thorn of Nivali.

Lucan snickered. “I’m telling her you said that.”

“Be my guest.” Nova tried and failed to keep one side of her mouth from lifting.

“Fine. I’ll leave you to your books and your dusty pleasantries.” Lucan stood, drawing her eye. He gestured dismissively at the surface of her desk, then lifted the edge of a book with the tip of his finger and dropped it back down. “But I expect to see your ass in the sparring ring tomorrow. I want you training every day until you leave for the Winter Court.”

“Yes, sir.” Nova made a mock salute, slapping her hand over her heart, then waved Lucan out.

Mumbling something about respect for one’s elders, he left, pulling the door closed behind him.

Nova leaned back in her seat again, a smile on her face as she shook her head. She opened the desk drawer to her right and took out her linking book, one of the pair she and Callan used to keep in touch while they’d been apart these many months. Flipping through the pages, she relived her conversations with him. Though Callan had promised to visit, he never had. Some obligation or another always prevented him from making the journey north.

Nova skimmed over his earliest messages. Lurid descriptions of all the things he planned to do to her when they were reunited, his words sending heat spreading over her cheekbones and sparking low in her belly. But the passion and frequency had dwindled over the past month or so. The contents no longer intimate, but rather, more mundane reports of his daily life. More journal entry than love note. Arriving at the most recent page, she frowned. He hadn’t yet responded to her message from the day before.

Despite her feelings for him and the words they had shared when they’d last been together, a small voice from deep inside Nova taunted her. The time and distance had surely diminished what Callan felt for her, it whispered. Callan’s confession of love, the voice said, was born not of true passion, but of the threat General Idrian had posed to her life.

Closing the book with a soft thud, Nova thought, tapping her index finger on the cover. In one week’s time, Callan would arrive in Silvergard to collect her for a visit to the Winter Court. In one week’s time, she would know for certain if his affections were as strong as they had been when he told her there was nothing for him in the world without every piece of her.

Nova sighed deeply and tilted her head back to peer through the glass ceiling. The moon shone brightly overhead beyond the faint glimmer of the shield Nox had woven around the capital after General Idrian’s death. An image of the general’s face flashed in her mind—a twin of the moon’s pale one—eyes unblinking and staring at the sky—

Nova.

She rose from her seat at once, the voice coupled with the moon’s position overhead reminding her she was late for a session with her uncle. One that, unlike sparring, could not be missed. Closing the study door behind her, she made her way across the Estate to Nox’s garden.