Page 21 of Death Will Follow

Callan shrank back a bit at his uncle’s barb but stood his ground. “Gone, yes. But perhaps not lost forever.”

“What is this nonsense?” Thorn scoffed, tilting his head back and peering at the sky, as if imploring the gods to explain.

“You’ve met Bryn,” Callan began, gesturing at the Wyldling who had ceased her exploration and taken up a defensive position at Nova’s flank under the sagging wooden archway marking the village entrance. “But I haven’t told you how it was that she and Nova came to meet.”

Thorn glanced briefly at Bryn, his brows drawn. There were few things his uncle despised more than being kept in the dark.

“Until very recently,” Callan continued, “Bryn was a prisoner in Raven’s Isle, bound to the Shadowbringer by a dark enchantment.”

The regent's eyes widened, his gaze snapping to Bryn, who gave a solemn nod.

“It’s true. Omen captured me nearly a century ago along with my entire clan. He enchants those he captures, exploiting the abilities of those he finds useful,” Bryn explained.

Thorn paled, his mouth opening and closing several times, his customary posturing abandoned for the moment.

“But that means . . .” Thorn dipped his chin, staring at the snow-covered ground.

“It means Fawn may still live,” Callan said. “It means there’s a chance, however slim, that my parents may still live as well.”

“I can’t believe it.” Thorn staggered backward and sagged against the fence rail behind him. “I never imagined . . .” His lips moved wordlessly for a moment, perhaps in prayer, as he looked over the ruined village at the bottom of the hill, shaking his head.

“You must convene the Aemorian Council.” Callan took a determined step toward his uncle, his back straight and his tone laced with the command of the Noble Lord he was by right but could never allow himself to be. “The Nobles deserve to know their missing subjects may yet live. The territories must unite to determine how to deal with Omen once and for all.”

“What can possibly be done about him?” Thorn asked, defeated, a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s been centuries, Callan.”

“We don’t have a plan just yet,” Callan conceded. “But the Courts have never banded together as one against the Shadowbringer. Perhaps if they do, something can finally be done.”

“You.” Thorn stood and jerked his chin at Bryn, some of his authority returning to him.

“How did you escape your imprisonment?” he demanded.

Bryn shot a sideways glance at Nova before she answered the regent.

“Omen favored me for my tracking skills,” she explained, unafraid to meet Thorn’s eye. “He used me to hunt Nova down with the intention of taking her life.”

“Your life?” Thorn asked, acknowledging Nova’s presence for the first time. He looked down his nose at her, incredulity written plainly on his face. “Why in the Realm would he care to do that?”

Out the corner of his eye, Callan observed Nova slowly spinning her mother’s ring around her knuckle, an anxious habit of hers he’d noticed countless times before.

“Because,” Nova began, her arms falling to her sides, hands squeezing into fists, as if bracing herself for Thorn’s inevitable reaction. “Omen of Raven’s Isle is my father.”

In a heartbeat, Thorn’s expression transformed to one of outrage. He whirled on Callan with an accusatory look.

“You knew this, and still you brought this viper to my hearth?” Thorn spat, hastily backing away from where the other three stood.

Nova held both hands out in front of her submissively. Something inside Callan bristled at seeing his mate, the heir to a Noble throne herself, bending to his uncle, who considered her a political pawn at best.

“My Lord, I swear to you, I knew nothing of my father’s identity when I first came to Nivali.” Nova’s tone was calm and measured as she bowed her head in deference to the regent.

“I learned the truth on my recent journey, and I was—I am—ashamed.”

Thorn continued to eye her suspiciously though he halted his retreat. It didn’t appear he posed a physical threat to her. He carried no weapons. Even so, Callan shifted his stance, subtly positioning himself between the two of them.

“Omen wants to see her dead, Uncle,” Callan reasoned. “She’s hardly conspiring with him against Nivali.”

“I wish to see my father stopped as much as anyone else. Even more so. He’s a monster.” Nova paused, perhaps gauging Thorn’s state of mind. “We need your help to convene the Council. I’ve had little luck getting responses to my letters over the past few months.”

It was a brilliant tactic, Callan thought, appealing to his uncle’s vanity. His sense of self-importance.