Page 28 of Death Will Follow

“Please,” Nox replied with a warm smile and an extended hand. “Surely, we’re beyond such formalities.”

Callan nodded, and the two clasped forearms.

Lucan approached Callan next, offering a hearty greeting of his own, bypassing a handshake and clapping him roughly between the shoulder blades.

“Are there no barbers in the Winter Court?” Lucan teased. “Or are Nivalians simply incapable of leaving the training field long enough to shave their beards?”

Callan scrubbed a hand over his mouth and down his chin. “Suppose I am due for a trim.” He gave Lucan a playful shove.

“How was your journey?” Nova asked.

“Long,” Nox sighed. “But informative.”

“We traveled east across the Lunar Court to liaise with some of our larger forces before heading south. To get an idea of where our numbers stand,” Lucan explained. “Unfortunately, it appears some folk have left the territory. Sailing north.”

“To Raven’s Isle,” Callan guessed, exchanging a wary look with Nova. “More soldiers?”

“Not quite,” Nox replied. “Mercenaries, it seems.”

“They went willingly, then,” Nova said, disheartened that they had not yet severed her father's grip on all the folk of Silvergard. “To join him.”

“I’m afraid so.” Nox frowned. “Their loyalty lies with whoever has the most coin or the sweetest tongue. Who knows what Omen promised to tempt them.”

All at once, dozens of torches mounted around the courtyard ignited. Nova glanced up, realizing the sky had gone purple with the gathering dusk.

“We can discuss this later,” she said, shaking off her unease. “No doubt you’re tired.”

“Yes,” Callan agreed, turning to Nova. “Why don’t you ride up and see them settled, love. I’ll join you later.”

Nox and Lucan mounted their horses, and Callan offered his hands as a makeshift stirrup for Nova to settle behind Lucan on his horse’s broad back.

Her uncle and his commander were given a suite of rooms at the opposite end of the hall from Nova and Callan’s group, the walls of the shared parlor adorned with rich tapestries woven with autumnal scenes: fields of golden wheat and bountiful harvests. Sitting on the arm of a chair, Nova observed Nox as he explored the space, carefully lifting and setting down the trinkets and baubles covering nearly every flat surface in the room.

“How quaint,” her uncle remarked, replacing a gold statuette of a stag and lowering himself onto the sofa upholstered in forest-green velvet, the plush cushions threatening to swallow his lanky form whole.

Lucan tugged off his breastplate and laid it on the low table in the sitting area, then flopped onto the sofa beside Nox, swatting away an overstuffed throw pillow when it toppled into his lap.

“It’s a bit much, isn’t it?” Nova scanned the great room crowded with ornate furniture and decor accented with gold filigree.

Her eyes fell on Lucan, who was occupied with batting at a goose feather floating in the air in front of him.

“You look different,” she said to the commander. “Wonderful, but different.”

“It was suggested that for such an important occasion, I should look like less of a scoundrel.”

Nova gasped, feigning shock. “But you’re such a lovable scoundrel.”

“That’s what I said,” Lucan replied, jerking a thumb in Nox’s direction.

Nox rolled his eyes.

“Don’t encourage him,” her uncle muttered, but she sensed his exasperation was mostly for show. “Lucan knows as well as I do that we have appearances to keep up outside the borders of our own Court.”

Lucan laughed. “Did you fail to notice how jumpy the stable hands and servants were on the way in?”

Nova frowned, recalling the trembling fingers of the burly stable lad as he took the reins from Nox’s hand.

“Fear does not interest me,” Nox asserted. “But respect . . . that I do desire. I want folk to respect Silvergard as a valuable ally to the rest of the Realm.”