Page 4 of Death Will Follow

“Our bargain is drawing to a close,” Thorn said, before wiping the drink from his beard with his shirt sleeve. “I expect you’ll waste no time running off to the Lunar Court again.”

He wiggled his fingers in the air, miming a pair of miniature legs.

Callan tensed at his uncle’s choice of words; he’d accused Callan of running away before. Callan flexed his left hand beneath the table, clenching it into a tight fist.

“I am eager to see Nova,” Callan replied. “I’ve made no secret of that.”

Thorn nodded slowly. “Rather curious how she’d apparently never set foot in Silvergard before, but now, only a short time later, serves as the Emissary of the Lunar Court.”

Callan considered his response for a beat, uncomfortable with the notion of Thorn watching Nova too closely. Few folk knew the truth about Nova’s paternity, and Callan intended to keep it that way.

“She made an impression on the Noble Lord.”

“Did she now?” Thorn widened his eyes and raised his brows in an exaggerated expression of surprise.

Callan knew his uncle well enough to see he was making mental calculations beneath the mask.

“I believe they share a love of plants,” Callan offered.

For a moment, Thorn was silent beside him, observing Callan intently, as if trying to decipher whether it was a jest. His bark of laughter cut above the lively hum of the hall, but there was little humor in it.

“I’ve never heard such nonsense,” Thorn said once his laughter dried up. He refilled his mug and swallowed a gulp of wine. “But if you say so, nephew. I’d be wary if I were you. Perhaps the Noble Lord has taken a liking to Miss Nova, if you catch my meaning.”

Callan despised when his uncle called Nova that. Thorn’s condescending tone roiled something primal in Callan’s gut. Though he knew of two substantial reasons why Nox was decidedly not interested in Nova, Callan bit his tongue.

He looked out over the crowd to the stairs leading to the upper level, where the quiet of his chamber beckoned to him. He wondered how best to extricate himself from the uncomfortable conversation which felt more like a veiled interrogation.

His uncle sighed and set his drink down noisily. “I trust she has shared the dreadful news with you.”

Callan snapped his head toward his uncle. “What dreadful news?”

“The Shadowbringer,” Thorn began, taking Liv’s hand in his. “He’s struck again.”

“Where?” Callan demanded, fearing the worst. He readied himself to stand and rush to depart if Nova was again in harm’s way, bargain be damned.

Thorn was slow to answer, seemingly amused by Callan’s distress. “Pyralis,” he said finally. “A score of guards taken.” Thorn held up a hand with his pointer finger extended. “And one heiress.”

“Fawn?” Callan tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. He raised his cup and drained the rest of his wine. “How did this happen?”

“A breach of the shield around the Pyralis Estate.” Thorn turned away and joined his eyes with Liv’s as he spoke, his speech distracted. “She must’ve gotten caught up in the mess, poor pet. Estrid and Rowan are beside themselves, of course.”

Rage surged in Callan’s chest at his uncle’s disinterest. He rose to his feet, his chair scraping loudly across the platform.

“Did I not warn you that the attack in Whitepeak was Omen’s doing?” An entire settlement had been obliterated only a handful of months prior. “What must happen for you to take the threat seriously? Another attack in Nivali? An attack on your own Estate?”

His uncle was a tactician, not a warrior. While Callan burned to ride out and face his foes, Thorn’s preferred strategy appeared to be isolation. Barricading himself against the threat of his enemies behind a fog of drink and music within the walls of his own shielded Estate. Callan forced a breath in and out through his nose, gripping the back of his chair with one hand.

“How can you be so glib?” he asked, words measured. “They’re practically blood.”

“My blood is here at this table,” Thorn spat, pounding a fist on the tabletop. The folk gathered in the hall briefly took notice of the regent’s outburst before returning to their meals.

Liv placed a hand on Thorn’s shoulder, and he rolled his neck, regaining his composure.

“I mean to tend my hearth. Let others tend their own.” He flicked a hand dismissively at Callan.

“Best of luck to you, uncle.” Callan turned to leave. “Though I fear you won’t realize danger has arrived at your doorstep until it’s too late.”

Three