Page 1 of Sun, Moon & Shadow (Fate of Aemoria #1)

“Go away. Go away,” she murmured as she spied on her unwanted visitor through a narrow slit in the curtains.

Nova pressed herself flat against the wall beside the second-story window, holding her breath as she continued watching him through the gap in the pleated fabric. Thank the gods Agnes was tending to the garden, too far away to hear.

She exited her chamber, rushing down the hallway, the sound of her low-heeled boots jarring in the quiet of the empty house.

Stopping short, she paused before the door leading to her father’s chamber and reached her hand out slowly.

The ornate metal knob felt cool against her palm.

She hesitated for a breath before easing the door open a crack.

The heavy drapes were drawn, leaving the space dark and surprisingly cold for late summer.

Like a tomb , she thought. Apart from a thick layer of dust coating every flat surface, the room was immaculate.

Nova’s gaze fell upon the bed, and she flinched, tugging the door closed and hastening her steps toward the back staircase.

Nova reached the base of the stairs just as Agnes entered the kitchen.

Her housekeeper smiled warmly, swiping a hand over wisps of golden hair hanging loose from her high bun.

Ten years her senior, Agnes had come to work for the Greenmores when Nova was only six.

She was the closest thing to family Nova had left in the world.

“Did I hear knocking?” Agnes asked, turning out the potatoes and onions she carried in her apron onto the wooden worktop. She wiped her hands on the smock clinging to the swell of her pregnant belly, her cheeks flushed a healthy pink from the exertion of digging in the soil.

“It was only Ryker Ramdon,” Nova replied blandly, leaning against the sideboard.

“And what did he have to say for himself?” Agnes raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing.” Nova looked down at her boots. “I didn’t answer the door.”

Agnes shook her head, clicking her tongue as she set to work rinsing the vegetables in a basin of water.

“I imagine he was hoping for an answer to his proposal.”

“Most likely,” Nova said, lazily dragging her forefinger through the thin layer of flour that dusted the worktop. “But it’s far too early in the day to entertain visitors.”

“Nova.” Agnes twisted to face her, a nagging finger held out in the space between them. “You could do a lot worse than Ryker Ramdon.”

Agnes turned back to the basin, resuming her task. Nova rolled her eyes.

If she were at all inclined to join her life with another’s—and she definitely was not—Nova knew she could do much better than Ryker Ramdon.

He came from a well-to-do Timberfell family, but there was already an heir ahead of him set to inherit the family fortune.

A union with Nova would give him control of her land and properties, which had passed to Nova upon her father’s death two years earlier.

“To him, I’m no different than those rare horses of his. I’d be nothing more than a broodmare to trot out whenever he feels like showing off.”

Nova had no desire to be possessed by such a man, kept as a unusual addition to his collection.

Agnes sprinkled some more flour on the worktop and began rolling out a ball of dough to form the crust of a savory meat pie. Taking up her wicker basket, Nova crossed to the door.

“It’s just not right. You living all alone in this big, empty house with nothing but ghosts and bad memories to keep you company.” Agnes shook her head with an exasperated sigh. “Where are you headed?”

“The Wood. I’m running low on supplies.”

“Watch yourself, and see that you return home in one piece—and on time! The babe is already hungry.” Agnes ran a hand over her stomach, resting the other on her lower back. “I can’t promise I won’t eat your supper as well as my own.”

Several hours later, Nova emerged from the Wood, the dense forest stretching along the western edge of the city.

She’d lost herself foraging, wandering happily through the thick undergrowth.

The late-afternoon sun beat down on her back, and her basket swung on her elbow, heavy with fresh cuts of willow bark and bundles of chamomile.

Like all children of Timberfell, Nova had grown up hearing cautionary tales about the ravenous, wild beasts and supernatural creatures believed to inhabit the Wood.

Unlike other children, though, she’d spent the better part of her childhood exploring it without ever encountering any danger, and she considered the stories to be just that—stories.

As a child, she had been fixated on faerie tales, legends, and folklore. Her father indulged her interest, filling his library with collections of such tales, all of which Nova read countless times.

As she grew older, she took an interest in the books her mother had left behind, books on the medicinal uses of plants.

Nova’s dedicated study of that topic led to her profession as a healer of sorts, which supplemented the rents she collected from her tenants.

The women in town might gossip about her, but they still knocked on her back door for teas and tonics to ease the pain of their cycles or prevent them from falling pregnant.

Nova sifted through her haul with soil-coated fingers, suddenly halting her steps beside the crumbling rock wall that crept along the edge of the dirt cart road. She shot a glance over her shoulder, brushing loose strands of long black hair out of her face.

Nothing.

Narrowing her eyes, she peered into the thick forest beyond the rock wall, listening intently. No sound apart from the trill of the swallows and warblers. She started up again and continued down the road, unable to escape the sensation of eyes upon her back.

Before long, her footsteps met the gray stone streets of downtown Timberfell.

The main thoroughfare was alive with the sounds of customers bartering with street vendors for the last deals of the day.

Nova paused for a moment beside the florist’s cart, admiring the vibrant pinks and purples of the freshly cut dahlias and chrysanthemums.

“What have I told you about begging in front of my shop?” a gruff voice shouted nearby, drawing Nova’s attention.

She turned just in time to see the butcher yanking a boy, one of the many urchins that roamed the streets begging, up by his elbow.

The butcher, a disagreeable, red-faced man, shoved the boy off the curb, sending him careening into the street.

He came to rest in a crumpled pile of slender limbs and soiled clothing at Nova’s feet.

She crouched down, took the boy gently under the arms, and hoisted him onto his bare feet. Without speaking, she turned her gaze on the butcher, staring at him until he took several backward steps toward the door of his shop.

“Don’t let me catch you out here again,” he warned the child with a menacing look, jabbing a finger in the boy’s direction. He briefly met Nova’s eyes again, muttering “witch” under his breath, before passing swiftly into his shop and slamming the door.

Nova faced the boy. He appeared largely unharmed, though he stood unmoving, staring at her with sunken eyes as wide as an owl’s.

Nova opened her purse and pressed two silver coins into the boy’s grimy hand, dirt caked under his unkempt fingernails.

He glanced down briefly then scampered off into the crowd without a word of thanks or a backward glance.

Nova sighed quietly and returned the pouch to a pocket hidden in the folds of her skirt.

The streets grew crowded as she reached the Temple in the town square.

The faithful pushed past her, making their way inside to secure a seat for the evening ritual.

Nova’s eyes traveled from the polished silver collection vessel beside the entrance to the intricate carving in the gray granite above it: the Two-Faced God, a symbol of balance in all things.

Life and death. Order and chaos. Good and evil.

Nova preferred the Forgotten Gods, the ancient ones, so human in their spite and passion. But they’d been replaced, lost to time. All she knew of them had been gleaned from a single aged book of folklore.

She turned her back on the towering structure of cold stone and the deity keeping careful watch over the city.

The faithful veered around her, a stubborn stone in a riverbed, refusing to yield to the current.

The remaining coins in her purse clinked against one another as she began to make her way home.

The Two-Faced God had taken more from her than it had ever given; she’d keep her money for herself.

The familiar sound of hushed voices carried from the farm stand across the way.

Two young women about her age stood casting sideways glances at her and whispering to one another.

Nova kept her expression neutral but fixed her pale gray eyes on the gossips, staring unblinkingly at them until they hooked arms and rushed off, weaving a path through the bustling crowd.

Once the women were out of sight, she looked up to the sky, sensing a hum of energy in the air. A storm was coming. She pointed her mud-caked boots toward home as the sky began to darken with thunderheads rolling in from the west.

Stares and whispers from the townsfolk were nothing new.

Nova’s mother had been an outsider, and folk often whispered that she was a faerie from the Wood.

That she bewitched poor, unsuspecting Anson Greenmore, saddling him with a strange half-breed daughter when she died in childbirth less than a year after they wed.

As a child, Nova’s eyes had been large, set on her pale face below a cascade of raven hair—a stark contrast to the fair-haired and ruddy residents of Timberfell.

It was her eyes that seemed to inspire the most distrust, the pale gray color giving her a somewhat otherworldly appearance.

The other children were generous with their taunts.

Half-breed . Changeling . Now, on the eve of her twenty-fifth birthday, Nova’s armor against such abuse was damn near impenetrable.

The wind gusted as she turned onto the narrow drive that ran alongside her home, billowing the fabric of her charcoal day dress. Clasping her basket close to her chest, she gathered her skirts in her free hand, preparing to outrun the rain.

She spotted it an instant too late. A carriage sat parked nearly around the corner, hidden by an overgrown bush bursting with pale pink hydrangeas.

A cloaked figure emerged from behind a nearby elm, catching her off guard.

She sidestepped, bumping against the corner of the house just out of view of the street.

Looking up, Nova found herself face-to-face with Ryker Ramdon, a man she had unfortunately known since childhood. He had been one of her most enthusiastic tormentors, though she’d obviously captured his attention for other reasons once she’d come of age.

“Miss Greenmore.” He addressed her formally, as if there was anything proper about his unannounced and unwelcome visit. He lowered the hood of his cloak, his hair, the color of cornsilk, blowing in the breeze.

“Mister Ramdon,” she replied flatly, pulling her head as far back from him as her position against the house would allow. “How ... unexpected.”

“I was under the impression that all women enjoyed surprises.” He smirked, icy blue eyes glinting.

“I suppose it depends on the surprise,” she said, glancing briefly at the empty road. No one walking or riding by. She was on her own.

“I expected an answer by now.” He took a step toward her, his body now uncomfortably close to hers. “I think you’ll agree I’ve been more than patient.”

Nova restrained the grimace threatening to spread across her face.

“My answer is no,” she said matter-of-factly. “I have no interest in marrying.”

Placing a palm firmly on his chest, she attempted to push past him. He took her by the shoulders and pressed her against the wall, the corner of a limestone brick digging into the space between her shoulder blades.

Still a bully, desperate for a reaction, after all these years.

Anger tinged with fear swirled in her chest, but she maintained an outward mask of calm, refusing to give him the satisfaction. The wind was picking up speed, and loose strands of her hair lashed her across the face.

“My proposal was perfectly respectable, Nova.” His tenor voice hissed past his teeth, a sneer stretched across his thin lips. “Any woman can see what I have to offer.”

“Then, by all means, go pursue any other woman,” Nova replied, disinterested. Inwardly, she seethed at his use of her first name.

“As if you’re some prize,” he spat. “Surely you know what everyone says about you.”

She clenched her jaw at his arrogance. As if she needed him. Or anyone else for that matter.

“I’d be doing you a favor, you know.” He pressed the length of his body against hers. A high-pitched warning tone rang out in her mind.

“You should be on your knees ... thanking me,” he rasped against her ear.

Nova shoved him, knocking him off balance. He released her, stumbling back a few steps before falling on his ass in the dirt. She spun away, her long strides carrying her to the rear door of the house as the sky opened up and fat raindrops pelted down from above.

“I’ll be seeing you again soon, Nova,” Ryker called out after her, his voice bordering on a snarl. “I always get what I want eventually.”

Nova slammed the door behind her, the click of the lock falling into place a balm for the panic churning in her chest. She rested her forehead against the smooth wood, willing her breaths to slow.

Hasty footsteps approached the kitchen from the hall, stopping just inside the doorway.

“Nova?” Agnes’s reedy voice was laced with concern. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing at all, Agnes,” Nova sighed, crossing to the window in the far corner of the room, pausing to pat Agnes’s arm reassuringly.

Nova peeked discreetly through the gap in the pale blue curtains.

A heavy rain was falling, the wind shaking the limbs of the trees lining the road.

Ryker had disappeared, likely gone to lick his wounds at the tavern nearby.

Nova turned to face her housekeeper and leaned back casually against the windowsill.

“Shall I draw you a bath before I leave for the night?”

“Yes, Agnes. That would be lovely.”