Page 10 of Sun, Moon & Shadow (Fate of Aemoria #1)

“Breathe, Cal. I’d hate to see you lose that famous temper of yours.” Evander chuckled and clapped his hands together once, the cunning in his eyes lifted for the moment. “Now then, I believe we have an understanding. If there’s nothing else, I really am very busy.”

Callan dipped his head in a hollow bow and turned away, storming out of the Great Hall without another word to his cousin.

He charged all the way across the Estate to his chamber, a trail of fresh snow and jagged icicles forming along the fine carpets in his wake.

The housekeeper would have his head if she happened upon the mess before the evidence of his anger had a chance to melt.

Barging into his room, he slammed the door behind him with a blast of frigid air, driven by a harsh flick of his wrist.

Callan ran a hand roughly over his jaw, breathing deeply through his nose. It would be unwise to lose his temper. If he lost Lady Estrid’s favor, he’d be forced to leave Pyralis. What use would he be to Nova then? He was taken aback by how much the thought pained him.

The exchange hadn’t been a total waste. Evander was angry, and, though he said little, his emotion had revealed more than he likely intended.

Callan was certain Evander had plans involving Nova somehow.

Evander had never taken an interest in much beyond drinking ale, playing games with the courtiers, and pursuing females who were desired by others simply for sport.

He’d never behaved in such a hostile way toward Callan before.

It stood to reason that Nova’s arrival was the catalyst.

Callan’s eyes fell on a folded piece of parchment lying on the low table in the sitting area.

He snatched it up. The seal of dark blue wax was stamped with crossed swords, the insignia of Nivali.

Callan crumpled the letter in his fist and tossed it, unopened, onto the embers still glowing on the hearth.

Flames licked at the edges of the dry paper before consuming it entirely.

Callan slumped down in the armchair before the fireplace and massaged his forehead, uncertain whether he was angrier with Evander or himself.

Though he’d pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion on the training field earlier, sleep remained elusive.

Callan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as a brisk breeze blew in through the cracked window, ruffling his hair against his temple.

A startled shout drew him from his bed and to the open pane.

Sentries scrambled atop the stone rampart surrounding the Estate, gathering in a small cluster and peering into the darkness to the woods beyond.

Like a gust of wind, Callan swept through his chamber, shoving his feet into his boots and taking his sword from its place on the mantel.

Minutes later, he had scaled the stairs to the top of the wall and approached the sentries from behind.

They scattered to the left and right as he barged through their ranks to speak with the commander on duty.

Callan had barely uttered a word when a hush fell over the group.

He followed their collective gaze into the oppressive darkness beyond the reach of the flickering torchlight.

It took a moment for him to spot them: a pair of lycane slinking along the edge of the forest. The creatures moved like water, their black coats barely distinguishable from the shadows around them.

They kept to the tree line at first but eventually emerged, slowly creeping up the hill toward the Estate, muzzles low to the ground.

The sentries stood awestruck and unmoving, whispering to one another.

An archer nocked an arrow, but Callan stayed his hand and hushed them all, curious to see what the beasts would do.

The creatures reached the base of the wall a short distance away from where the group stood watch.

Both appeared to sniff at the gray stone before rising up onto their hind legs and placing their forepaws on the wall.

“What the fuck are they doing?” a guard to Callan’s left asked, his voice an agitated rasp.

“They can’t scale the wall,” a second said. No doubt intended as a confident statement of fact, the words came out as a fear-tinged plea for reassurance instead.

“Quiet—all of you,” Callan ordered, his eyes never leaving the beasts. Their heavy paws dropped to the yellowed grass covering the hillside, and they turned, trotting back toward the forest.

Several soldiers released sighs of relief as the animals neared the tree line once again, but the relief was short-lived. Changing direction abruptly, the lycane charged full speed at the wall.

“What are they doing?” the commander asked in disbelief. Callan thought it was quite clear what the creatures were doing.

They’re trying to breach the wall.

The monstrous beasts struck the wall in rapid succession, their broad sides colliding with the solid stone as forcefully as a pair of battering rams. Startled shouts rang out from the sentries, the sound quickly dissipating in the quiet night air.

Two thuds followed as the lycane fell to the ground.

Barely a breath later, they rose once again and readied for another running start.

“They can’t get through,” the commander shouted. “They’ll never get past the shield.”

Another faint reverberation rumbled beneath Callan’s boots as the lycane crashed into the wall a second time, one yelping in pain.

“It makes no difference to them,” Callan said absently, watching the beasts take position for a third strike.

The sentries shifted around him, uneasy.

All their training and no one was prepared for this moment.

Callan had never seen anything like it, either.

After the third impact, one of the beasts remained on the ground, whimpering and unable to rise.

Pity seized Callan’s chest. The creatures were driven not by their own desires but by a power eclipsing even their instinct for survival.

They would die in pursuit of their aim unless someone put them out of their misery first.

“Now,” Callan said, signaling the archer whose hand he had stayed only moments before. “End its suffering.”

The arrow sang as it sliced through the air, striking the wounded beast in the throat. The second lycane limped toward the trees, one of its forelegs clearly injured. Still, it readied for another assault.

“The other, as well,” Callan ordered. The archer glanced at his commander, who nodded silently. A second arrow cut through the chill night, piercing the creature’s eye.

Several minutes passed in silence with no movement from the trees. Callan sheathed his sword and took one of the torches, quickly descending the steps to the courtyard below. A handful of sentries followed close behind with blades at the ready.

After exiting the Estate through the wooden gates, Callan moved stealthily along the base of the exterior wall to the place where the two hulking beasts lay.

Patches of blood marred their midnight coats, shining in the torchlight.

The foreleg of one beast was obviously broken, bent at an unnatural angle.

Callan held the torch close to the wall; a grisly painting of fresh blood and tufts of black fur splashed across the gray stone.

“Burn them and see that this mess is cleaned up.” He jerked his chin at the soiled wall. “We don’t want any of the residents to see this come morning.”

Callan held the flame close to the remains, his brow furrowed and mind whirring.

Four lycane sightings in as many days. The creatures were behaving abnormally: hunting in pairs, attempting to breach a fortified city guarded by both magic and solid stone.

He couldn’t help but wonder whether the strange occurrences were connected to the recent arrival of a certain raven-haired female in the Autumn Court.