Page 18 of Sun, Moon & Shadow (Fate of Aemoria #1)

The Noble Lady closed the door, reducing the celebration’s cheerful roar to a dull drone.

The quaint room was sparsely decorated with a small maroon sofa anchored on one wall and a low wooden table with a decanter and a set of crystal glasses against another.

The wood paneling glowed in the light of several low-burning candles, creating a cozy atmosphere.

Nova lowered herself onto the edge of a plush cushion and clasped her hands in her lap.

She spun her mother’s ring on her finger while Lady Estrid poured them each a glass of burgundy wine.

Estrid was lovely, short with soft, lush curves.

Her auburn hair accentuated her creamy complexion, and her features, though striking, were severe.

Her smile was friendly, however, partially offsetting the sharper lines of her face.

The Noble Lady sat, angling her body toward Nova and handing her a glass before sipping from her own.

“I imagine you’re eager to hear about your mother.” Estrid rested her glass on her knee. Nova nodded and shifted in her seat, swallowing a mouthful of the sweet wine.

“Elena and I were about the same age. We saw each other every few years but mostly kept in touch through letters. She was always sweet tempered and kind. A gifted healer. I’m told you’re also rather talented in that area.”

“I’m learning, but I haven’t had much success so far,” Nova said before taking another sip of wine, forgetting to pace herself under the weight of her unease.

“You’ll settle into your abilities in time, I’m sure.” Estrid leaned back in her seat and crossed one leg over the other. “You remind me of her. Not your coloring, but something in the eyes.” She studied Nova quietly for a moment before continuing.

“Because we didn’t keep in touch regularly, many years passed before I realized her letters had stopped. I knew she didn’t always see eye to eye with her parents, and I thought perhaps she’d run off and wed a commoner or someone who didn’t meet their approval.

“By then, I had younglings and an entire territory to govern. We simply lost touch. One day, a letter arrived saying only that she’d made a bad match, and she was with child. That it wasn’t safe for her in Aemoria, so she planned to travel to the Human Realm.”

Estrid paused to drink from her cup, blissfully unaware of the significance of her words as each one sank like a stone in the pit of Nova’s stomach.

Her mother was with child before she crossed the Boundary.

Nova’s breath quickened. Anson Greenmore—the man she had cherished, cared for, and mourned—was not her father. She tipped her glass, swallowing the rest of her wine.

“I received another cryptic letter telling me her babe, a daughter, had been born.

For your protection, she said, she planned to hide you amongst the humans until you came of age.

She asked that I seek you out just before your twenty-fifth birthday, sharing only your family name of Greenmore and that you were living in a city along the border with Aemoria.

“I had no way of writing back, either to accept or decline her request, as she’d apparently gone into hiding.

But I vowed to do what I could to honor her wishes.

I haven’t heard a word from her since. I believe if Elena felt it was safe to return, she would.

Clearly, she feels it’s safest to remain hidden.

As the twenty-fifth anniversary approached, I charged Callan with finding you and bringing you home. ”

Estrid laid her hand over Nova’s and leaned in close.

“And I hope you will think of Pyralis as your home, my dear. Fawn speaks so highly of you. And I know you’ve caught Evander’s eye, though he’d hate it if he knew I told you.”

Nova’s thoughts sloshed inside her mind like water in a bucket. A sudden, overwhelming urge to break out of the cramped warmth of the room took hold of her. She clumsily set her empty glass down on the table, righting it just before it tipped over.

“You are too kind, my Lady. Your family and your staff have been very generous.” Nova stood slowly, her legs unsteady beneath her. “I hope one day I can repay your kindness. You’ve given me much to consider.” Apparently catching her meaning, Estrid rose from the sofa as well.

“Of course, my dear. I suppose this could have waited until the morning, but I figured you’d already been waiting quite some time. Come, let us return to the celebration.”

Estrid opened the door to the Great Hall. The dissonant sounds of the gathering crashed against Nova like a rogue wave, and she winced. Callan lingered close by, standing against the wall. His brow creased upon seeing her, and he hastened to her side.

“Now then,” Lady Estrid said, making a sweeping gesture over the Great Hall with a graceful hand.

“Fetch something to eat and enjoy yourselves. Celebrations like this are for the young.” With that, the Lady returned to her place beside the Noble Lord, who sat on his throne watching the revelers as he drank from a stein of ale.

Nova clasped her hands into tight fists, the bite of her fingernails against her palms grounding her.

Her eyes flitted around the room, landing briefly on the mass of couples twirling around the dance floor in time to thundering drums, then on a group of boisterous guests playing a game of cards along the far wall, their barking laughter cutting through the melody of the music.

“Do you mind if we leave? F-find somewhere a bit quieter?” she asked, turning to Callan.

“You read my mind.” He leaned in close to her ear and murmured, “I can’t stand these parties, either.” He offered his arm, and she linked her elbow with his, appreciating the sturdiness of his body beside her.

Callan led her to one of the banquet tables and made a plate for each of them.

Nova felt as though she was gliding along the floor as he guided her through the double doors to a quiet spot down the corridor where the sound of the celebration barely carried.

Nova filled her chest with air, finally able to breathe fully again.

She and Callan sat side by side on the cushioned bench of a window seat overlooking the courtyard where the common Fae held their own celebration.

An enormous bonfire burned brightly, sending countless glittering sparks into the night sky where they winked out into nothing.

Nova had read that long ago, the celebratory bonfires of Hayer were used to make sacrificial offerings to Embra.

Callan set the plates on the cushion between them and handed her a roll. She took a bite and stared distractedly at the wall ahead of her as she chewed. Callan leaned back in his seat and tossed a grape into his mouth. His gaze wandered, but she felt it settling on her time and time again.

“I’m sorry,” Nova said finally, plucking a wedge of hard cheese from her plate. “I’ve barely had a moment to myself since I arrived here.”

“I can leave if you’d rather be alone.” Callan made to stand and excuse himself, but she caught him around his wrist.

“No, I didn’t mean ...” She dropped her hand and motioned for him to stay. She bit the inside of her cheek.

“I’ve spent the better part of my life alone. I had my father and Agnes. And a steady stream of tutors once I was removed from school. But, for the most part, I’ve been on my own. And solitude suited me fine. I would read, wander the Wood, do whatever I wanted, really.

“Then I arrived here, and I seem to always be with someone. Someone with expectations. Fawn wants to quiz me or gossip. Evander’s always trying to snare me in a witty back-and-forth. And they’re both lovely—truly ...” She trailed off, struggling to give voice to her feelings.

“I understand. Believe me, if there’s anyone who knows how vexing my cousins can be, it’s me.” Callan shot her a smile.

“When I’m with you, I feel as though I can either tell you everything or say nothing at all. It’s honestly an enormous comfort.” She sighed, slumping against the wall beside her.

“This may come as a surprise,” Callan said, lowering his voice and glancing down the hall in either direction. “But I’ve been described as the silent type on more than one occasion.”

They fell into a comfortable silence then, both shifting on the bench to look down on the bonfire in the courtyard below and occasionally glancing at one another, as they ate.

Nova knew it was silly to be melancholy on such a festive evening, but Lady Estrid’s revelation weighed on her.

She had so many questions, and it seemed no one had all the answers she sought.

“Something else troubles you,” Callan said.

Nova shook her head, resigned. It seemed there was little sense in trying to hide anything from him.

“I grew up believing my mother had been taken from me. Stolen away. Whatever her reasons, it’s painful knowing she chose to leave.

” She cast a glance in his direction. He regarded her intently, his expression unreadable.

“I don’t expect you to understand what it’s like to have both parents choose to leave you—”

Callan held up a hand between them; his eyes squeezed shut for a heartbeat before he spoke, and his voice took on the same soothing lilt he had used to calm her the night they met.

“Your mother made a choice, it’s true. But your father was well and truly taken from you.”

With great difficulty, Nova managed to swallow. When she spoke, her voice was barely louder than a whisper, a rasp of raw emotion, like gravel raking over the back of her throat.

“My father—” She cleared her throat and tried once more, stumbling over the words she had never spoken aloud. “My father took his own life.”

There had been no note. No explanation. No final goodbye or last words of affection.

Only the cloying scent of poison lingering in the air and an empty glass vial clasped in his cold, rigid fingers.

A vial she had pried loose and discarded before the physician arrived and pronounced his death a natural one.

Callan said nothing. Nova turned away, hiding her face from him and hastily brushing away a single hot tear, the evidence of her shame.

She had never blamed her father. Only herself.

Her desire to escape her life had consumed her for many years.

It had blinded her to the fact that he sought an escape of his own.

She felt Callan close beside her an instant before the familiar, crisp scent of him surrounded her. He held out his hand, and Nova glanced from his rough palm to his face. The hallway was empty apart from the two of them, the muted notes of a ballad meandering down the corridor.

“Dance with me.” His voice was low and commanding.

“I’m a terrible dancer,” she murmured. “You could find a much better partner back in the hall.”

“Nova.” He shook his head. “I’m choosing you.”

Her breath caught, and her hand found his before she could overthink the decision.

Callan pulled her close, their bodies not quite touching, separated by a breath of air between them.

Nova longed to close the small distance, to press herself so tightly against him that discerning where she ended and he began would be an impossible task.

She swallowed her longing, looking up to meet the gold-flecked gaze of the male so skilled at seeing past her mask.

Callan smiled, a dimple forming on his cheek, and began to lead her in slow circles around the fine runner lining the wide corridor. His hold on her was firm but gentle as the tempo gradually increased.

A tiny voice spoke in Nova’s ear, whispering from a hidden place deep within her.

It called her foolish and tried desperately to remind her she’d done this once before.

To remind her how things had turned out the first time.

Closing her eyes, she buried the voice for the moment.

Her head fell back as Callan supported her in his arms, and for the brief length of a dance, she was happy.