Page 25 of Sun, Moon & Shadow (Fate of Aemoria #1)

Callan was already gone when Nova woke, his blades missing from their spot on the mantel.

She pressed the heels of her hands against her red-rimmed eyes, wishing the events of the previous night had been nothing more than another bad dream.

After splashing several handfuls of cold water on her face and cleaning her teeth, she dressed quickly in breeches and a shirt, then threw her cloak around her shoulders.

The morning was brisk but bright as she exited the Great Hall, tilting her face up toward the sun and savoring the warmth of it upon her skin.

She hastily covered the short distance to the training field, which Callan had shown her the day before.

The clash of steel grew louder as she approached the covered area enclosed by a wooden post and rail fence.

In the center of a ring of packed earth, Callan sparred against a male with tightly braided black hair and dark brown skin who stood at least a head taller than him. Both appeared to be fighting with their full capability, neither one holding back for the other’s sake.

Nova studied Callan as he deftly swung his blade and blocked his opponent’s forceful strikes, his hair clinging to beads of perspiration on his temples.

The larger male lashed out over and over again, pushing Callan backward toward the fence.

With his back nearly pressed against the wooden rails, Callan dropped into a crouch and ducked under the horizontal arc of the blade.

Callan swept his foot behind his opponent’s ankles, sending him tumbling to the ground, then sprang to his feet, holding the tip of his blade against the male’s throat.

The male lay like a fallen tree, panting heavily for a moment before a rumble of laughter rolled forth from his broad chest. Callan grinned and sheathed his blade, extending a hand to help his sparring partner to his feet.

They embraced, clapping each other roughly on the back.

Wiping sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his shirt, Callan turned to Nova, as if he’d sensed her watching, and meandered over to where she stood.

“Good morning, Nova.” His tone was more formal than usual. Distant. “Are you ready to begin?”

“After that display, I’m a bit intimidated.” She nodded at the massive warrior, as solid as a brick wall, running through a sequence of strike positions in the center of the training area, his movements less elegant than Callan’s, but no less brutal.

“That’s Arik. We trained together when we were young.” He gestured to a nearby break in the fence. “Shall we get started?”

Nova entered the training area and removed her cloak, draping it over the railing. The icy wind ruffled the light fabric of her shirt, tucked securely into her breeches. Her dagger, sheathed within her boot, hugged the inside of her left ankle.

“I have gifts,” Callan said, motioning for her to follow.

He kept his distance, remaining just out of arm’s reach at all times.He led her to a wooden bench at the edge of the field and picked up a small black leather sheath on a strap.

“For your dagger.” He knelt before her and cinched the band around her thigh, careful not to touch her any more than was necessary to accomplish the task.

Nova stared down at him as he did so, her fingers itching to tunnel into the strands of his rich, brown hair.

But she resisted. He skillfully drew the short blade from her boot and slid it into its new home.

Another sheath of black leather lay on the bench, affixed to a belt.

From it, Callan drew an exquisite sword and held it out to her, the blade lying flat on his outstretched fingers.

“I had this made for you,” he said, eyes fixed on the weapon.

Nova took it by the hilt. It was a smaller version of the sword he carried, shorter and lighter. The hilt was wrapped with brown leather, the same writing, a charm for accuracy, etched along the blade.

Nova’s lips parted, but words escaped her. When had he commissioned the sword, and how much did a blade of such fine quality cost? She cleared her throat, blinking away tears.

At last, she spoke. “It’s beautiful, Callan. Truly.”

He nodded, a thin smile crossing his lips. Reaching around her waist, he fastened the belt with the sheath at her left hip. She carefully slid the blade inside and briefly rested her chilled fingers on the back of his warm hand in a silent apology. His posture relaxed a degree.

The following days were consumed with training.

Callan began with the bare basics of unsheathing her sword and lifting it out in front of her.

Though her blade was much lighter than his, it was heavier than the wooden sword she had been using in Pyralis, and her untrained muscles struggled to draw it and hold it extended.

She spent hours practicing swiftly getting onto her feet from the ground.

Callan insisted getting pinned during a fight, whether with swords or fists, must be avoided at all costs.

He taught her several maneuvers for escaping an opponent’s grasp, starting with attacks from the rear.

Coming up from behind, he would wrap his arms tightly around her, trapping her arms at her sides.

He instructed her to throw her head back into her opponent’s nose, or to drive her heel into the kneecap.

Each time his arms encircled her, Nova was overcome with the desire to lean her head back and melt into him.

To allow herself to be engulfed by the crisp scent of him, like freshly fallen snow.

Fortunately for her, Callan held on for only as long as was necessary to practice each maneuver and then, mercifully, released her before she could do anything she would regret.

The days melded in a blur of training, eating, and collapsing into bed fully dressed, too exhausted to dream.

She was so absorbed in her study of swordplay that she nearly forgot the purpose of her trip to Nivali all together until she stood beside one of Thorn’s sturdy wooden boats lashed to the dock.

Narrow at the bow and stern, the boat had a wide belly in the middle.

A single mast extended from the center of the vessel, a dark blue sail tightly rolled midway up the thick pole.

Seats lined the perimeter of the hull beside openings for oars to pass through.

Callan was busy loading provisions onto the ship, securing them in an enclosed cabin at the rear, and speaking with some of his uncle’s sailors who would accompany them on the journey.

Nova gazed across the water to the mouth of the inlet where the sea opened up, blue and vast under a clear sky dotted with wispy clouds. The wind fluttered the hem of her cloak, and Liv’s premonition echoed in her mind.

Wherever your path leads, death will follow.

Nova shivered, gritting her teeth and pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders.

She ran a hand over the hidden pocket she’d sewn into the lining, confirming the letter from Sister Iris remained safely concealed within.

She wore her training clothes for the journey, her dagger and sword fastened at her thigh and waist. A gown had seemed impractical for a sea voyage, but she wore her silver earrings and her mother’s ring, items too precious to leave behind.

Callan appeared at her side, and she felt the insistent pull stretching between them despite all her efforts to dismiss it.

“We’re ready to leave.” A mix of males and females boarded the ship, including Arik from the sparring match a few days earlier. “We should arrive at the temple tomorrow morning if the weather holds.”

Heavy footsteps fell upon the wooden planks behind them. Nova turned to see Thorn and Liv, who had come to bid them farewell.

“It’s a fine day for a sea voyage,” Thorn said blandly, looking down his nose at Nova. Clearly, she’d failed to endear herself to the Noble Lord during her short stay in his Court. He turned to Callan, gripping his shoulder.

Liv approached, her blond hair and red robe billowing in the breeze.

“Remember my words, Nova. There is something truly remarkable about you.”

Nova bowed her head briefly and boarded the vessel, making her way to a wooden bench at the stern.

Callan dropped onto the deck shortly after and freed the lines.

Several hands on the dock shoved the boat forward over the water’s choppy surface as Callan took his place at the base of the mast. A moment later, he shouted a command, and the sailors slid the oars through the hull, rowing in time with one another and propelling the ship across the cove.

Nova glanced back at the shore once they reached the open sea, the fishing village reduced to a speck on the horizon. The sailors pulled the oars inside, and Arik helped Callan raise the sail. The dark blue fabric unfurled and caught the wind, carrying them farther out to sea.

Callan joined her at the stern to monitor the tiller and keep the ship on course.

With the wind blowing from directly behind them, the raised stern buffered them from the breeze.

He motioned for her to slide down the bench toward him.

When she was close, he positioned her so she sat with her back to him, gathered her hair in his hands, and braided it, securing the end with a leather cord.

“You’ll be glad your hair is tied back if the wind picks up,” he said.

“Where did you learn to braid?” she asked, twirling the end of her hair around her index finger.

“We’re taught as younglings. Warriors often braid their hair before battle or for special ceremonies,” he explained, readjusting his cloak. “Who did you think braided my hair for Hayer?”

Nova shrugged, and he smiled, turning his attention to the horizon.

The daylight hours passed uneventfully with clear skies and favorable winds. The sailors busied themselves with card games and twirling daggers. Everyone shared a meal of bread, smoked meat, and ale as the sun began to sink toward the horizon.