Page 32 of Sun, Moon & Shadow (Fate of Aemoria #1)
The Nivalian vessel quickly disappeared from sight as the Silvergardian ship sailed swiftly up the coast, eventually mooring in a rocky inlet alongside several other ships.
A small band of guards disembarked with Nova and the commander, taking a skiff to shore.
The group hiked to a copse of bare trees at the summit of a rocky incline where several horses had been left tied to the gnarled limbs.
Commander Lucan led Nova to a stunning gray horse with a silvery mane and gestured for her to mount. She stared at him blankly.
“It’s a long walk to the Estate,” he said, annoyance flashing in his amber eyes.
“You’re too kind, Commander.”
Once she had mounted, the commander swung himself up behind her. He covered his nose and mouth with a black kerchief, then gave the animal a nudge under the ribs, urging it into a gallop.
The horses carried them away from the cool mist of the desolate, craggy coast. Farther inland, the air turned warm and dry, and the landscape morphed into dunes of gritty, charcoal-colored sand dotted with patches of hardy desert bushes and more of the same twisted, fruitless trees.
The pounding of the horses’ hooves kicked up a cloud of fine dust, and Nova quickly understood why all the riders wore face coverings like the commander’s, their foreheads and the area around their eyes appearing smudged with soot.
An imposing structure carved into the side of a mountain loomed in the distance.
The sun glinted off the enormous panes of glass covering the front of it.
A high wall of black stone rose up before them, a fortification stretching along the horizon in both directions.
The pack of riders halted briefly, and the horses pranced impatiently as a metal portcullis lifted, granting them access to the capital.
A city of dark stone structures sprawled out around the base of the Estate, dwarfed by its size.
The empty shop-lined streets were eerily quiet.
Nova spotted a market, an apothecary, and even what appeared to be a confectionary as they thundered past. Somehow, she hadn’t expected to find such mundane establishments within the Realm’s most notorious territory.
As they rode past residences and businesses, Nova spied a raven soaring on the wind high above them.
Recalling what Callan had said about the significance of a single raven, she sincerely hoped it was only a silly superstition.
Callan had also said the reigning Noble Lord of Silvergard was Omen’s younger brother.
Her uncle. She knew nothing of his temperament, but if his father and brothers were any indication, she certainly had reason to be fearful.
Nova shook off her apprehension and reached back into her memory to her evening in the Pyralis library and the thick book with its brittle pages, trying to recall anything useful. Silvergardians were nocturnal. The sun’s position overhead told her it was late afternoon.
“You’re up early.” Her shout was loud enough for the commander to hear over the wind and the rhythmic beating of the horses’ hooves.
“Our scouts spotted your vessel as soon as it crossed into our territory. They alerted me to your presence.” His mouth was close to her ear, his voice calm and even. “The rest of Silvergard will rise with the moon.”
They rode on, and, before long, the Estate stood menacingly before her, all straight lines and sharp edges.
The commander dismounted and tugged her down by the waistband behind him.
The others turned over their steeds to several stable hands waiting at the base of the wide stone steps leading to an enormous black metal door.
Nova craned her neck to the sharp spires crowning the Estate, stabbing at the sky. She saw no glimmer of magic overhead.
“There’s no shield.”
“We have no need for one,” the commander answered. “In two hundred years, Raven’s Isle has never attacked Silvergard.” He waved impatiently for her to ascend the steps.
Nova moved slowly, stalling the inevitable.
The commander grabbed her arm above the elbow and climbed the stairs, dragging her along.
The heavy metal door swung open with a groan that rattled her teeth, and the commander guided her into the great room within.
The floors and walls of the massive space were carved from the black rock of the mountain, smoothed and polished to a shine.
The floor-to-ceiling windows lining the front wall looked out over the surrounding city and the shifting black sand beyond.
The space was sparsely decorated with small area rugs anchoring black, low-backed sofas and armchairs.
Along the far side sat a dining table crafted from a slab of petrified wood large enough to seat forty.
A chandelier of round moonstones hung suspended in midair over the tabletop.
And in the back corner, a twining staircase led to several levels above, drawing Nova’s eyes to a ceiling made entirely of glass.
A life-size statue of Orika stood atop a platform in the center of the room sculpted from a block of gleaming moonstone.
The staff in her hand was carved to depict the lunar phases.
The goddess and the folk of Silvergard alike revered the moon, which represented both change and influence—on the ebb and flow of the tides and the cycles of fertility.
Nova only realized she’d halted her steps when the commander whistled sharply and pulled her along to the staircase. As they climbed to the upper level, Nova wondered where he could be taking her. Certainly prisoners would be kept in cells on a lower level, perhaps underground.
They reached the second floor and turned down a high-ceilinged hallway, their footsteps echoing loudly as they walked. Moonstone globes hung at intervals along the shiny stone walls. The commander stopped before a tall black lacquered door and released her arm to hold it open for her.
Nova poked her head into the room before taking a few cautious steps inside, surprised to see not a cell, but a beautifully appointed chamber.
A large bed made up with black satin sheets sat atop a platform anchored against the wall to her right.
Sheer black curtains hung from the ceiling, encircling the bed.
There was a blackwood wardrobe with a matching vanity and writing desk.
A sliding glass door on the far wall led to a small terrace.
The door stood slightly ajar, and a warm breeze blew through the room, fluttering the curtains.
“The bathing chamber is through there,” Commander Lucan said coolly, indicating an arched doorway to his left. “I’ll send someone up to help you bathe and dress.”
Nova said nothing, and he turned for the door.
“You’re expected to join the Noble Lord for breakfast,” he called over his shoulder before pulling the door closed with a resounding click.
Alone at last, Nova’s mask slipped, and she staggered to the stool at the nearby vanity.
Shielding her face with sweaty palms, she breathed heavily, in and out, through the cracks between her trembling fingers.
Her thoughts swarmed. Could she trust the commander to keep his word?
Would Callan arrive in Nivali safely? Would she ever leave Silvergard?
Allowing herself only a brief release of emotion, Nova swallowed several deep, gulping breaths and swiped her sleeve across her eyes and cheeks.
A knock sounded on the door a few minutes later, and Nova sprang to her feet.
Her hand flew to her thigh, reaching for a blade that wasn’t there.
A sprightly female entered, so pale Nova could see her veins, faint purple branches under nearly translucent skin.
She paused in the entryway, her papery, white wings fluttering like those of a moth, her irises so dark they looked like the glassy eyes of a bird.
The female scanned Nova from head to toe, taking in her windswept hair and the fine black powder coating every bit of her exposed skin.
“Don’t you look dreadful,” she said, immediately clapping a hand over her mouth. “Pardon me, miss. I’m Isla. Your lady’s maid. Though, truthfully, I’m just a kitchen maid as there’s no Noble Lady at the Estate. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
Nova’s fear ebbed a degree, and she nearly smiled in spite of herself at the maid’s honesty.
Isla motioned toward the bathing chamber with an apologetic smile and tucked a lock of pale gray hair behind her ear.
While Nova undressed, Isla filled the oval black stone tub with steaming water and added oil infused with jasmine and primrose.
Nova lowered herself into the hot water, dunking her head beneath the surface.
When she came up for air, Isla was ready with a soapy cloth and silently set to work washing Nova’s hair and gently scrubbing the remnants of sand from her skin.
Back in the main chamber, Isla slipped a black satin robe over Nova’s shoulders and tamed her hair, styling it with delicate silver combs shaped like crescent moons.
The wardrobe held a number of fine gowns, as well as breeches and shirts, though the garments appeared to be designed specifically for females, rather than simply mimicking the styles typically worn by males.
“Would you prefer a gown or breeches?” Isla asked, her hand hovering before the rack. Nova imagined a gown would be proper for her introduction to the Noble Lord.
“A gown, I think.”
Isla nodded and chose one, draping it over her forearm.
The dress featured a black leather bodice with silver stitching and a multilayered skirt of sheer black fabric. Thankfully, the skirt’s many layers ensured it was not entirely see-through. Finally, Isla helped her into a pair of black silk slippers.
“His Grace should be ready to see you now.” She looked Nova up and down and nodded in approval. “Much better. Follow me, miss.”