Page 37 of Sun, Moon & Shadow (Fate of Aemoria #1)
Dusk was beginning to purple the sky when she woke.
Nova quickly slipped into the breeches, shirt, and leather armor of her training uniform, securing her weapons in place.
Lucan met her at the foot of the staircase holding an enormous savory hand pie for each of them, which they wolfed down as they headed for the sparring ring.
Just over a week had passed since her arrival in Silvergard, and Nova had already settled into a comfortable rhythm in the Lunar Court.
For the first seven days of training, she faced off against Lucan, both of them wielding wooden swords as he taught her how to strike and block against an opponent in the style of a Silvergardian soldier.
The Nivalian style Callan practiced was rooted in brutal offensive techniques and maneuvers, leveraging one’s size and strength against an opponent.
The Silvergardian method incorporated evasive maneuvers, using speed and agility to best one’s opponent.
Not being exceptionally large herself, Nova found she preferred the Silvergardian style.
Lucan never took it easy on her. In fact, she got the distinct impression that her trainer derived a sizable measure of joy every time she tumbled face-first onto the smooth stone floor of the sparring ring.
Still, there was no denying her skills had already improved significantly under his instruction.
Following their most recent session, he’d lost his patience and accused her of holding back.
Nova stood at the edge of the sparring ring, resting her hand lightly on the hilt of her sword.
She would finally be training with a real blade, but Lucan wasn’t foolish enough to offer himself up as her first victim.
She watched through narrowed eyes as he dragged a training dummy into the center of the ring.
The figure was slightly taller than she was, stuffed with straw, and clothed in the traditional dress of Nivali.
How Lucan had come by the garments, Nova didn’t wish to know.
“Friend of yours?” she asked, attempting to douse her irritation with sarcasm as Lucan steadied the mannequin on its round base.
He stood back with a hand on his hip, admiring his handiwork, and shook his head.
“Nah, he looks more like your type to me.” Lucan playfully flicked the insignia of crossed swords embroidered in silver thread on the chest of the faded, blue jacket.
Nova gritted her teeth.
“What?” Lucan clapped the mannequin on the back, a cloud of dust exploding into the air. “Isn’t he the spitting image of your wintry warrior?”
“His name is Callan.”
“Whatever.” Lucan snapped his fingers. “Tear him apart.”
Nova didn’t move, her breath quickening as she stared Lucan down.
“I want to see what you’ve got, Elsever.” His patience was wearing thin, but Nova remained motionless.
Lucan drew his sword, the metal singing as he pulled it from its sheath.
“I wonder what you’d do if it really was Callan.
” He raised his blade to the dummy’s neck.
Drawing her own sword, Nova took two quick steps toward Lucan.
He leapt back as she brought her weapon down, slicing through the air and slashing the mannequin’s blue jacket cleanly down the front.
Lucan sputtered as a laugh burst from his pursed lips, and Nova turned her blade on him, pressing the tip against his leather chest plate, just below his breastbone.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Lucan held his hands out in front of him, his laughter drying up in an instant.
“What’s wrong, Commander? Afraid to feel the kiss of Nivalian steel?” Nova asked, tight-lipped. “Remove the jacket.” Her instruction was calmly delivered through clenched teeth.
Lucan sidestepped her blade, reaching behind the mannequin and cautiously peeling the slashed coat from its shoulders. Nova lowered her weapon.
“It was a joke, Nova. A bit of fun.” He tossed the garment off to the edge of the ring. “Though it’s nice to finally see a little spark from you. Perhaps we’ll make a killer out of you yet.”
Nova spun and took a few steps away from him. She rolled her shoulders and shook out her sword arm, attempting to banish the anger that had her gripping the hilt so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
“Don’t do that,” Lucan instructed, motioning for her to come back. “Whatever you’re feeling, use it.”
Nova took his advice and used her anger for the next hour, slashing and stabbing at the training dummy until its thick burlap skin hung in ribbons and the polished stone floor was littered with straw clippings.
When she was through, she walked the perimeter of the ring, chest heaving and bits of golden straw swirling in her wake.
Slowly, she backed against the wall and lowered herself to the floor, struggling to regulate her breathing.
She laid her sword on the floor beside her, aware of Lucan tracking her movements from his position across the ring with narrowed amber eyes.
“I’m s-sorry.” Nova gasped for air, hating herself for the whine of weakness in her voice
Lucan shoved off the pillar he’d been leaning against and joined her, his back sliding down the wall until he sat beside her.
“Sorry for what? Getting pissed off?” He shrugged, tilting his head back against the smooth stone behind him and looking up at the ceiling.
“Look, when I was young, I had to hide certain parts of myself. Gods, it pissed me off. I lashed out constantly, picked fights, aching for a bit of physical pain to distract me from what I was feeling.”
Nova’s breathing slowed a bit, intrigued by this chink in the commander’s armor.
“When I met Nox ...” A faint smile. There and gone, quicker than a blink.
He shook his head and continued. “When I first joined his guard, I was still simmering away. This rage I kept trying to put a lid on was always there, threatening to boil over. Rather than letting it get the better of me, I poured it into my training. Anger can be useful. But you’ve got to channel it.
Otherwise, it’s just chaos. Do you see what I’m saying? ”
A slight nod. Her breathing was returning to normal.
“Your anger, your fear, your pain—you can let it fuel you.” Lucan spoke softly, brows low as he nodded, staring into the empty air in front of him. “But you can’t let it burn you up.”
Nova flexed her fingers and ran her damp palms over her face before smoothing down the riotous flyaway hairs that had escaped from her braid. Lucan nudged her shoulder with his own.
“Seems my plan to bore you with my sob story worked.” He clapped once and hefted himself up, standing over her and extending a hand. “Let’s go, kid. I think you’ve done enough damage for today.”
Nova took hold of his hand and pulled herself up beside him.
“Don’t call me kid, grandsire.” She slipped her sword back into its sheath.
“Try and have some measure of respect for your elders,” Lucan chided as he playfully shoved her toward the door.
Nova skipped breakfast, opting to ease her nerves by sinking into a hot bath instead. Once clean and relatively calm, she dressed for the day in a sleek black gown with black leather straps crisscrossing her back and wrapping around her ribs.
A message from Callan had arrived while she bathed.
It was brief. He was making an effort to fulfill his bargain with his uncle by getting to know his people.
Thorn had roped him into attending an upcoming Assembly, a special gathering for the citizens of Nivali to make appeals for aid or seek the Noble Lord’s wisdom in settling disputes over land and fishing rights.
And, as Callan put it, for Thorn to address many other incredibly important matters that require the input of a Noble Lord .
Nova smiled to herself as she imagined Callan speaking the words with his customary seriousness.
She shook her head and laid his letter atop a stack of several others beside her bed.
Nox would be expecting her to join him in the library.
Nova and her uncle spent several hours together most days, often sitting in companionable silence in the grand library while she read and he drew in a sketchbook.
Occasionally they would socialize with members of the Court, many of whom were patrons of the arts, either creating works themselves or supporting others in their artistic pursuits.
The Estate itself was like a museum. Abstract paintings and realistic landscapes hung on nearly every wall, the pieces beautifully lit by moonstone orbs. Ornate sculptures carved from onyx or moonstone dotted the halls and chambers.
As Nova learned, it hadn’t always been so.
Nox broke with thousands of years of tradition over a century earlier, slashing spending on Silvergard’s armed forces and investing in the arts and education for all.
He’d worked with district leaders to end mandatory conscription for males across the territory, though one or two districts still upheld such laws.
Nox had told her of his efforts to persuade the remaining holdouts to abolish the practice as well.
Nova pushed open the door to the library but found it empty.
She slumped down on the sofa next to Nox’s sketchbook lying open on the cushion next to her.
She flipped idly through the pages, admiring the detailed sketches of flowers and plants, delicate, lifelike images captured in lines of smudged charcoal.
She closed the book and ran her fingertips over the stretched fabric of the cover.
A shared love of plants had initially sparked their friendship, though Nova’s interest was in medicinal applications while her uncle’s was purely aesthetic.