Page 58 of Sun, Moon & Shadow (Fate of Aemoria #1)
Nova seethed as she watched the others slipping silently across the sand.
Understanding Callan’s instinct to protect her did little to ease the sting of knowing he’d been partially right.
True, she was no warrior. But she was no defenseless maiden, either.
Callan hadn’t witnessed the hours she’d spent in the sparring ring, improving with each passing day.
He didn’t know how quick she had become, how comfortable with a blade.
Roughly half an hour had passed when Nova saw a flicker of movement high on the mountain, there and gone in a blink.
She only saw it because she knew Evander and the archers would be reaching the ridge overlooking the encampment.
They’d be settling into position soon, arrows trained on the sentries patrolling the perimeter.
The Nivalian warriors would be spreading out to surround the camp as well, silently slitting the throats of anyone they encountered.
Fawn’s diversion would signal the true start of the fight, when the visceral rush of fear and confusion would send swarms of enemy soldiers scrambling for their weapons and hunting for intruders.
Nova recalled the hateful gleam in Idrian’s eyes when he spoke of her uncle.
His delighted grin as he spoke of his promise to kill her.
Another male in a long line, spanning the years of her life, intent on taking something from her for his own benefit.
Nova’s hands tingled, thirsting for the feel of a hilt pressed tight against them.
Pulling her dagger from its sheath at her thigh, she spun the weapon on her palm as she stared into the darkness.
A moment later, she rose to her feet atop the stone summit, the sky far too dark for anyone to spot her in her black leathers at such a distance.
She’d scaled the rock earlier in search of seclusion.
Suddenly, it occurred to her: She’d made no promise to avoid the fight.
No vow to stay put. She loved Callan deeply, but he didn’t control her.
No one did. The others were risking their lives to protect the Lunar Court.
Her Court. Clearing a path to Idrian. Her path to Idrian.
Nova sheathed her dagger and turned to descend the pitted rock face.
She unclasped her cloak once her boots hit the sand, discarding it in a puddle of black on the ground. Free of it, she took off running across the wide expanse toward the base of the mountain, its jagged peak jutting up against the boundless, star-filled sky.
The shiny breastplate of a fallen Silvergardian sentry glinted under the light of Illora as Nova crept closer to the encampment. An arrow had pierced the soldier’s throat, his death mercifully quick. She glanced over her shoulder at the high ridge where a dozen archers lay hidden.
Pressing on, she slipped through a grove of twisted juniper trees, rough needles scratching against her leather armor.
The faint whine of an arrow slicing through the air nearby ended abruptly with a muted grunt and a thud.
Nova took comfort knowing the archers wouldn’t see her in the dark with nothing on her to reflect the starlight and reveal her position.
Pausing behind the trunk of a crooked tree, she peeked around it at the massive camp of white cloth tents dotted with the warm glow of dozens of cook fires.
The encampment rolling out before her was set upon a slight decline, providing a direct line of sight all the way to the glimmering sea beyond.
Three Silvergardian ships sat anchored offshore, each one boasting tiered decks and two masts.
Nova drew her sword, gripping the hilt as she hunched her shoulders and prepared to make entry, when a deep rumble vibrated her chest, like the roar of a great beast. It stopped her in her tracks.
Before her eyes, a jet of fiery orange burst forth from the shoreline, drenching the nearest ship with liquid flames.
The towering masts and rolled black sails ignited immediately, creating an instant inferno on the ship’s deck.
The flaming material sloshed over the sides, dripping down the exposed hull and into the sea where it continued to burn as it floated on the surface of the water.
Nova’s breath caught as she traced the stream of flames back to the tiny figure of Fawn, illuminated by the light of her unbelievable power.
Rooted to the spot, Nova could scarcely believe her sweet friend was capable of such profound destruction.
From so far away, she couldn’t be sure if it was Fawn’s auburn hair fanning out behind her or flames. She looked like Embra in the flesh.
The sudden clamor of the camp springing into action pulled Nova from her trance.
She wasn’t the only one who had felt the ground tremble as a result of Fawn’s magic.
Frightened shouts and barked orders rose above the unceasing roar of the flames.
As Callan predicted, soldiers ran down the slope and toward the sea in droves to investigate.
Nova seized the opportunity to enter the camp unseen, slinking from shadow to shadow between the tents.
Idrian’s lodging was easy to spot, much larger than the others and erected at the center of the encampment.
A small flag with the insignia of Silvergard flew from a short pole atop its domed roof.
The air grew thick with arrows raining down from the ridge, eliminating distracted soldiers as they ran along the narrow laneways. She hadn’t yet spotted Callan or any of the Nivalian warriors, but several sharp cries ringing out in the distance suggested they had infiltrated the camp as well.
The stealth portion of the operation had reached its end.
Nova slowed, her back pressed against the support pole of a tent as she neared Idrian’s shelter.
Chancing a glance around the corner, she noted two hulking guards posted outside the entrance; Idrian was still inside, then.
She pulled back out of view and tilted her face up to the sky, taking several deep breaths.
Jus then, one of Idrian’s soldiers skidded around the corner, stopping short in front of her.
The female hadn’t had time to don her armor, but she wielded a long, curved sword.
Her eyes went wide when she registered Nova’s shape, nearly indistinguishable from the surrounding shadows.
Nova didn’t give her a chance to raise her blade, slashing her across the throat and bringing the female to her knees in a heartbeat.
The soldier sputtered for air before falling dead at Nova’s feet.
All sound faded as Nova looked down at her shaking hands and the body lying still on the ground before her. She clenched her fists and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose and exhaling through her mouth.
Remember your training. Imagine you’re sparring with Lucan.
Only Lucan was never actually trying to kill her. Well, almost never.
Releasing a shaky breath, Nova peered around the corner at the entrance to Idrian’s tent once again.
Although the guards remained at their posts, their eyes were fixed on the flame-drenched chaos unfolding along the shoreline.
Their hands rested on their hilts as they shifted uneasily from foot to foot, eager to join the fray.
Keeping to the shadows, sword in hand, Nova doubled back to approach one of the guards from the rear.
She eyed a weak point in his standard-issue Silvergardian armor, a crease between two sections of hammered metal at the waist. His partner would undoubtedly notice when she killed him, but she preferred her odds against fighting one of them over fighting both at once.
The shadows seemed to cling to her, gathering around her like a dark cloak and shielding her as she crept along the edge of the canvas wall.
Like a reassuring hand pressed firmly between her shoulder blades, urging her on.
She crouched low as she reached the guard, thrusting her sword into his back through the gap in his armor.
The guard fell to his knees with a groan, gripping his side as a rush of blood spilled from the wound.
The second guard hurried to his aid, initially confused but swiftly drawing his own weapon when Nova emerged from the darkness.
He charged her at once, bringing the curved blade of his sword down over her head.
Nova beat against the cut, deflecting the blade and stepping to the right.
His momentum carried his body forward, and she brought her blade back, slashing the top of his thigh.
He spun on her, swinging his sword through the air horizontally.
The guard was large but slow, and Nova ducked underneath the arc of the blade, rising swiftly a second later and bringing her own blade down on the elbow of his sword arm.
His weapon fell to the ground, and he hunched forward, clutching his injured arm with his opposite hand.
Without hesitation, Nova came down with her sword, gripped in both hands and angled at the point where his neck met his shoulder, cleaving the juncture with a fatal blow.
Heart pounding, she rushed to the entrance of the general’s tent, parting the canvas flaps with the tip of her blade.
No movement inside. She slipped out of the night and into Idrian’s quarters.
The space was cramped, taken up by a full-size bed and a large table, and lit by moonstone globes strung up on the corner posts.
The surface of the table was cluttered with maps and sheets of correspondence.
A changing screen stood beside a large trunk with clothing draped over the sides.