Page 9 of Sun, Moon & Shadow (Fate of Aemoria #1)

Brisk air washed over Callan as he burst out onto the high stone rampart surrounding the Pyralis Estate, the cold bracing him and tempering his anger marginally.

Sentries stood posted at intervals along the wide walkway.

All kept their distance, shrinking back and lowering their heads as he rushed past.

At last, he stopped inside an empty turret and rested his elbows on the half wall. Kicking the toe of his boot against the cold gray stone, he surveyed the sea of red, orange, and gold leaves of the surrounding forest.

It was a relief to escape the library. Confined in the space, he’d felt simultaneously energized and drained. Energized at seeing Nova safe and healed. Drained from keeping up the pretense that he wasn’t keenly aware of her every movement.

Her soft bottom lip pressed against the rim of the porcelain teacup.

The way she self-consciously touched her ears three times.

The thrum of her pulse at her fair throat.

He’d forced himself to face the window to avoid openly staring. It felt as if he’d been enchanted.

What game was Evander playing? Callan was used to Evander’s expert needling and had often watched him wielding it as a weapon against romantic rivals.

But he’d never before found himself on the receiving end of it.

He flexed his jaw, thinking of how his cousin had behaved toward Nova.

Testing the limits of how she would allow him to speak to her.

Whether or not she would allow him to touch her.

She didn’t pull away from his touch.

Callan fumed, his anger reigniting as he recalled Evander’s mocking tone.

He hadn’t abandoned Nova. He’d defied every fiber of his intuition when he left her alone.

He imagined pummeling Evander and sending him crying to his mother as he often had when they were younglings.

The thought improved his mood considerably.

The sun had begun its slow descent toward the horizon.

Callan scanned the shadows forming at the edge of the forest, the gathering darkness reminding him of Nova’s midnight hair.

He had no doubt she was descended from Sonnend.

There was no other explanation for how rapidly her wounds had healed.

But she bore no resemblance to the golden-haired Fae of the Solar Court he knew.

With her silvery eyes and fair skin, Nova looked quite the opposite, as if she were directly descended from Silvergard.

But if that were the case, why had no one thought to tell him?

Though he was not aware of any imminent conflicts, relations between the Lunar Court and the other territories had always been tenuous.

Strained, at best. At present, they were practically nonexistent.

Callan groaned through his teeth. Why should he care where she came from?

His assignment was simple: locate Nova Greenmore and return her safely to Pyralis.

He’d done that. So why was he sulking in an empty turret, thinking about her hair and her eyes, and trying to invent any excuse to see her again?

He rubbed his forehead with both hands then dragged his fingers down his face, his head coming to rest wearily in his hands.

It had been several days since he’d gotten any restful sleep.

Longer if he counted his time on the road, bedding down behind hedgerows when there wasn’t a room available at the inn of whatever hamlet he found himself in as night approached.

Callan resolved to take his evening meal in his chamber and turn in early for a full night’s rest. Perhaps sleep and some distance from Nova was what he needed to get his head on straight.

He planned to speak with Evander in the morning and knew it would be wise to be clearheaded if he hoped to get answers to any of his lingering questions.

Although Fae couldn’t lie outright, they were certainly capable of deception, and Evander could deceive with the best of them.

Rising at his usual time the following morning, Callan quickly dressed in a fresh tunic and breeches and pulled on the boots he’d buffed to a shine the night before.

Surprisingly, Evander had already eaten and left for the Great Hall.

It seemed he was truly honoring his mother’s request to oversee preparations for the upcoming Hayer celebration in her absence.

Normally, nothing short of an act of the gods would pull Evander from his bed before midday.

The long carpeted halls of the Estate were mostly empty, with the exception of servants going about their morning duties.

Callan knocked on the massive wooden double doors leading to the Great Hall, and Evander’s voice called out for him to enter.

The large, open space was lit by the morning sun pouring in through the tall windows lining the far wall.

Evander sat on his father’s gilded throne upon the dais before the wall of windows.

He was alone except for a Fae commoner, a brewer by the looks of it.

The male stood beside the throne, a tray with several glass steins containing a selection of amber ales balanced on his burly arm.

The brewer cocked his horned head in Callan’s direction as his footsteps approached the platform.

“Have you got a minute?” Callan asked his cousin, making a slight bow of greeting.

“For you? Of course.” Evander waved the brewer away. “I’ll send word of how many barrels we’ll need.”

Once they were alone, Evander rearranged himself, sitting up a bit straighter on his father’s throne but casually resting an ankle on the knee of his opposite leg.

“What can I do for you?” He grinned broadly, clearly taking pleasure in playing the role of Noble Lord of the Autumn Court while his father was away.

“Just seeking a bit of clarity.” Callan clasped his hands behind his back. Evander nodded, prompting him to continue. “Has it occurred to anyone that Nova might have ties to Silvergard?”

“Why the interest in her lineage?” Evander asked after a moment, avoiding the question by asking one of his own.

“I have no particular interest in her lineage. I’m simply wondering why, if she has Lunar blood, no one thought to share that information with me.” Callan’s tone was cordial, but a whisper of command churned just beneath the surface.

Evander pinned him with a stare, the corners of his grinning mouth beginning to slacken, his cunning eyes narrowing slightly.

Callan pressed on. “If there is a conflict brewing with Silvergard, and she is somehow involved, then the task I completed for Lady Estrid was much more dangerous than I was led to believe. For Nova and for me.”

“You’re both alive and well,” Evander said. His tone was dismissive as he brushed his fingers over the top of his thigh. “In fact, the only harm that befell her resulted from your actions. Why the concern after the fact?” Evander asked, his head tilting to one side.

Callan crossed his arms over his chest, projecting an air of authority despite Evander’s position above him on the raised platform.

“I won’t play a part in any scheme that brings harm to her, Evander. And I won’t stand idly by while she’s used as a pawn in one, either.” Callan wondered what had prompted his declaration. This line drawn in the sand.

“What sort of spell has she put you under?” Evander attempted levity, a smirk returning to his face, but his eyes remained calculating and trained on his cousin.

“There’s no spell,” Callan said, even as the memory of Nova’s roar echoed so loudly in his mind, he could practically feel it reverberating in his bones. “It’s a matter of honor,” he added, hopeful his justification sounded as believable as he intended it to be.

Evander looked unconvinced.

“Don’t be silly. Any fool could see you want her.

She is a stunning creature, isn’t she? Even now I can smell the faint reek of your desire.

Tell me, Cal, what is she worth to you?” Evander perked up a bit, rubbing his thumb over the pads of his fingers, no doubt thinking he’d found his latest mark.

The conversation was going nowhere. Admitting Evander’s suspicions were even remotely accurate could put both Callan and Nova in a vulnerable position. And Evander was the fool if he believed Callan would ever enter a bargain with him.

“Perhaps I’ll wait and speak with Lady Estrid about this when she returns,” Callan said, the casual mention of Evander’s mother a thinly veiled threat to go over his head.

Evander shifted to sit taller on the throne, planting his booted feet flat on the wide oak planks of the dais, fingers grasping the golden arms of the throne. The threat clearly found its target.

“You would do well to remember, cousin, Lady Estrid is not your blood.” Evander’s voice was taut.

All humor, genuine or feigned, had evaporated.

His eyes glowed like live coals for an instant.

“Although she may at times think of you in a motherly way, you are not her heir. You are a blade . Nothing more. A weapon she takes out when the need arises.”

Callan’s nostrils flared, but he managed to resist the impulse to climb on the platform and drag Evander from the throne. Evander’s lips curled up on one side, pleased to see his words had struck a nerve.

“You fulfilled your duty bringing Nova across the Boundary into Aemoria,” he said. “If she is truly nothing to you, as you suggest, then do try to remember your place here and stay out of my way. Unless, of course, you’re ready to return to face your obligations in Nivali.”

Callan stood frozen, inwardly raging at the fact that there was nothing he could do. And worse, that Evander knew it. He clenched his fists, ice biting at his palms and the tips of his fingers, a faint blue haze gathering at the edges of his vision.