3. Three
Three
Eir, Nox’s healer in residence, occupied a modest lodging beside the wall that lined the western edge of the city. Nova paused on the doorstep. The curtains were drawn, but the warm glow of firelight peeked out through a small gap between the panels of thin fabric.
While Nova had no need for Eir’s healing services, she had previously sought the crone’s expertise on how to avoid falling pregnant.
From books, she’d gathered it was far more difficult for Fae to conceive than it was for humans, but leaving something so significant up to chance seemed careless whatever the odds.
Especially considering the glaring uncertainty and danger that had already shaped the course of her life since she’d arrived in Aemoria.
Nova rapped on the door and listened. Rattling dishes and the hum of a female voice carried from the other side.
Shuffling footsteps approached, and the door creaked open a crack, revealing an ancient-looking female with a wild mane of wiry black hair streaked with gray.
Her back was slightly hunched, her tan, weathered face set with deep creases at the corners of her eyes and mouth.
“Ah,” the healer sighed, a warm smile spreading across her face as she opened the door fully. “It’s you.”
She stepped back and beckoned Nova inside with a fist of gnarled fingers.
Nova crossed the threshold into the enveloping warmth of the small, one-room residence.
A fire crackled in the stone hearth. Bundles of medicinal plants and flowers hung to dry from the rafters of the low ceiling.
A large stone worktop filled one side of the cramped space, the surface cluttered with plant cuttings and corked glass bottles filled with powders, all laid out in a sort of organized chaos.
A lumpy straw cot sat on the opposite wall covered with a hand-stitched quilt.
“Come on, then,” Eir tsked, waddling to stand behind the worktop. “Have a seat.”
Nova lowered herself onto a wooden stool and watched Eir as she went about her work, dropping dried plants into a mortar and grunting faintly as she ground them into a fine powder with a pestle gripped in her palm.
“I hear you’ve been stealing some of my business,” the healer said, arching a bushy brow.
Nova stilled. Healing smaller injuries for members of the Guard and the staff who resided within the Estate gave her a sense of purpose. She’d never considered she might be stepping on the healer’s toes in doing so.
“I’m sorry. I—”
“Calm yourself. There’s plenty of work to go around.” Eir set the pestle on the tabletop, staring at Nova and pressing her lips into a thin line. “I imagine you’ve come for your maiden’s foil. You’re off to visit your warrior soon, yes?”
Nova lowered her eyes briefly, pale cheeks heating as she recalled Eir’s disapproving shouts upon finding Nova and Callan in bed together months before, their limbs entwined. Callan had been under strict instructions to rest, so he could heal from the wound that nearly claimed his life.
“When he first returned from the northern shores, your name was the only word that passed his lips through the fog of pain.” Eir turned and rummaged through a small chest.
“I’m in your debt for saving him.”
“Nonsense, pet. I’m a healer.” Eir laid a length of gauze on the table, smoothing it flat and setting to work binding sachets for teas.
“Besides, you did a good deal of the work. Not that it wasn’t a challenge, mind you.
The fool refused to lie still. Kept trying to get out of bed.
He very nearly ruined your handiwork.” Eir clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and shook her head.
“That was my first attempt at healing.” Nova lifted a sprig of something green to her nose and sniffed, wincing at the acrid scent. “It was a blessing from Aurore that I was able to do anything at all.”
Eir measured a spoonful of loose, dried leaves and faded purple petals into a square of gauze, securing the corners tightly with a length of thread. She nudged a bit of gauze across the tabletop, and Nova joined in, the two of them filling tea bags in companionable silence for a while.
“I don’t understand it,” Eir murmured distractedly after a time, the tip of her tongue poking out the corner of her mouth as she struggled to tie a knot. Finally managing to secure the thread, she focused her attention on Nova. “You have a very bright light around you.”
The healer waved a hand vaguely at the air above Nova’s head. Glancing up, Nova saw nothing but a faint haze of smoke from the fire. Eir studied Nova intently, as if she were a problem to be solved, her brows drawing together and wrinkling the papery skin of her forehead.
When they’d finished filling tiny gauze pouches with lavender and valerian and chatting about the medicinal uses of plants in the Human Realm, Nova departed the healer’s workshop, a woven pouch full of dried maiden’s foil tucked carefully under her arm.
Dinner with the gentry was pleasant enough, with courtiers discussing a play that recently ran at the theater in the city.
Nova tried to remain engaged, but her thoughts continued to wander.
To the fruitless letters on her desk. The message she’d sent to Callan days earlier, still unanswered.
After an hour or so of absentmindedly nudging her food around her plate while Nox and Lucan carried on a conversation, Nova finally excused herself.
When she returned to her chamber, her lady’s maid, Isla, greeted her, helping Nova out of her extravagant gown.
Isla’s skilled hands had the row of tiny buttons undone in no time, and Nova stepped out of the dress and into a black silk nightgown.
Once Isla had plucked the pins from Nova’s hair and gently combed the ebony strands until they were smooth, Nova dismissed her maid, then crawled into bed as dawn streaked the sky beyond the drapes.
Nova slept deeply until she was disturbed by the rustling sound of large wings followed by a series of strange pops and cracks.
Struggling to open her heavy lids, she pushed herself up to sitting and attempted to dash the sleep from her eyes.
From the light streaming in through gaps in the curtains hanging before the terrace door, she guessed dusk was several hours off.
Bleary-eyed, she scanned the room but saw no sign of a messenger owl.
“Is someone there?” she called out hoarsely, her voice sounding weaker than she’d intended.
Though it was daylight outside, shadows clung to the edges of the room, heavy darkness gathered in the corners.
Slowly, Nova shifted her position to kneeling and peered through the sheer black curtains encircling her bed.
A flicker of movement out the corner of her eye drew her gaze.
The figure was gone as quickly as it came, but she surmised from the size and shape that there wasn’t something in the room with her, but someone.
Dread raced along her spine like the tip of an icy finger. She threw a glance at her weapons sheathed on the vanity table against the far wall. Drawing a steadying breath, she scrambled forward, sliding off the satin sheets, her feet landing with a solid thud on the polished stone floor.
She lunged for her blades, but something caught her firmly around the neck, yanking her backward.
A strangled breath caught in her throat as she clawed at the forearm hooked tightly under her chin.
For a panicked instant, she wondered if it was Lucan, come to test her.
In the next instant, her training took hold, and she flung her head back, forcefully connecting with her attacker’s face.
Their grip loosened enough for Nova to pull away and snatch up her Silvergardian dagger.
Spinning around with her blade gripped in her hand, Nova faced her opponent, who stood hunched forward, obscured by shadow along the wall.
The figure stepped into the light, revealing a female, roughly Nova’s height, with a slim but muscular build.
Her shirt and pants were sun-bleached and tattered.
Her hair a dull gray and her skin like ash, as if all color had been drained from her body.
Face expressionless, the female stared at Nova with black eyes, glassy and quick like those of a bird.
Then, the intruder flew forward, arms outstretched.
Nova jabbed at her with the blade, but the female blocked the blow and grabbed Nova’s wrist. Using her body weight, Nova slammed her attacker against the wardrobe, yanking her hand free and coming down with an overhead strike.
When the female ducked, Nova’s dagger sunk into the cord of muscle running from her neck to her shoulder.
The female stopped her assault briefly to wrench the blade out and throw it across the room, where it clattered over the floor and disappeared into a darkened corner.
The attacker’s face remained blank as a viscous liquid, thick and black, oozed from the wound.
She charged again, the solid punch Nova landed to her face doing nothing to stop her.
The same black liquid dribbled from the female’s nose as she continued her pursuit.
Nova stumbled backward until her thighs hit the edge of the bed.
Throwing her weight against Nova’s middle, the intruder knocked her onto the bed and straddled her.
Nova fought for purchase, her feet slipping over the smooth satin sheets.
The female leaned over Nova, caging her in, staring her down with vacant black eyes.
Her hands encircled Nova’s throat, grip tightening like a vise.
Nova clawed at her attacker’s forearms. Markings—coiling black snakes—slithered up her arms and under her sleeves then reappeared on the sides of her neck.
Desperate, Nova jammed her thumb into the fresh wound on the female’s shoulder, but she didn’t flinch.
Her face was entirely void of emotion, no malice, satisfaction, or fear reflected in the bottomless pits of her eyes.
A white mist gathered at the edge of Nova’s vision.
All at once, she was a child in the schoolyard again, a sneering boy’s grubby fingers clasped tightly around her throat.
She was pinned beneath the lycane, its massive paws crushing the air from her lungs.
She grasped the murderous female by the shoulders, the sounds of her own struggle fading until only a droning, high-pitched tone remained.
Suddenly, there was a flash of blinding white light, and her attacker flew from the bed, crashing into the vanity mirror before coming to rest on the floor.
The female lay motionless past the foot of the bed as Nova coughed and sputtered, chest heaving as she swallowed as much air as she could.
Slowly, her hearing returned, and she registered Lucan and Nox standing in the doorway.
Both had weapons drawn, but Lucan kept Nox tucked behind him, a protective arm thrown in front of his mate like a shield.
Rushing forward, Lucan seized the female on the floor as Nox joined Nova on the bed, taking her face in his hands and checking her for injuries.
Her gaze shot to the female, whose head lolled back as Lucan yanked her up, his fist twisted in the loose fabric of her tattered shirt.
To Nova’s surprise, she looked entirely different than she had only a moment before.
Nova held up a hand to stop Lucan from hauling her away.
Strands of stringy brown hair stuck to her high cheekbones.
She wore a faded sage-green tunic and tattered brown breeches.
She was shoeless, the soles of her feet filthy.
The markings on her arms and neck weren’t snakes but delicate green vines twining like ivy.
Blood stained her upper lip and shoulder.
The intruder came to slowly, eyelids fluttering as she muttered to herself.
“I’m . . . me. I’m me again.” Her eyes, a vibrant mix of brown and green, opened fully after a moment and focused on Nova. “You . . . you freed me.”
Squirming in Lucan’s grasp, the female hissed, taking notice of the wound on her shoulder for the first time.
Fresh blood flowed out, the injury agitated by the movement, a blot of red blooming on the fabric of her worn tunic.
Nova crawled to the edge of the bed and perched above her.
Nox kept hold of Nova’s hand, as if wary of letting her get too close to the stranger.
“Who are you?” Nova asked, her voice a gravelly rasp.
“My name . . .” Her brows pinched together as though she had difficulty recalling her own name. “Is Bryn.”
“What are you doing here?” Lucan demanded, lifting her up by the collar of her shirt.
“Your father,” Bryn panted, ignoring Lucan and locking eyes with Nova. “He sent me here. Sent me to kill you.”