8. Eight
Eight
Forced to pause every few steps as folk stopped Callan to engage him in small talk, Nova made her way out of the Great Hall at a staggered pace.
The space was more crowded than usual, she noted, with additional tables, all packed to bursting, and every available bit of standing room occupied.
Between the heat from the fire, the mass of gathered bodies, and the haze of smoke hanging in the air, Nova’s head swam.
At long last, she shoved her way through the tall wooden doors and burst out onto the veranda, filling her chest with the crisp, fresh air.
It was a sunny day with barely a breath of wind.
Nova had a clear view down the sloping terrain that led from the Estate, over the rooftops of the smaller cabins, to the docks and the shacks lining the shore.
Bryn stood on the veranda too, looking out over the town to the cove beyond, one leg bent and propped up on the railing. Nova called out to her, and Bryn twisted toward her voice. Her brown hair was half up, secured with a leather cord, and a healthy pink tinge painted her cheeks.
Joining the other female, Nova leaned her elbows on the rail.
“It reminds me of home,” Bryn said, jutting her chin toward the shoreline.
“The sea?” Nova asked, fairly certain Maedwen was mostly landlocked.
“No, those huts.”
The dwellings dotting the shoreline were constructed of found materials: driftwood, rope, sections of discarded sails. They belonged to the fisher folk who set out to sea for long stretches, only occupied when they returned to land for short stays.
“My clan never stayed in one place for long. All we had, we carried on our backs. Easier to break down camp and set up quickly in the next spot.”
Nova sensed Callan behind her, and she turned toward him, making quick introductions.
Callan eyed Bryn with an appraising stare for a brief moment before bowing his head and expressing his pleasure at meeting her.
Bryn said nothing. Instead, she tapped herself on the forehead and extended her hand in his direction in what Nova assumed must be a customary greeting in the Spring Court.
“Allow me to formally welcome you to Nivali,” Callan offered.
“The cot and food were quite welcome,” Bryn said. “I’ve spent little time out of my raven form for many years. It’s easier to hunt, and it doesn’t take as much to sustain me. The shift and the journey here left me weak.”
“Nova mentioned you can take the form of a great raven. Have you got any Noble blood?” Callan narrowed his eyes on the shifter.
Bryn tossed her head dismissively. “Your guess is as good as mine. I was raised among a clan of forest dwellers. About as far away from a Noble household as you can get.”
Callan nodded once and dropped the subject. “Well, if there’s anything you need while you’re a guest here, you need only ask.”
Bryn turned, scanning the skyline. “Where can I find a bow?”
“The fletcher’s workshop is near the training field.” Callan motioned with his hand. “I can show you the way.”
An hour later, the trio entered the training field.
Bryn gripped a fine wooden bow in her hand, a brown leather quiver filled with metal-tipped arrows slung over her shoulder.
Nova hoisted herself up to sit atop one of the equipment tables.
Feet wide and spine straight, Callan stood at her flank with his right hand resting a breath away from the dagger sheathed at his thigh.
Nova’s skin prickled at his protective stance.
Clearly, her mate wasn’t yet convinced Bryn no longer posed a threat.
“I’ve not held a bow in so long,” Bryn mused, running her fingers along the smooth yew wood and the leather grip with reverence. “I wonder if I’m still any good.”
Callan lifted his chin, wordlessly directing her to the row of straw targets lining the far side of the training field.
Bryn strode across the packed earth and settled into her stance.
After stretching out her arms and chest, she nocked an arrow and lifted the bow to take aim.
Drawing the string back, she stood still as a statue for an instant before blowing out a breath.
Then she set the arrow free, a high-pitched whistle cutting through the air before the arrow struck the center of the target with a thud.
“Appears she’s still got the knack for it.” Callan leaned against the table beside Nova, the wood creaking faintly under his weight.
They watched silently as Bryn nocked another arrow, sidestepping to align with the next target.
Again, her arrow buried itself in the center, and she continued down the line, hitting her mark each time.
When Bryn reached the end, she jogged to the targets and collected each arrow before setting up for a second round of practice.
An audience of several warriors stood gathered at the edge of the field, the group watching Bryn in fascination.
Callan cleared his throat, drawing Nova’s attention away from her new friend’s skillful display.
“There’s something I need to tell you.” His solemn expression sent Nova’s stomach twisting. “There’s been another attack. In Pyralis. There was a rift in the shield, and a handful lycane breached the wall to enter the courtyard.”
Nova gripped the edge of the table, the splintered wood pricking her palms. She’d come to know so many who dwelt within the Pyralis Estate during her stay in the Autumn Court when she first arrived in Aemoria.
The muscle in Callan’s cheek ticked, his jaw tensing. “Fawn was taken.”
Nova curled in on herself, hunching forward as all the air rushed out of her.
She imagined her friend pursued by one of the vicious creatures.
She knew the ferocity of lycane firsthand; her fingers drifted to her shoulder, to the scars one of the beasts left behind the night she entered the Fae Realm.
Callan slipped a protective arm around her, hesitating briefly before he continued.
“A score of sentries surrounded her, but they, too, were taken. Vanished without a trace. Folk said they were there one breath, and gone the next.”
Nova pressed her eyes shut, cold dread clinging to her heart as she leaned into Callan’s embrace and rested her cheek against his chest. Callan wrapped his other arm around her and held her tightly.
Nova breathed deeply, allowing Callan’s stalwart presence to anchor her in the moment as it always did.
Another of Bryn’s arrows sliced through the air, striking the hay bale with a resounding thud and eliciting a chorus of cheers from her admirers.
Nova’s eyes flew open, and she snapped her head up to meet Callan’s gaze.
His brow creased quizzically at the faint smile on her face.
“Bryn,” she said, gripping him firmly by the forearms.
Callan glanced at the far side of the field. “What about her?”
“Bryn was part of what she called Omen’s enchanted army—prisoners under a dark spell that forced them to follow him mindlessly. The folk disappearing all these years, they haven’t been killed. They’re enchanted and imprisoned in the Shadow Court.”
Slowly, Callan’s forehead relaxed, and his smile grew to match hers. “So, Fawn may still live.”
Nova nodded. “And I think I can free her.”
She cupped his face, pulling him into a kiss, her mouth breaking into a grin against his lips. Callan returned her kiss, his body relaxing into hers briefly before his muscles tensed and he broke away, his brow furrowed once more.
Though his expression was stoic, his mouth a firm line, a glimmer of hope flashed in his dark eyes. “If Omen enchants his prisoners, perhaps my parents still live as well.”
Bryn approached the equipment table, the scrape of her boots on the cold ground drawing Nova’s attention. Bryn’s audience had dwindled to only two males lingering at the edge of the field and sparing glances her way as they chatted with one another.
“Tired already?” Nova asked.
Bryn arched a brow at her. “Not a chance.” She flexed the fingers on her right hand a few times. “Though I may need a glove as well.”
“That’s easily arranged,” Callan said, hoisting himself off the edge of the table. “But first, I’d like to see what Nova has learned during her time in Silvergard.” He shot Nova a grin in challenge and reached for his sword sheathed at his back.
“I’ll spar with you,” Bryn offered, shrugging her quiver off her shoulder and laying it on the tabletop beside her bow. “I prefer arrows to blades, but I suppose I know enough to make a suitable opponent.”
Taking a sword from the rack, she strode out into the center of the field, making a few practice strikes in the air as she went.
“She’s handy,” Callan remarked, leaning in close to Nova as if expecting another kiss.
“Quite handy.” Nova tilted her head up and brought her lips close to his. “And you haven’t even seen her turn into a bird yet.” With that, she turned on her heel and unsheathed her own sword, spinning it once the way Lucan had shown her when she begged him to teach her some tricks.