10. Ten
Ten
Callan paced back and forth, his boots firmly packing a path across the snow-covered ground.
His uncle had agreed to meet them at the abandoned village a short distance from the Estate, but he was late.
The sun hung low in the late-afternoon sky, shadows gathering at the circle of trees surrounding what remained of the settlement.
Callan halted his steps, exhaling sharply through his nose and flexing his fingers inside his gloves.
Nova sidled up behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle and pressing her chest to his back.
Her cheek resting between his shoulder blades warmed him through his cloak.
He laid a hand on top of hers, the tension in his spine easing a degree.
He dared a glance over his shoulder to the ruined village, eerily silent at the bottom of the hill, and his skin prickled with goose bumps.
Callan hated the place where his parents had last been seen alive.
But he and Nova agreed it would be a fitting spot to tell Thorn of their plans.
Callan’s gaze wandered over the broken-down buildings, roofs caved in.
Weathered beams jutted up out of the underbrush like the bones of some great, decayed beast. It seemed even the birds refused to sing. The place was a tomb.
Bryn busied herself peeking through the cracked windowpanes of the few buildings that still stood.
Callan narrowed his eyes on the Wyldling, as the folk of Maedwen were known, considering her for a moment.
Nova was resolved to take Bryn at her word and, when Callan had voiced his doubts, encouraged him to do the same.
He trusted his mate’s judgment, but part of him remained on guard, ready for the moment Bryn showed her hand.
The Wyldling had shared everything she could about Omen’s army of the Enchanted.
Under the thrall herself, she’d lacked the awareness necessary to recognize any of the others specifically, but she estimated there were a thousand of them, perhaps more.
It was a harsh existence, she said. Many died of starvation over the decades.
Still, Callan fanned the foolish spark of hope glowing faintly deep within his chest. He pulled his gaze back to where the horses stood hitched to a rail, restless and pawing at the snowy ground beside the path leading to the Estate.
Callan spat a curse for his uncle under his breath.
“He’ll be here,” Nova murmured, squeezing him reassuringly around his ribs before releasing him and standing at his side.
“I know,” he muttered. “But he’s certainly taking his sweet time.”
Just then, the horses nickered at the hammer of hoofbeats approaching.
Thorn rounded the corner a moment later, riding a broad-backed mahogany mare.
Dismounting without extending a greeting, he tethered his horse to the rail beside the others then turned to face his nephew, his mouth twisted in a grimace beneath his full beard.
“Why have you dragged me to this godsforsaken place?”
Callan squared his shoulders. “I’ve called you here to remember what has been forgotten.”
“What are you on about?” Thorn shook his head and made to turn for his horse, but Callan caught his uncle with a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him in place.
“You’ve called on me to remember my vow to Nivali. I’m asking you to remember those who Omen has taken from us: Angrid and Gunnar, my mother and father. And the countless others throughout the Realm who have been stolen over the centuries since Omen formed the Shadow Court.”
Thorn jerked his shoulder out from under Callan’s hand and leaned in, bringing his face close to his nephew’s. “Perhaps you don’t recall, as you were nowhere to be found, but it was I who left this village standing as a monument to those who are gone.”
Callan shrank back a bit at his uncle’s barb but stood his ground. “Gone, yes. But perhaps not lost forever.”
“What is this nonsense?” Thorn scoffed, tilting his head back and peering at the sky, as if imploring the gods to explain.
“You’ve met Bryn,” Callan began, gesturing at the Wyldling who had ceased her exploration and taken up a defensive position at Nova’s flank under the sagging wooden archway marking the village entrance. “But I haven’t told you how it was that she and Nova came to meet.”
Thorn glanced briefly at Bryn, his brows drawn. There were few things his uncle despised more than being kept in the dark.
“Until very recently,” Callan continued, “Bryn was a prisoner in Raven’s Isle, bound to the Shadowbringer by a dark enchantment.”
The regent's eyes widened, his gaze snapping to Bryn, who gave a solemn nod.
“It’s true. Omen captured me nearly a century ago along with my entire clan. He enchants those he captures, exploiting the abilities of those he finds useful,” Bryn explained.
Thorn paled, his mouth opening and closing several times, his customary posturing abandoned for the moment.
“But that means . . .” Thorn dipped his chin, staring at the snow-covered ground.
“It means Fawn may still live,” Callan said. “It means there’s a chance, however slim, that my parents may still live as well.”
“I can’t believe it.” Thorn staggered backward and sagged against the fence rail behind him. “I never imagined . . .” His lips moved wordlessly for a moment, perhaps in prayer, as he looked over the ruined village at the bottom of the hill, shaking his head.
“You must convene the Aemorian Council.” Callan took a determined step toward his uncle, his back straight and his tone laced with the command of the Noble Lord he was by right but could never allow himself to be.
“The Nobles deserve to know their missing subjects may yet live. The territories must unite to determine how to deal with Omen once and for all.”
“What can possibly be done about him?” Thorn asked, defeated, a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s been centuries, Callan.”
“We don’t have a plan just yet,” Callan conceded. “But the Courts have never banded together as one against the Shadowbringer. Perhaps if they do, something can finally be done.”
“You.” Thorn stood and jerked his chin at Bryn, some of his authority returning to him.
“How did you escape your imprisonment?” he demanded.
Bryn shot a sideways glance at Nova before she answered the regent.
“Omen favored me for my tracking skills,” she explained, unafraid to meet Thorn’s eye. “He used me to hunt Nova down with the intention of taking her life.”
“Your life?” Thorn asked, acknowledging Nova’s presence for the first time. He looked down his nose at her, incredulity written plainly on his face. “Why in the Realm would he care to do that?”
Out the corner of his eye, Callan observed Nova slowly spinning her mother’s ring around her knuckle, an anxious habit of hers he’d noticed countless times before.
“Because,” Nova began, her arms falling to her sides, hands squeezing into fists, as if bracing herself for Thorn’s inevitable reaction. “Omen of Raven’s Isle is my father.”
In a heartbeat, Thorn’s expression transformed to one of outrage. He whirled on Callan with an accusatory look.
“You knew this, and still you brought this viper to my hearth?” Thorn spat, hastily backing away from where the other three stood.
Nova held both hands out in front of her submissively. Something inside Callan bristled at seeing his mate, the heir to a Noble throne herself, bending to his uncle, who considered her a political pawn at best.
“My Lord, I swear to you, I knew nothing of my father’s identity when I first came to Nivali.” Nova’s tone was calm and measured as she bowed her head in deference to the regent.
“I learned the truth on my recent journey, and I was—I am—ashamed.”
Thorn continued to eye her suspiciously though he halted his retreat. It didn’t appear he posed a physical threat to her. He carried no weapons. Even so, Callan shifted his stance, subtly positioning himself between the two of them.
“Omen wants to see her dead, Uncle,” Callan reasoned. “She’s hardly conspiring with him against Nivali.”
“I wish to see my father stopped as much as anyone else. Even more so. He’s a monster.” Nova paused, perhaps gauging Thorn’s state of mind. “We need your help to convene the Council. I’ve had little luck getting responses to my letters over the past few months.”
It was a brilliant tactic, Callan thought, appealing to his uncle’s vanity. His sense of self-importance.
For a moment, Thorn didn’t speak, just stood scowling and breathing heavily through his nose.
The surrounding woods were silent except for the low whistle of the wind and the creaking of the ancient trees.
Finally, his uncle loosed an exasperated sigh, scratching roughly at the stubble on the side of his head.
“Very well,” he huffed, resigned. “I’ll call the damn meeting—but I’m in charge.
Gods only know if anyone will come. The Council hasn’t met in over fifty years.
And that meeting lasted a quarter of an hour before insults flew and weapons were drawn.
Then we were only gathered to discuss agriculture. ”
“We cannot allow the meeting fall apart this time.” Callan moved to stand at Nova’s side once again. “There’s too much at stake. For all of us.”
Thorn nodded once and turned to untether his horse from the fence rail.
“My Lord.” Nova spoke suddenly.
Thorn stilled where he stood poised to mount the mare. He turned his head to face her, his mouth a hard line.
“You’re doing the right thing.”
The regent said nothing in response and climbed into the saddle, taking off through the snow back toward the Estate.