12. Twelve
Twelve
Their party departed Nivali with little fanfare the following week.
The Estate hadn’t yet woken as Callan and the others readied their horses, fastening buckles and tucking last-minute items into the packs strapped to the animals’ backs.
Someone spoke his name, and Callan turned to find Liv standing outside the entrance to the Great Hall.
She lifted her chin, beckoning him closer.
He tensed his jaw, readying his resolve as he patted the side of Frost’s neck, then walked to the base of the stairs.
When Liv held her cupped hand out in front of her, he swallowed hard, suddenly aware of the weight of the small blue stone he carried in the leather pouch at his hip.
He’d agreed to return it to her when she called in the favor he’d promised.
Callan reached for his pouch, fully expecting her to demand the trinket.
Instead, the seer tipped her hand, and a fine silver chain tumbled from her palm and dangled between her pinched fingers.
When Callan didn’t immediately take it, she extended her arm further, offering it to him.
“For you,” Liv said, lifting her brows. She eyed him expectantly, a faint smile on her face. A face he might trust were it not for the flicker of intuition smoldering within his chest, warning him to be wary.
Burying his suspicion for the moment, Callan approached his uncle’s consort and took the chain, careful not to touch her.
He flattened his palm and inspected the gift: a silver medallion embossed with the all-seeing Eye of Brumal, the one-eyed god of transformation.
Winter folk wore such pendants to ward off evil spirits.
Callan himself had worn a similar medallion earlier in life, but he couldn’t recall what had become of it over the years.
He closed his fingers around the necklace, raising his eyes to meet Liv’s, his forehead creased.
“For your protection,” she explained. “And I haven’t singled you out. I gave one to Thorn as well.” She gestured at his uncle briefly before clasping her hands in front of her.
Thorn stood a short distance away, busying himself with his horse and seemingly ignoring both Nova and Bryn as best he could.
An identical medallion hung proudly in the center of his chest. Callan turned back to the seer and, as a matter of propriety, tipped his head in a silent show of appreciation.
Raising the chain, he slipped it over his head and tucked the pendant inside his tunic.
Thorn brushed past him then, climbing the few steps to where Liv stood, ready to bid her goodbye.
Callan took his leave, joining Nova and Bryn by the horses.
A handful of minutes later, Thorn led the party on his mahogany mare as they picked their way up the steep, snow-dusted slope leading to the portal cave on the southern cliff.
Behind him, Callan and Nova rode side by side on Frost and Shade in the middle, while Bryn brought up the rear on a straw-colored gelding borrowed from the stables.
They rode in silence for the most part. While Thorn had never warmed to Nova, Callan felt his uncle had been treating her with greater suspicion since learning of her father’s identity.
Before long, they arrived at the mouth of the cave on the high cliff.
Callan looked down at his uncle’s fleet of ships, bobbing like bath toys in the harbor below.
Thorn paused at the entrance, and a glimmer of magic rippled faintly across the opening.
One by one, they passed through the portal, emerging from the great tree in Pyralis on the other side only moments time later.
The sky was cloudless and the midday sun rather hot.
Callan closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
The air hung thick with the bright, sweet scent of ripe apples.
Seemingly eager to reach their destination, Thorn wasted no time urging his horse out of the clearing and through the dense underbrush toward the packed-dirt path.
Once out of the woods, he nudged his mount in the ribs and took off at a canter, the animal’s hooves kicking up a cloud of dust behind him.
Bryn picked up her pace as well, and both were soon out of sight.
Callan and Nova proceeded at a more leisurely pace.
They held hands loosely as their horses plodded along side by side.
Nova seemed pleased to have Shade out of the stables.
She’d spent an hour combing the mare’s dark coat and brushing out her mane and tail for the journey.
Callan recalled the last time they had traveled the worn cart road, sharing a horse long before they had acknowledged their feelings for one another.
He smiled to himself at the memory of Nova nestled between his thighs, her back resting against his chest.
“Lonely in your saddle?” she teased.
“You know I am.” Callan grinned. “Though I’m pleased to see you haven’t been thrown from yours.”
“If the gods favor you, perhaps I’ll demonstrate my technique for staying astride later.” Nova glanced sideways at him, and he tightened his grip on her hand, pulling her toward him for a kiss.
Tugging out of his grasp, Nova veered off toward the edge of the road and reached up to snatch a golden apple as she passed.
With her dagger, she cut a slice of the crisp flesh and held it out to him.
Callan leaned over, taking the fruit with his mouth and nipping lightly at her fingertips.
Her gasp of surprise delighted him. He watched eagerly as she cut a wedge for herself and savored it, her eyes blinking shut.
When she opened them, Callan realized he must have appeared hungry for more than fruit.
Shooting him a coy smile, Nova tossed the rest of the apple at him.
With a sharp click of her tongue, she set Shade racing along the cart road.
Callan took up the chase, following close behind.
Nova caught up to Thorn and Bryn as they rounded the corner to arrive at the gates of the Pyralis Estate.
Her face fell at once upon seeing the sheer number of sentries posted on the wall.
Callan brought Frost to a halt beside her, and they stared in silence as the massive wooden gates groaned open, allowing them entry.
She scanned the sea of canvas tents pitched within the stone courtyard as the horses carried them toward the Estate’s residential wing.
Her last night in Pyralis had been one of joyful celebration, the autumn air full of music and laughter.
Now, the air was heavy with shouted commands and the pulsing march of soldiers’ boots.
Reinforcements summoned from around the territory.
The group dismounted outside the entrance, their horses handed off to stable hands once they’d unloaded their belongings. A male servant escorted them along somber corridors to a suite of bedchambers branching off from a shared parlor.
“A separate room has been prepared for you down the hall,” he said, motioning for Bryn to follow him.
“I’ll stay here if it’s all the same to you.” She dumped her bag on the floor and set her bow on the low table before sprawling out on one of the sofas.
“Very well, miss,” the servant replied, his lips forming a thin line as he eyed her dusty boots crossed at the ankles on the arm of the finely upholstered furniture. “I’ll have refreshments brought up.”
Nova caught up to him before he reached the door. “Begging your pardon, but might I speak with Lady Estrid?”
The male’s eyes widened. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. The Noble Lord and Lady are in mourning.” With that, he bowed and took his leave.
Nova nodded at the servant’s back as he disappeared into the hallway, a heaviness settling over her like a shroud.
How could she have been so thoughtless? As far as Estrid and Rowan knew, Fawn had been killed.
Of course they were in mourning. She worried the ring on her finger, eager to inspire hope in Fawn’s grieving parents, even if it meant exposing her dark secret to the light.
She feared their reaction more than any other’s.
Tea and sandwiches arrived shortly after, and the four of them ate quietly.
Thorn retired to his chamber once he was through, and Bryn lay back to doze on the sofa.
Callan gathered up his and Nova’s things and, opening the door to their shared chamber, quickly tossed everything onto the bed before taking Nova by the hand and leading her into the corridor.
She followed close behind him as they walked the empty halls, watching through the windows as small groups of soldiers marched in formation.
Only when Callan disappeared through a doorway did she realize where he’d been taking her: the library where she’d spent so many hours after she first arrived in Aemoria.
She entered the familiar space, comforted by how the room remained unchanged despite all that had happened since she’d last set foot inside it.
A low fire crackled on the hearth, the firelight glinting against all the gold finishes.
Crossing to the desk where Fawn always sat, Nova lifted the cover of the last book her friend must have been reading before she vanished.
She drew her hand back and blew out a breath, blinking away any tears before they could fall and mar the delicate pages.
Callan came up behind her, and she turned to face him. His dark eyes mirrored the concern welling inside her chest.
“Don’t lose hope,” he said softly.
“I know, I know.” Nova forced a weak laugh. “If Fawn were here now, she’d tell me to stop being so dramatic.”
He pulled her close. “No one could ever accuse you of being dramatic.”