29. Twenty-Nine
Twenty-Nine
Like sand through Nova’s fingers, three days had slipped past since Callan’s departure.
She stood on the small balcony attached to her chamber, watching the moon make its slow crawl across the sky, when, at last, she sensed he was near.
Whirling around, she found him crossing the terrace, closing the distance between them and pulling her into an embrace.
Relieved, she melted into him. Her hands roamed absently over his back, to his waist, not finding any weapons strapped to his body.
A voice that almost sounded like her own whispered from the back of her mind, What has he done with it?
She craned her neck around Callan’s shoulder to the open terrace door, then turned back to find him studying her. Cheeks heating, she dipped her head to avoid his eye, ashamed she’d been thinking of Kinslayer at all.
Callan hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up toward his. “What is it, love?”
“I’ve been . . . out of sorts since you’ve been gone,” she admitted, worrying her ring around her knuckle. “I—I wasn’t certain whether my uneasiness came from the strain on our bond, or the absence of the shards. In truth, I fear I missed you both in equal measure.”
The muscle in Callan’s jaw ticked once, his brows knitting together as if he were considering something.
“Nova, I learned a great deal about this weapon from the smith in Brumal’s Forge.” He shook his head slowly. “It’s not good.”
“Tell me.”
Callan did as she asked, relaying the tales he’d uncovered about so-called darkblades and what happened to those who wielded them.
When he was through, she spoke. “I expected as much.”
Nova turned away from him, driven by the familiar instinct to face her troubles alone. Callan captured her hand in his, tugging her against him once more.
“Run away with me.” The words spilled out of him on a rush of air.
Taken aback by both the invitation and the sincerity flashing in his dark gaze, Nova’s mouth fell open.
“What?” Her mind reeled, skipping like a stone over a glassy pond, unable to settle on anything.
“We can leave. Together. Find a remote corner of the Realm. Cross the Boundary back into the Human Realm. Somewhere your father’s shadow can’t reach.”
For a single desperate beat of her heart, she was tempted.
What a relief it would be to brush the weight of the world from her shoulders like freshly fallen snow.
She pressed her eyes shut and envisioned the peaceful life he offered.
But she saw it for what it truly was: a treasure they could never have as long as her father still lived.
She couldn’t outrun him. Couldn’t hide from him.
He was already in her mind, for gods’ sake.
“You can’t be serious, Callan.” She cupped his cheek. “Given the choice between me and your parents—between me and the Realm—”
“It’s you, Nova.” He gripped her hand and pressed it firmly against his face. “It’s always you. The rest of the world can crumble to dust for all I care.”
Tears threatened to fall, pressure swelling behind her eyes as she looked into his, shining like river rocks.
She brushed her thumb over his bottom lip, and he loosened his hold on her, his gaze falling along with the hope that they could simply escape the situation. Nova brought her hands to his chest.
“I want nothing more than to be with you, free from this mess. But we must be practical.” She swallowed her tears, steeling her expression. “There isn’t a corner of this world where my father’s shadow couldn’t reach me. As much as I’ve tried to deny it, he’s a part of me already.”
She lifted a hand, resting her fingers against her temple.
Callan pressed his lips together and nodded his understanding.
“May I see it now?” Nova asked with a shudder, sickened by the excitement sparking within her chest at the prospect of seeing the blade again. At seeing it whole.
He led her by the hand into her chamber where a cloth parcel lay on the vanity.
Nova froze a few strides away, her knuckles going white as she braced herself on the corner of her wardrobe.
Gingerly, Callan unrolled the length of midnight fabric, revealing the reforged Kinslayer, sleek black metal glinting in the glow of the moonstone orbs that lit the Silvergard Estate.
Nova’s breath caught, and she took several halting steps closer.
With one hand, she reached for the weapon, consumed by a maddening combination of attraction and revulsion.
How she longed to trace her fingers over the fault lines, like scars lending even more brutal beauty to the blade.
“Will you leave me for a moment?”
Callan’s spine went rigid in her periphery. With considerable effort, Nova tore her gaze away from Kinslayer to reassure him she wasn’t under some kind of thrall.
“Only a moment, my love,” she added.
Callan dragged a hand over his bearded chin, his eyes trained on the blade as if it were a coiled serpent poised to strike. At last, he turned to her.
“Only a moment,” he repeated, a hint of command buried beneath the words. With that, he stepped out into the corridor, leaving her alone with the sword.
An irresistible urge to touch the blade possessed her despite knowing full well how painful it would be.
The familiar burning sensation had already ignited in her palm, a faint ember ready to bloom into a raging blaze.
Her hand reached for the blade against her will, fingers itching to grip the hilt.
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, a visceral shudder sending her spine into a spasm as a voice whispered her name.
In that instant, a vision swallowed her whole. In it, she saw herself, the cursed blade clutched in her fist. Skin ashen. Face expressionless. Eyes like twin pools of spilled ink.
Returning to herself, she spun away from the sword, collapsing onto her knees as she reached the foot of the bed.
There, she hung suspended in time, unable to catch her breath.
When, finally, she dragged in a painful gasp, a desperate wail followed, her agony muffled by her face buried in the bedclothes.
Her breath came fast and shallow then, panic taking hold.
Was the vision her greatest fear conjured by a weary mind?
A threat from her father? Or, perhaps, a promise from the darkness concealed within the blade itself?
Nova willed her pulse to slow as a prickly heat crept up her neck. Had she been a fool to think she could end Omen’s reign of terror? The journey across the Realm to restore Kinslayer had been her idea. Would Callan, Nox—everyone she loved—pay the forfeit of her foolishness?
Swiping the back of her hand over her tearstained cheeks, she stood, smoothing out the creases on her simple black gown.
Perhaps the vision would come to pass, and she’d finally become the monster folk had always believed her to be.
But no matter the outcome, she would never abandon the Realm to be devoured by Omen’s hatred.
With a resolute nod, she bound herself to the terms of her own bargain: She would free her father from the dark magic that had consumed him, or end his life and pray the darkness died with him.
True to his word, Callan returned to her a moment later, swift strides carrying him to where she stood beside the bed. Gently, he brushed his thumbs over the apples of her cheeks.
“You’ve been crying.”
“Just a bit.” She forced a dry laugh. “I only hope I have the will to do what must be done when the time comes.”
“I know you’ll do what’s right.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
She relaxed into him, allowing the care of his gesture to flood her, body and mind, drowning out the unease if only for a moment.
Callan crossed to the vanity, hastily wrapping the sword in the dark cloth.
“I will be the keeper of the blade until it is needed.”