31. Thirty-One
Thirty-One
Though the letter Nox penned to Nova’s father had gone unanswered, Silvergardian forces traveled north as planned, setting up an encampment cloaked behind Nox’s shield.
Reinforcements from Nivali, Tundara, and Sonnend soon joined them, the soldiers from the different Courts more or less keeping to themselves while they passed the time.
On edge. Waiting for something to happen.
Pyralis was the last to arrive, banners the color of red clay and flags emblazoned with the sigil of the flaming oak billowing in the misty sea breeze.
Led by Evander, the Autumn legion set up their own encampment well away from the others, campfires springing to life as they settled in.
Bryn offered herself up as an emissary, passing back and forth between the Autumn camp and the communal camp, sparing Nova and Callan a conversation with Evander with the wound of his betrayal still fresh.
A full day had passed since the time Nox’s letter stipulated Omen was to meet them on the northern shore.
Restless and agitated, Nova prodded the logs in the fire with a stick as the sky dimmed above her, swaddling the uneasy army of cobbled forces in darkness.
The Silvergardians opted to forego their nocturnal tendencies to align with the waking hours of those who had come to provide aid.
Most of the soldiers in the encampment had already eaten their evening meals and were bedding down in cloth tents that shook with the breeze rolling off the sea and racing along the shimmering black sand.
Nova tossed what remained of the stick into the low flames.
Tipping her head skyward, she sought out Illora, the great star soon winking into existence against the darkening sky.
The waiting was the worst part. The not knowing.
Would her father show, or was he still too weak to leave his Estate?
Would she have to hunt him down in his den to face him?
Would she—could she—end his life when the time came?
“Are you well, Starlight?”
Nova flinched at Callan’s low voice directly behind her.
“I’m . . . well enough,” she huffed, shrugging off the nervous energy hanging like a cloak about her shoulders.
Callan lowered himself to sit on the sand beside her, a bowl of stew balanced in one hand. “From your allies in the Winter Court,” he said, lifting the dish as if in toast.
Nova accepted it, greedily scooping spoonfuls of stewed venison and potatoes into her mouth. Callan tilted to one side, bumping his shoulder against hers as he produced a hunk of bread from the folds of his cloak.
“I nearly forgot your favorite part.”
Nova snatched the bread from his hand, dunking it into the stew and downing it in mere minutes. She caught Callan smiling at her between bites of her food, his gold-flecked eyes glinting in the firelight.
“Is something funny?” she asked once she’d swallowed the last bit of her supper and set the empty bowl down on the ground.
“You’re so easy to please.” Callan massaged the muscle running from her shoulder to her neck, and Nova closed her eyes, leaning into his firm touch.
“First, fill your belly,” Callan murmured against her temple, one hand gliding down her ribs and curling around her hip before cupping her sex through her breeches. “Then, fill your cunt.”
Nova gasped, and her eyes shot open. She scanned the surrounding area, a blush painting her cheeks at the thought that someone might see, but they were quite alone. Taking his hand from between her legs, she laid it over her heart, then leaned into him and planted a chaste kiss on his waiting lips.
“I’m afraid you’ve found me exhausted and uneasy this evening,” she said. “I barely slept last night.”
Callan brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead, his hand coming to rest on the side of her face.
“We can’t have that.” He rose to his feet, reaching down to help her up. “Let me take you to bed.”
Nova gripped his hand and pulled herself up to stand beside him. “By bed you mean sleep, yes?”
“That I do, love.” He pulled her tight against his chest, his lips ghosting along her cheek and down to her throat, where he paused for a beat to inhale deeply. Apparently satisfied, he pulled back to meet her eye.
“I can’t lie, Starlight. Not knowing what tomorrow may bring, I’m desperate to be inside you. But I’m grateful for every night I sleep with you by my side.”
He kissed her once, softly, then led her to their tent.
The canvas walls flapped in the breeze, the sky beyond brightening with the approaching dawn.
hot as a forge, Callan’s body next to hers eased the chill of the ocean air.
Seeking comfort, Nova made to curl into her mate’s chest but found she couldn’t move.
Frozen, she lay flat on her back. A swell of fear gathered in her chest, the tightness making it difficult to breathe.
Her eyes darted around the enclosed space, knowing the black mist was near.
A heartbeat later, she saw it, streaming through the narrow gap in the tent flaps and rippling along the walls.
Dark tendrils reached out from the mass, seeking and sensing.
Searching for her. Nova’s chest seized as the blackness unfurled along her body beginning at the toes of her boots.
The frigid darkness crept along, covering her like a blanket drawn up to her chin.
She willed Callan to wake—to save her from the suffocating shadow intent on swallowing her whole—but she couldn’t move.
Couldn’t speak. Just as the last sliver of light was extinguished, the quiet erupted with an earsplitting shriek.
Nova shot straight up on the cot she shared with Callan, hands clutching at her neck.
She dragged in a ragged breath, the cool air scraping like blades along her throat.
Had she screamed, or was that part of the dream?
By degrees, her senses returned to her and she registered Callan sitting up beside her, his own fear evident in the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he tilted an ear toward the sky, listening.
There had been a noise, then. But it hadn’t come from her.
She was about to suggest it was only the call of a gull when the piercing sound split the quiet once more.
That was no gull.
Callan shook his head. He’d heard the thought though she hadn’t intended to speak it into his mind.
Another cry rang out—not animal, but Fae.
Thankfully, they’d slept fully clothed with their boots on.
Nova snatched up her weapons and scrambled out of the tent behind Callan.
Low-hanging clouds swirled overhead, and a pale gray mist sailed over the midnight sand, making it difficult to see very far.
Like a bolt of lightning, a black figure shot out of the sky before disappearing behind the fog blanketing the encampment.
Callan spun to face Nova as she tugged her metal breastplate over her torso and quickly notched her sword belt at her waist, fingers fumbling with the buckle.
“That was a repera.” He dropped his own sword at his feet and slipped the sheath carrying Kinslayer over her shoulder, so the cursed blade rested across her back. “This is happening now. Omen has brought the fight to us.”
Screams rang out in the mist, overlapping with shouted orders and rousing sleeping soldiers from their bedrolls.
“Nox,” she rasped, swallowing against her heart rising in her throat.
Callan slung his sword onto his back and gripped her hand, pulling her through the fog toward her uncle’s tent. The familiar snarls of lycane close but out of view sent ice water coursing through her veins, the scars on her shoulder tingling as she ran.
Callan stopped short ahead of her, and she collided with his broad back.
She tried to steer herself around him to see what blocked their path, but he drew his sword and swept her behind him.
Beyond a curtain of shifting fog, the dark figure of a lycane crouched on the ground.
The animal snarled, hackles raised. Callan lifted his sword, but Nova caught his wrist.
“Lucan!” She rushed to her uncle’s mate, who’d already shifted into his wolf form. “Where’s Nox?”
The commander tipped his furry head over his shoulder toward the darkened entryway of the stately tent.
“I’ll stay with him,” Callan assured her, taking his place at the walking wolf’s flank and readying his sword. “See to your uncle.”
Nova burst inside to find Nox dressed in the uniform of a Silvergardian soldier, his shiny metal breastplate stamped with the insignia of the Lunar Court, his long white hair tied back from his face.
He clutched a rapier in one hand, his knees bent in a fighter’s stance when she barged through the door.
Upon realizing it was her, his posture relaxed a degree, and he shook out his sword arm.
“Thank Orika, you’re safe.” He swiped the back of his hand over his brow. “Lucan scented lycane and yaesira and tore out of his skin.”
Nova drew in a steadying breath, willing her racing heart to slow. Though the fog had hidden the creatures from view, her body’s visceral reaction to their proximity sent the fine hairs on her arms standing on end. She crossed to her uncle and gripped his arm, fingertips digging into black leather.
“Drop the shield,” she ordered, voice firm. “He knows we’re here. It’s useless trying to hide. Shield the tent, and stay put. Protect yourself.”
“Nova, I can’t.” He attempted to push past her, but she laid her forearm across his chest, planting her feet to block the exit. “I have to fight. For Silvergard.”
He tried once more to exit the tent, but she wouldn’t budge.
“You are Silvergard, Nox. You’re not fighting this fight.”
Her uncle shook his head, charcoal eyes glassy, but, finally, he stepped back.
Nova eased her arm off his chest and spoke low. “Drop the shield. Ward the tent. My father is coming to meet me, and I intend to show him what I’m capable of.”
She turned to leave, but he caught her shoulder.