36. Thirty-Six
Thirty-Six
Nova stole through the encampment in the final hours before dawn.
Shadows, like familiars, clung to her as closely as the cloak draped about her shoulders.
Though Callan had insisted she rest, he’d been called away to the Nivalian camp where his parents lay recuperating.
Under the cover of darkness, she’d slipped from the tent and past those keeping watch unnoticed.
Her face hidden beneath her hood, she surveyed the destruction her father’s army had wrought.
Many of the dead had been carried away before she’d awoken.
Keeping with the Silvergardian custom that Lunar folk be burned once the moon rose, pyres lined the horizon to the north, bright flames still flicking like snakes’ tongues against the darkened sky in the distance.
Nearer by, a sea of cook fires burned, the glow illuminating the haunted faces of soldiers and survivors alike.
Reinforcements of healers and helpers had arrived from around Aemoria.
Though most of the formerly Enchanted folk remained weak, they could hold a bowl of broth, which was certainly a good sign.
Nova moved unseen, past ruined tents and discarded weapons. How strange to have been both the cause of so much devastation and the cure. To have died and been called back to her body when so many others were gone forever. She couldn’t square it.
It was Nox who suggested her return from death’s icy grip was Illora’s doing.
The three who had witnessed the event—Callan, Nox, and Lucan—saw the starlight fall upon her.
Had been blinded by the bright light that flooded the tent and had watched her return from the place between Realms, gasping for air like a newborn babe.
At first, her uncle wondered aloud if it had been her ring.
Set with white stone from the Temple of Illora, the ring had been protecting her.
Cloaking her somehow and shielding her from her father’s powerful sight.
Still, no one had ever heard of the stone wrenching someone back from the clutches of death.
Nox suggested the goddess had a particularly strong affinity for Nova.
To be blessed with the Light was already an exceedingly rare gift.
Little was known about it. Perhaps, Nox thought, the goddess had chosen her for some greater purpose.
Nova remembered little of her time between worlds, except that it had been pleasant.
When she’d nearly drained herself healing Callan’s wound several moons past, she’d sunk into nothingness.
A dark void. This time was wholly different: a warm light and a motherly presence.
The sensation of being cradled while someone murmured comforting words, though she could recall nothing of what was said.
At last, Nova arrived at the Pyralisin camp.
Through a haze of fitful sleep, she’d overheard Callan recounting the details of the battle from his permanent post at her bedside.
It was mere luck, he’d explained, that Fawn had yielded first, drained by the force of her own magic.
After all that had happened, he couldn’t say whether she’d lived. Nova had to find out for herself.
Within the Autumn camp, a covered wagon sat flanked by members of the Noble family’s private guard.
Creeping close under cover of the shadows, Nova peered into the wagon.
Fawn lay with her head resting atop an embroidered pillow, a fine velvet coverlet tucked up to her chin.
Pyralisins were not bound by custom to burn their dead straight away.
It seemed they intended to return Fawn to her home in the Autumn Court, where she would be consumed by her goddess’s flames, the smoke carrying her soul to the After Realm.
Tears stabbed at the corners of Nova’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall, swallowing her grief like a bitter tonic.
This is your doing.
What right did she have to mourn the loss of her friend when she’d been the cause of it? Before Nova could retreat into the shadows, Fawn moved, thrashing her head back and forth weakly as if she were saying no.
Startled, Nova let out a gasp of surprise, momentarily forgetting her need for stealth.
Her elation was short-lived, however, as a hand clamped down on her shoulder, fingertips digging into her flesh.
Whoever discovered her lurking spun her roughly to face them.
She’d expected to see one of the Noble guards, but found herself face-to-face with Evander instead.
“What are you doing here?” he snarled, gripping her shoulder to the point of pain.
Nova shrugged out of his grasp and stumbled back a few steps. He was furious. Gods only knew what he might do.
“Come to admire your handiwork?” He made no effort to hide his disgust as he looked upon her.
“Evander,” she began, holding her hands up in a submissive pose. “I never meant—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you meant!” He took a quick step forward, lifting his hand to point at her. “You are the cause of all this misery.”
He clenched his hand into a fist, then let it fall to his side. After a deep breath, his glare melted into one of his customary smirks, though the glint of his fury never left his eyes.
“You are a plague, Nova. A pestilence.” His eyes burned into hers, eager to draw a reaction. He opened his mouth to continue but closed it again, shaking his head, as if to say she wasn’t worth the trouble. “Keep away from my sister.”
With that, he stormed toward the rear of the wagon, climbing inside and tugging the curtains shut.
Nova stumbled back into the shadows, thoughts reeling as her feet carried her out of the encampment and onto the moonlit dunes.
Evander was a skilled fire wielder and archer, but his true talent, it seemed, was cutting folk to the quick.
When Nova reached the sandy summit, she collapsed onto her backside and brought her forearms to rest on her bent knees.
Dawn wasn’t far off; Callan and the others would discover she was gone before long if they hadn’t already.
She had no desire to cause anyone to worry. She simply needed a moment to herself.
Time slipped away from her as she sat beneath the sea of stars, begging one star in particular for guidance, but receiving no response. The familiar sound of beating wings brought Nova back to herself, and, a moment later, Bryn lowered herself to sit in the sand at Nova’s side.
“Following me?”
“Keeping an eye on you.” Bryn nudged Nova’s shoulder with her own, and the two sat in silence for a time.
“I remember the first time I saw you.” Bryn leaned back on her hands and stretched her legs out in front of her.
“Well, I’d seen you countless times after you entered Aemoria.
I was tracking you, after all. But the first time I truly saw you was at Schadwen Mountain, after you’d escaped from Idrian.
“You were this wild, feral thing. Blood-spattered. Crouching on your hands and knees. Your fingers digging into the sand. It occurred to me then, you were a fighter. A force. I suppose I despised you in that moment. But, as I continued to watch you training with your uncle’s Guard or visiting the shops in the city, it dawned on me: The gnawing feeling in my gut wasn’t hatred, it was envy.
In you, I saw a glimmer of who I once was.
A ghost of someone gone so long I could scarcely remember her. ”
Bryn went quiet, and Nova glanced over her shoulder at her friend, finding the Wyldling swiping the back of her hand across her eyes.
“You may think you saved me the moment you broke the enchantment tethering me to Omen, but you saved me the day I recognized myself in you. Because somewhere beneath the fog of your father’s thrall, I heard a voice that sounded like my own.
It was a brief thought—no more than a single breath drawn by someone drowning before they sink back beneath the surface. But it was mine.”
Bryn sat forward again, mirroring Nova’s pose with her forearms resting on her knees.
“You did that for hundreds. You gave them the gift of their own minds. Not everyone survived, it’s true. But the blame for that rests with your father. Not you.”
Nova stared straight ahead, pressing her lips together and nodding as tears welled in her eyes, overcome with gratitude for her friend who’d understood the fears that plaguing her without her having to voice them.
Bryn had never shown any indication of being someone partial to embraces, but she laid a hand on Nova’s shoulder and squeezed.
Nova?
Her uncle’s voice echoed in her mind, his tone curious but mildly concerned. Nova dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve and stood, dusting the sand from her cloak before extending a hand to help Bryn up.
“Let’s go,” Nova said, clearing the last remnants of emotion from her voice. “My Lord summons me.”