12. Chapter 12
Owain
The stew was simple, potatoes softened to velvet, thickened with bacon, but it tasted better than any dish I’d eaten in the castle.
And the bread… By the forgotten gods, the bread was delicious.
It warmed something far deeper than my stomach—something hollow and snarling in me that hadn’t ever been fed.
Lunette handed more of it to me without looking up, as if this quiet domesticity were common for us. As if we were sharing an evening, not recovering from me nearly dying on her floor.
There were no servants, no stiff doublets to wear, no heavy golden torc, no standing on formality. My mind had already wandered into dangerous territory multiple times because the quiet shared meal felt dangerously intimate.
“Breakfast will require some…creativity,” she said, a faint grimace on her face.
Cursed gods, is she low on food? I must’ve been eating into her winter stores.
My mind seized on the problem with the ruthless certainty of instinct—provide and protect. She could trade some of my armor. There had to be deer in the forest nearby. I could hunt if I hid and relied entirely on magic. I could—
Her serious expression shifted into a cheeky grin. Then she stuck her tongue out at me. “Since you ate an entire loaf of bread.”
A wave of relief washed over me as I took a deep breath. By the gods, I’d never wanted to reach out and kiss someone as much as I did in that moment. I liked her teasing, her subtle humor.
Lunette returned to eating, and I studied her in the flickering firelight.
I’d intended a quick look, yet my eyes remained fixed against my better judgment.
Shadows stirred beneath my skin, slow and attentive, as if they too were mapping the freckles that dusted her cheekbones, the small, pale scar that curved along her chin, the way her hair turned copper in the hearth light.
She suddenly cleared her throat, eyebrows raised, tilting her head slightly. I realized with dawning horror that she’d been speaking. And I’d heard none of it because I’d been staring at her face like a starving man.
Charming, Owain.
Would she look at me like that if she knew who I truly was? This small spark between us was nothing; it was a single candle-flame compared to the bonfire I was tired of pretending I didn’t want.
Yet I’d already thrown enough poison into the flame with my lies to choke us both.
“I— Apologies.” I straightened up at once. “Could you repeat that?”
The corners of her mouth lifted in a brief, amused smile. She’d asked if I wanted another bowl. My answer was an enthusiastic yes.
I shifted the conversation to salvage what little was left of my dignity. “Is there any way to send correspondence from here? I need to get word to a friend.”
She hesitated then said, “We don’t have couriers anymore.”
“What? Why?” I couldn’t keep the incredulity out of my voice.
“The wards,” she said. As if that explained everything. “The village elders demanded that the boundaries be completely sealed with the increase in raiding these past few years. After seeing the devastation in nearby villages, and our last courier dying, I agreed to do it.”
Like a predator going still when something more powerful stalked by, my shadows quieted. I stared at her. Openly stared. “You ward the village?”
“The stones have kept Gelidian raiders out for generations.” She shrugged, as if discussing harvesting cabbages, not intricate, very rare magic. “I’m not as strong as my mother was. All ours does is make anyone not well acquainted with the village think they’re going the wrong way.”
My jaw very well might’ve hit the table. She was clearly the highest level of grand magus of healing. And on top of that, she was telling me she was a competent ward weaver? Arcanist, I would’ve bet my crown on it. But even thinking that title felt dangerous with the Assembly on my heels.
A new spark ignited within me—curiosity, definitely, but also awe. Lunette spoke of her abilities as though they were incidental. She didn’t know how powerful she was…
“And you,” I ventured, “you’re…part Fae?”
She kept her face perfectly straight. “No. Part veska.”
I did a double take.
She laughed. Light, bright, and unrestrained, the sound vibrated through me, cracking the frozen shell that had encased parts of me for far too long. A silly, involuntary grin spread across my face.
My gullibility was a direct result of the social distance created by my rank. Camrick and Reina were the only ones who ever shared a joke with me.
Reina would probably like Lunette quite a lot.
“I’m part Fae too,” I said, the decision settling into place with surprising ease. “Shadow Fae.”
A shiver of sensation danced beneath my skin in response to her examination, as if even my magic yearned for her acknowledgment. Yet Lunette didn’t smile. She looked at me as though I’d just admitted to being the lost son of a dragon. If she knew whose son I was, it would be even worse.
“Rowan…you’re not,” she breathed.
My stomach sank. “I—” I swallowed, shame creeping into my gut uninvited. Forcing my voice to lightness, I said, “Obviously, I lack the ears.”
“Ohh. No, no. That’s not what I mean.” She shook her head, cheeks reddening.
But the smile was back on her face. “I believe you’re Fae.
You’re just not Shadow Fae.” Her brow furrowed.
“At least, not as I understand it. You’re a—” She stopped herself, grimacing.
“Gods. I should not be saying this like it’s nothing. ”
Suddenly, my pulse beat in my ears as if it knew some sort of damning truth was about to fall on my neck.
“You’re Nocthel,” she finished quietly.
I waited for Lunette to finish the joke, but it never materialized. My magic felt like a distorted hum now, uneasy, like it also couldn’t comprehend what she’d told me.
The word meant nothing to me, yet my face still went slack. I’d been judged, called a demon, Shadowborn, anything but my actual name. When my magic had manifested, everyone besides Reina was afraid of me. Being secretly Shadow Fae had become a core piece of my identity, the thing that set me apart.
Now, someone I trusted—and who very well might know more than me—was telling me I wasn’t what I thought I was.
“I’m sorry,” Lunette rushed. “Too much. I just… Wait. This might help. I should’ve started with this.”
She turned away abruptly, face etched with worry, crossing the room with quick, purposeful strides. I barely registered her kneeling before the wooden trunk and the ominous groan of its hinges. My thoughts were as scattered as a flock of startled birds.
When she turned back, she was cradling a large book against her chest. Its yellowed pages crackled softly as it shifted in her arms.
She set it on the table with a dull thud, a sound amplified by the frantic thumping of my heart. Bowls and tankards clattered, mirroring the tremor in my nerves.
The cover bore a faded illustration of two figures dancing around a pole. Behind them was a garden of flowers and vines—a scene untouched by the darkness shrouding Avanfell for the past several centuries. It looked innocent, almost cheerful. A children’s book.
Dread settled in my gut, wrapping its thorns around my insides tightly enough that I felt I might bleed all over her floor again. A dark premonition told me that what I found inside would be anything but simple.
Lunette cleared the remaining dishes with unnecessary care. “Go on,” she said gently. “Look.”
The worn leather of the cover was still warm from her touch. I opened it and started scanning. Beneath the patina of age, each page showed scenes describing different roles and jobs people performed. The language was archaic enough to slow me down but not stop me.
The stories unfolded in illustrated scenes, each one populated by figures with pointed ears and tanned skin tones uncommon on Avanfell. Varied shades of purple eyes stared back at me again and again.
Like Lunette’s. Reina’s. My mother’s. Like mine.
My throat tightened. It was a children’s book, meant to educate Fae children. It had to be ancient. The great Avanfellian empire had fallen more than two-hundred years ago—and with them, the last of the full-blooded Fae.
Lunette regained her seat just as my throat closed completely.
My eyes had landed on a page covered in black swirls.
Thick, curling swirls poured from the illustrated warrior’s body to form shadows all around him.
Grim and unyielding, his eyes were eclipsed with the same darkness as the magic that streamed from him.
A broad sword, obsidian black like my own creations, rested easily in his hand.
Beneath the image, a single word stood out, the letters darker and heavier than the rest of the text.
Nocthel.
Even with my costly royal education, I’d never heard of such a thing. Hoping for clarification, for a contradiction, for anything that might undo what I’d read, I flipped the page, only to be met with the description of a geomancer. “Is there another book?”
Lunette’s shoulders slumped as she shook her head. “It’s the only Fae book we ever had,” she said, her voice defeated.
My fingers tightened on the page. I stared at the decorative script, trying, needing to understand it, but the grim figure at the center prevented my eyes from focusing on much else. This was wrong, an archaic title cloaked in a romanticized myth. Not me.
Because I needed to prove something to myself—and to the ridiculous page—I conjured a duplicate of the sword the Nocthel held, inspecting it for errors. See? Just a trick. The same magic I’d had for decades. Unusual, but nothing special.
Lunette gasped softly. I expected to see disapproval at best, the same fear I was used to at worst. But her eyes crinkled and her cheeks turned rosy as her smile radiated pure delight.
She truly isn’t afraid of me.