Page 79 of Death Will Follow

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.

“I may be Silvergard now, but, one day, you will be. Watch yourself.”

Nova nodded once, then burst back through the tent flap and into the light. The fog had cleared some, revealing a battleground amid the tents stretching as far as the eye could see. Lycane and yaesira ran rampant through the camp, leaping upon soldiers and killing them quickly, powerful jaws meeting soft throats. Dozens of repera circled above, diving and snatching folk up in their talons. Carrying them into the sky and dropping them to their deaths.

For a few frantic beats of her heart, all sound faded, time seeming to slow as Nova surveyed the chaos exploding around her. A repera swooped from above, but Callan slayed it with a shard of ice shot through its neck. Nova forced several breaths in and out through her nose, calming her rioting pulse, then drew her Nivalian steel. Taking up position on Lucan’s right flank, she planted her feet wide and raised her blade, eyes scanning the camp. The sounds of the battle returned to full volume around her. She spun at a series of cracks close behind her and found Bryn shifting out of her raven form.

“They’re coming!” Bryn shouted once her boots hit the sand.

Glancing over her shoulder, Nova watched as the Enchanted rolled forth through the camp like a rogue wave, trampling soldiers as they ran. Their clothing signified what territory they might have originally come from, but they were all the same washed-out gray Bryn had once been. The tents forced them to follow the narrow laneways snaking through the camp, slowing their approach, however minimally.

Facing Bryn, Nova gripped her friend’s collar, bringing their faces close together.

“Find my father,” Nova forced out, somehow finding the breath to speak.

Bryn nodded, and Nova dropped her hand, turning to take up a defensive position alongside Callan and Lucan once again. A brief snap of breaking bones rang out behind her, then the shadow of Bryn’s great raven soared over their heads.

The front line of Enchanted neared enough for Nova to see their eyes: endless pools, shining like water at the bottom of a well. Callan threw his free hand in a wide arc in front of him, blade-sharp shards of ice flying toward the approaching enemy and catching several Enchanted in the eyes and necks. Those that weren’t struck down forged ahead, crushing the bodies of the fallen beneath their feet.