The Gloom Between Stars

Book 3: The Night and Its Moon

by Piper CJ

Genres: Epic Fantasy; Fantasy Romance

Synopsis

In the third installment of the TikTok sensation The Night and Its Moon, Nox and Amaris are about to learn the high cost of getting everything they've dreamed.

Passion and politics become one in the same as the two women, torn apart and brought back together, learn to navigate life in a new kingdom. Victory means more than battles and bloodshed as they develop the lethal titles and powers thrust upon them. With the continent on the precipice of disaster, our heroines search for love, desire, and healing in Castle Gwydir, battling the demons within and without.

 

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Release date: July 18, 2023

Publisher: Bloom Books

Print pages: 500

Sample

Chapter One

Obsession is a beast with two masks.

Sometimes it’s a thing of beauty, gilded with poetry and devotion. It’s called many names, though in its cleverness, it often passes for love. Turn it over, however, and discover obsession’s prickly, poisonous edges. It consumes wholly, whether worn affection or pain. Few perceive the subtle lines between the monster of compulsion and infatuation as love and hate blur, for they are not opposites. Toothless, benign indifference is obsession’s true counterpart.

Nox knew of loathing. She was no stranger to hate. She craved indifference. She was desperate to remove the obsession’s shroud and burn in it the snaps and pops of their campfire.

She’d felt only rage while she and the entangled group of reevers and fae picked through Raascot’s jagged mountains. They’d left the castle grounds earlier that morning. Every step that took her farther from Gwydir carried her closer to the sharpness of her disgust with everyone around her. She hated Gadriel—this fae man with his fallen-angel wings and deceitful intentions responsible for dragging Amaris across the border. She hated Moirai for cursing the border, she hated her mother’s husband for beating the woman to death before they could ever meet, and she hated Matron Agnes for hiding the truth of her parentage for her for so very, very long. She despised King Ceres—the man who was supposed to be the only father she might ever have the chance to know but who had devolved into madness. She hated Yazlyn most of all. The fae sergeant sat across the campfire now in the rapidly darkening mossy meadow with her stupid auburn curls, her blackened feathered wings, and the apologetic smile that she would cast any time Nox looked at her. She hated the thinly disguised glances of infatuation Yazlyn shot in her direction. The fae bitch had thrown the world into chaos when she’d sent her single, treacherous raven to their lunatic king.

Nox had demanded to know why Yazlyn couldn’t be hung by a tree and left for dead, and Gadriel had made some half-hearted attempt at a joke about how hanging wasn’t terribly effective for execution when your target had wings.

Her scowl let him know she hadn’t found the joke amusing.

She noticed how the winged fae members of the military walked on eggshells around her. After learning she was the only living person to have a claim to the northern throne, they’d undoubtedly realized what a terrible mistake they’d made. She hoped to make it clear to the Raascot fae that they wouldn’t be appeasing her anytime soon, but Gadriel did his best to remain solution-oriented. She wanted to be annoyed, but the general’s patient diplomacy made it difficult. He refocused energies and efforts time and time again to keep the party on the task at hand. They’d continue to push forward until they intercepted King Ceres and his war party—Amaris in tow—before anyone crossed into Farehold.

She glanced around the fire, counting herself in the sorry band of five.

Malik and Ash were the two highly trained reevers she felt had become her family, though as she looked to where they sat across the orange flickering, she began to wonder if they’d grown to mean even more. Gadriel and Yazlyn represented Raascot’s military dissent, and while she didn’t like them, she also saw this wisdom in their allyship. The fifth and final member, Nox felt like more of an obstruction than an asset. She had almost no battle training, unless she counted her love for her axe or the number of times Malik had made her practice swinging her dagger.

The group might have been bigger, had the oldest reevers left their station in Raascot’s capital to join the rescue mission. Elil and Grem were to stay in Gwydir. When they learned the mounts they’d ridden from Henares had been seized in the raid, Grem—whose horse had been safely stabled while the others had been left tethered susceptibly outside—had handed over his horse to the traveling mob as an amicable gesture. Now that the throne had been left unattended for Ceres’s mission of vengeance, Raascot was on the precipice of falling to whatever forces had been invading from the mountains. Elil had argued that whether or not Ceres and Moirai were stopped from destroying each other was irrelevant if there was no home to which they might return.

Nox had looked between Elil and Ash while the redhead fae male spoke. One might have thought them the same age, but she knew enough of posturing and relationships to understand there was something long unhealed between the men. Ash had set his jaw but said nothing as Elil spoke of the creatures from below the soil that continued showing up in greater numbers than they had in centuries. He’d insisted that their reevers’ oath prevented them from abandoning the kingdom to the throes of magic altogether.

She didn’t care for diatribes on demons. She’d seen fae in their ag’imni form. She’d lodged an axe in a spider’s sternum. But the true devils were beautiful, smiling faces, masquerading as friends, folding wings, and leading kingdoms.

The night would have been a rather pleasant one under different circumstances. The weather was mild for the time of year, and very few clouds dotted the blue-black sky. Stars seemed sharper and cleaner somehow among the northern pines.

“Hey, can I talk to you?”

The sound startled her from the depths of her miserable thoughts. Nox dragged her eyes away from Yazlyn, the object of her wrath, to touch the garden-green eyes she’d come to know and love.

“What?” Nox hadn’t meant for the word to come out in a bite, but she hadn’t been feeling particularly well. Aside from her dark spirits, her body had also been threatening the early signs of some strange flu. Her muscles ached, her eyes felt dry, and Nox had been unable to shake a chill that had plagued her all day.

Malik offered his hand. “I think this would best be discussed in private.”

She frowned a bit as she slid her fingers over the rough calluses of his palm. Malik helped her to her feet and offered the bend of his elbow like a proper escort. She accepted it, wrapping her hands around the firm muscle of his upper arm. Nox felt Yazlyn’s eyes on the back of her neck as the sergeant marked their departure from the camp.

“What’s this about?” she asked. Nox succeeded in softening her words as she studied his profile in the moonlight. The barest glint of stubble reflected in the pale, silver light. Malik’s answering breath was soothing, somehow. He’d grown a knack for understanding her moods.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he led her gently by the arm down a trail that took them from their mossy campsite. They meandered through a collection of towering boulders, many of which had been split in half by their descent from the rocky grounds overhead. The evergreen trees were a bit sparser given their altitude, but enormous igneous and sedimentary rocks provided impenetrable walls of privacy at every turn. She wondered as to the secrecy of whatever it was he needed to tell her, given how far he was taking them away from the camp.

Nox was too exhausted from fighting battles of the mind and body to bother making conversation, so she chose to remain quiet. When she wasn’t stealing curious glances at Malik, her eyes were focused on choosing the safest steps between the rocks and tenacious little plants that jutted out of the stones. The sounds of their feet scraping on the ground joined the occasional hooting of owls. After a time, the burbling sound of a distant creek greeted them. The gentle river noises seemed to signal whatever distance Malik had needed before breaking his silence.

“How are you holding up?” His voice held more tenderness than she deserved.

Nox choked out a humorless laugh. It was a sharp, angry staccato sound.

He made a face as he continued guiding her through the forest toward the river. "Yeah,

 I thought as much. Is there anyone you don’t hate right now?”

“I don’t hate you. Or Ash, I guess.”

She felt the warmth of Malik’s smile at that. “I never thought you hated me. I’m delightful.”

She leaned her head briefly against his shoulder. “Indeed, you are.”

“At least you’re here,” he said.

Her brows puckered. “What do you mean? Of course I’m here.”

She nearly stubbed her toe on a rock. Malik seemed to consider his phrasing. “Sometimes you’re here, even when you’re not. Or maybe it’s the other way around. I’ve just noticed that sometimes even when you’re present, you…go away.”

He was speaking of the void. He knew about the darkness.

And because she trusted him, she opted for honesty.

“It used to be the only way I could escape. Now I try to stay present…though it may be killing me.”

“I can tell you’ve been feeling…unwell. I don’t think you’re joking when you say it might be killing you.”

Nox looked up at him from hooded eyelashes. She didn’t know how much she could admit to without giving herself away. He was right. She had been feeling exceedingly unwell. She didn’t have a mirror, but looking down at her arms alone told her that her skin had lost its vibrance. What she could see of her hair was lackluster. Her eyes felt dry and bloodshot.

This was her curse.

Love, sex, and the cocktail of emotions that sustained her had been complicated and had taken a variety of shapes over the course of her life. An upbringing full of mutual, selfless devotion between her and Amaris had sustained her for years. She’d had the affection and adoration of suitors at the Selkie even behind the bar. Once she’d taken the first patron into her rooms, her true feasting began.

In the absence of love, she had no way to feed. She hadn’t consumed a soul in its entirety since she had taken the Captain of the Guard. Even that dwindling bit of life had been given to Malik when he’d fallen to the spider’s clutches. The reever’s steadfast infatuation had certainly been helping, but it wasn’t enough, even though it may very well have been the only thing keeping her hanging on to whatever threads of life she loosely clutched. 

The pair reached the banks of the shallow, happily gurgling stream. It was silver with the light of the moon as it snaked past stones and over protruding roots, carving its way out of Raascot and onward into what would eventually become Farehold. Nox was quite certain it was no deeper than her shins even in its middle. It was the flat type of river that seemed scarcely large enough for a single fish, though there was doubtlessly some form of aquatic life under its chilled, reflective waters.

Nox took a seat on a large, flat stone next to the river and removed her leather shoe to dangle her toes into the stream. The cold felt wonderful against her aching feet. Malik slid into the space beside her, nestling his arm around her. His large hand cupped her hip. She had to admit the sensation was incredibly nice. His body heat was a welcome relief from the chill. He kissed her gently against the temple through the silk of her hair.

A small sigh warmed her. She wanted to be kissed by him. She leaned into the press of his mouth, releasing another slow breath. There was a sadness to her sound. “Malik, about what we discussed—”

His murmur against her hair stopped her from continuing. “You love Amaris. That doesn’t bother me at all. She deserves all of your love.”

The land around them even smelled a bit like Amaris. The moonlit girl had always shimmered with juniper and the fresh scent of snowfall. It was hard not to think of her with each inhalation of the northern forest. Nox had been desperate to be close to her for so many years, and as soon as she got what she’d wanted, it had been dragged from her arms. She closed her eyes against the memory of Amaris, unwilling to acknowledge the other complicated thoughts that had plagued her for weeks.

Nox’s eyes roamed over the golden man who sat beside her. He hadn’t released his hold on her, nor did she want him to. He had such strong features. The masculine shape of his jaw, the tendons of his neck, the ripple of his muscles all made him so much lovelier when he smiled.

“I care for you, Malik. You know I enjoy whatever this is between us.” She closed her eyes once more. She didn’t want to see his face as she danced around admitting to the monster she was. “But you don’t know what I am, or you wouldn’t even want this from me. I did mean it literally when I said you wouldn’t survive

 a night with me.”

He nodded contemplatively. “I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve turned it over in my mind quite a few times, actually. You said the duke was turned by whatever abilities you have because he, like many men, was a taker. I’m pretty sure I know exactly who and what you are, and that’s precisely why I’m not asking anything of you: I’m offering.” He shrugged, but a smile tugged up the corner of his mouth. He squeezed the palm that had been resting against her hip gently and ran a finger from his free hand down her arm. “I’m a giver.”

Nox’s heartbeat hiccupped ever so slightly as he traced lines along her arm.

Her breath hitched as she trained her gaze on his every movement, caught between want and fear. His finger ran over her shoulder, then grazed her collarbone. Nervous adrenaline pricked her. A curling sensation twisted in her darkest parts. Still, the warm trails left by his hand felt so nice. She missed being touched. She missed the hunger, the excitement, the oxytocin that she’d engorged herself on when she’d lived at The Selkie. She craved the thrill of gulping deeply from another’s life and watching their eyes twinkle out beneath her. She’d grown wild and reckless, drunk on the feeling time and time again before she’d learned to control it.

Nox bit her lip as she looked at Malik.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, continuing the idle movements of his hand.

He had never been bold with her, which had been something she’d always liked about him. He had been endearingly bashful for their first several weeks together. Malik was genuinely good. He was caring, he was respectful, he was often shy as his honor guided him. He had tried to apologize for his feelings all those nights ago in Henares, but Nox had cut him off. She wouldn’t deny that she preferred women, but she didn’t want whatever chemistry they’d discovered to end. Perhaps even this little bit of tension, this electricity, would be morsels able to keep her minimally nourished. Unless she was ready to resume the body count that had added more than a few tombstones to the cemeteries of Priory, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be able to truly feed again.

Her hair tickled her shoulders as Nox shook her head.

No. She didn’t want

him to stop.

She chewed her lip as she continued to eye him. He’d never explored her like this, but it was wonderful. She savored every sensation. His featherlight fingertips continued tracing painfully slow patterns around her body, moving from her arms, then to her stomach, then growing closer to more sensitive places. Her breath hitched when his thumb grazed her breast. She felt that familiar, primal hunger thump in her blood.

Nox could barely breathe out a protest. “We can’t. It’s not safe for you.”

His breath warmed the bare skin of her throat as he gave his low, husky response. “We can’t, or you don’t want to? Because if you don’t want to, say the word and we’ll forget this ever happened. I’ll walk you back to the campsite right now, and you know me well enough to believe me when I promise that nothing will be strained between us. We’ll just be Nox and Malik.”

Her hips had begun moving on instinct, rocking against the desire that warmed her. Her intake of air was accompanied by a small, involuntary sound that told them both exactly what it was she wanted.

She rested her fingers over his still-moving hand. The motion was not intended to stop him but to partake in his movements. Despite her better judgment, she guided his hands to places she desired most. These were the touches of a lover. Her mouth felt dry, as if she hadn’t had a glass of water in a week. But this was no thirst of the tongue. She was so, so hungry.

When Nox spoke, it came out in a quiet, pained whisper. “I do want you. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

He nodded wordlessly once more as his hand continued moving lower. He slid it slowly up her thigh, bringing his mouth to her shoulder in the same motion. The moan she couldn’t prevent from escaping encouraged him as he traced kisses from the cloth of her shoulder over the bare skin of her neck.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” he said into her throat, “and I don’t really see it being a problem for us.”

Goose bumps flashed over her as the deep vibrations of his voice coursed through her. Nox’s vision glazed as she felt the chemicals fill her. She battled through the fog, trying her best to look at him.

His green eyes twinkled. “I told you: I don’t take. I give.”

Malik’s hands drew closer and closer to her inner thighs until it happened. With the lightest brush, he moved against the place she wanted so badly to

be touched. Another sound escaped her, and she leaned her head against his chest, bending into him while he worked over her. She didn’t just want this—she needed it. After her years at The Selkie, she had come to know what it was like to be truly full. She understood what it meant to radiate effervescence and hum with power. Swinging from one extreme to her current state of starvation would be the death of her. She hadn’t told him precisely what she was, but he was a reever. She’d suspected that both men had guessed what type of demon they’d adopted into their sorry band long ago. He knew, and still, he was here.

Whatever this was, she wanted it.

Malik’s fingers found the edge of her pants and she stifled a moan. She lifted herself off the rock, allowing him to tug her clothes over her hips. Despite her thirst, she was still watching him cautiously, ready to protect him at the risk of her own health, yet Malik made no gesture to remove a single article of his own clothing.

And as she watched, she understood. She melted into blissful comprehension. The anticipation had been beautiful. Every touch, every squeeze, every tug had been a build to this moment. By the time she was naked from the waist down, she was fully drenched. Malik pushed her shirt upward to expose her breasts and lowered himself to his knees on the ground beside the rock while Nox lay fully on her back, basking in the moonlight like one of the old gods about to be worshipped. He kissed her navel, then her lower stomach, then moved his mouth to her leg. Each sound of pleasure she made emboldened his advancements. One hand held her leg as he used his mouth, tongue, and teeth to drag kisses and touches from her knee closer and closer along her inner thigh to her most sensitive place.

He pressed his mouth to the center of her with terrible gentleness. His lips and tongue were as soft as a butterfly landing on a flower. Her hips arched off the rock as she breathed in deeply through her mouth, her eyes completely closed. Endorphins filled her from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. The stream beside them covered their small noises, though she was too lost to sensation to care who might hear. He continued to kiss her, his tongue relaxed and moving in slow, patient, gentle circles. Her hips rocked rhythmically, wanting more. He growled a sound of approval, and the vibration from his throat felt so good against her. 

One of his hands wandered upward, cupping her breast and pinching her, rolling her nipple between his thumb and index. It was just firm enough, just a small pain to elicit another gasp. His mouth began to move more quickly then. His tongue transitioned from relaxed to a force of pressure as he moved against her soaked, tender area. Nox continued to ride the pulse of pleasure, each thrum, each stroke, each lick matching her heart, her blood, reverberating through her very marrow. Her hips rolled as she leaned into him, her lower back curving up off the rock. Her legs began to quiver, and the calloused hand that held her thigh tightened to pin her against him.

Her toes curled in reaction to his intensity, loving the worship, the strength, the domination, and service as he gripped her, keeping her still to give her everything.

Her entire body began to tighten. She was one single, flexed muscle from her shoulders and back to her ass and thighs. She clenched in rhythm with the impending climax. She was frozen as she tensed against the final moments before she was pushed over the edge. She hovered for a beautiful, terrible, perfect moment. Her heart stopped, silence ringing in the space between beats as he continued to devour her.

The tight cord snapped. Nox bucked, her entire body jerking with the intense and sudden release. Malik did not stop. His mouth continued to move upon her as her stomach, her thighs, her chest, her every muscle tightened and released time and time again in aftershock. His pace slowed, his mouth, his kisses, his affection becoming more and more gentle as her body twitched and melted. She trembled until his lips were the butterfly once more.

There it was.

The world was vibrant. The moon was ablaze. Joy and energy and life filled her with a wide, satisfied smile. She hummed with the delicious flavor of oxytocin. This had been the feeling she’d quite literally killed for.

But there he was. A human man. Alive.

He pulled himself up onto the rock and rested an arm over her, kissing her on the neck. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but she was too drunk on her own pleasure to spit comprehensible words. She attempted to thank him but could feel his smile through his words as he said, “Like I said, I’m a giver.”

It took some time, but eventually, she found herself lucid once more. Nox pulled

her pants up over her hips and curled up into him, one of her knees bent over the lower half of his body while her head rested on his chest. He held her tightly, and she could practically hear the grin of his self-satisfied victory. Somewhere against her calf she could feel how hard the exchange had left him, which was its own compliment and reward.

Even through her heavy eyelids, she caught a glimpse of her wrist, her fingertips, her shoulder, and smiled at the glow that had returned to her skin. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the otherworldly shimmer and power of the true consumption of life, but this exchange had been a glass of water in the desert. Quenched, she was tugged into the depths of sleep while his strong, loving arms held her.

Chapter Two

Nox knew the moment she opened her eyes that they’d slept for several hours.

After several groggy blinks in the first hours of twilight, Malik stirred.

She should have felt stiff and miserable after a night on a flat rock, but she awoke feeling warm, buzzing, and refreshed. Distant sounds told them their camp was packing up to get moving. She didn’t know why, but she felt almost shy when Malik opened his eyes and smiled at her. He gave her a squeeze, hugging her to him before they stumbled their way from pleasurable rest onto their feet.

She dusted herself off and did her best not to overthink their night as he offered his arm and led them back to camp. She released him just as they rejoined the others.

Ash shot a disapproving look Malik’s way, but the blond reever acted as if he either didn’t notice or couldn’t be bothered. Nox caught the exchange but knew why Ash felt the need to protest. Not only were they playing a dangerous game with Malik’s physical safety, but as a friend and brother, Ash was also trying to protect the hearts involved. He’d inserted himself before, chiding Malik for his infatuation and all but demanding that Malik apologize. She remembered the night with a small upturn from one corner of her mouth. The apology hadn’t ended the way any of them had anticipated.

Nox wasn’t given the luxury of rumination.

Gadriel looked like he hadn’t slept. His voice was low but authoritative when he spoke. “Ceres’s party is moving forward on foot since his force contains so many humans and half fae. I think Yaz and I should fly in to try to close the gap while you three continue on foot.”

Ash narrowed his eyes. “Are you joking?”

Gadriel twisted his mouth to the side.

The coppery reever had enough anger to go around. “None of this would have happened if you hadn’t dragged Amaris into Raascot under your false pretenses of asking after the king, Gadriel. And you.” He gestured angrily to Yazlyn. “If we live a thousand years, don’t expect any of us to forgive you for what you did.”

Yazlyn’s eyes were downcast. “The fact still remains, I can fly. We’ll cover ground so much more quickly—”

“No.” Ash was firm. “Gadriel, fly me with you. The reevers have a much stronger claim to this rescue mission than you do. Malik, if you take the horse, you can cover nearly enough ground to keep up with us. Nox, that leaves you with—”

“Absolutely not. She’s not touching me. I’ll take the horse.”

Yazlyn’s voice was apologetic but had a sharp edge around her words. “Malik and Ash are too heavy for me to carry.” She fidgeted as she dared to continue.

 “I know you don’t like me right now. I know you aren’t ready to forgive me, though I desperately wish you would. My reasons are useless, so I won’t try to excuse what I’ve done, but I love my country. You’re the heir and blood of Raascot, Nox. Until we get to a better place with one another, surely we can be civil at the very least.”

Nox looked her squarely in the face. Her coal-black eyes burned into Yazlyn’s sad, hazel gaze. The winged girl kept her hand outstretched in an olive branch, willing Nox to step closer to her. The power that had returned filled her with formidable energy as she glared at the sergeant. “Then I’ll walk.”

Gadriel and Yazlyn exchanged looks. Gad raised a gentle hand as if placating a wounded animal. “Nox, you have to understand. We can’t just leave you alone.”

“Why the hell not?” She crossed her arms tightly. “You didn’t know I existed two days ago. Go back to pretending the king has a son.”

He dismissed her request entirely. “Two days ago, we were watching Raascot be driven into the dirt. Now we know you’re the only surviving heir to the throne. As much as you hate us, we would die before we let anything happen to you. I speak for both Yazlyn and myself when I tell you that our swords are yours, Nox.”

Nox scowled. “I’ll ride with Malik.”

Malik shrugged unhelpfully. “That could work…”

Gadriel’s voice remained controlled, but he didn’t budge. “That’ll slow the horse down significantly. You’ll already be trailing behind us just because you and your mount are bound to the ground. Additionally, any of our supplies will have to ride with you on the horse if Yaz and I take anyone by air.”

Yazlyn took another step toward Nox while lifting a hand as if to beckon her forward. Nox spun on her, snapping, “Don’t touch me.”

Yaz looked like she had been slapped. It had taken exactly the same amount of time for them to learn that Nox was their monarch as it had taken Nox to despise them. She knew enough of lovelorn glances to know that Yazlyn looked at her with hopes for more than friendship. It was something of a relief to watch Yazlyn’s crush ebb from desire to impatience. Nox neither wanted nor needed her attention.

While their squabbles unfolded, Ash’s cut in impatiently. “None of us are happy about this, Nox. No one liked walking through the rain, but we had to anyway. No one liked losing their homes or weapons, but that’s life on the road. No one likes backstabbing demons abducting Amaris and handing her over to their mad king, but here we are.”

Ash shot his glowering eyes to the winged fae at his last statement.

Malik agreed. “Right now, we just need to make forward progress. Let’s close as much ground as we can between ourselves and Ceres. His war party will be moving slowly from sheer size alone, so we have the advantage. If we don’t get moving, they’ll be at the border within the next two days before we can stop them.”

Gadriel took off toward the southern border with Ash moments later. Malik urged the horse forward to follow. Nox grimaced but allowed the sergeant to touch her. Yazlyn flinched under the daggers being drilled into her through Nox’s unforgiving gaze as she scooped her up and took to the sky.

---

“What are we supposed to do?” Amaris yanked against her chains. The cold cuff bit into her wrist. She would have hated the sensation had the sharp metal not been a reminder that she was alive. Her heart throbbed. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Odrin bow his head. Being still with her thoughts meant hearing his final words. She shoved and fought and battled to put the nightmare in her airtight box. She needed her faculties. She needed to be able to think, to breathe, to move forward. She couldn’t do that if she thought of the man she’d considered a father. She couldn’t do it if she thought of Gadriel and his betrayal. She couldn’t be strong or fight or move forward if she remembered the pain and panic on Nox’s face as Amaris broke her heart once again.

Numbness needed a counterbalance. Amaris yanked on her cuff again, frowning down at it. Her eyes followed the chain wrapped around the pole in the center of the tent. It was too thick for her to break. Perhaps if she’d been wholly fae, or been able to access her goddess-damned powers, but no. For now, the pink and purple bruising that evidenced her each and every tug was a reminder that she had survived. She had to continue surviving, if only for Nox.

She’d left Nox behind in Farleigh. She’d been dragged away in Aubade. She couldn’t leave her now. Not again. Not like this.

Amaris didn’t know the geography of the northern kingdom well enough to pinpoint exactly where they might be, but she knew she was manacled to a post in a tent somewhere in the flatlands of the Raasay Forest. Their shelter was made from a thick, off-white canvas material that concealed the pines and boulders beyond them.

The foliage had grown denser and the trees taller as they’d descended in elevation. Zaccai had volunteered to stand guard over King Ceres’s unwilling champion and had been more or less keeping her company as they marched south. She wanted to be angry with him, but she wasn’t. Amaris couldn’t conjure resentment for any of them. Her glass heart had been shattered into such fine shards that it was little more than powder beneath her fingers. Where fury should have burned, there was only void.

The ag’imni—the true ag’imni—had told her this would happen. Gadriel had pushed himself against her as he’d hidden her in the hollow of a tree while the demon had hissed about how the general knew what she was and the role she was meant to play in his game. Ag’imni lied, she had told herself, but its words had been as much a warning as they had been a nightmare. It had told her that her name had been on the wind for eighteen years. The demons used their gifts of speech for fear and deceit, she’d told herself. She’d failed to consider that the best lies were born of truths.

Amaris had been torn from Nox’s bed with the scent of plums and the tingle of her tongue still on her lips. She had given everything she had to Gadriel only to be handed over to his ruler the moment they’d entered Gwydir. King Ceres had slain the only man she’d ever known as a father solely to gain her broken compliance. She was in the care of a wounded sovereign who was so consumed with mourning over his lost love that his grief had stolen his sanity. The Raascot troops marching south were not alive with the thrill of battle. There was no sparkle, no joy in the eerily quiet war camp. This was a kingdom of sorrow.

She looked at the reddish-purple mark left on her wrist from the chain, then up at the only person she might count as a friend in the camp.

Zaccai was sitting on the ground near her with his arms propped on his knees. He rested his head in his palms, wings limp behind him. His posture looked every bit as defeated as Amaris felt. He shook his head without attempting to meet her eyes.

He had no more clue what to do than she did.

Amaris was not being treated unkindly, but there was no question as to her status in this camp. She was no equal. She was in shackles, serving an agenda of vengeance upon the threat of slaughtering what remained of her loved ones. A sick part of her wondered if the king was allowing Zaccai to stay close to her knowing that she had grown

familiar with the fae commander. Perhaps even this Raascot fae’s life would serve as a threat to punish her in a pinch, should she fail to comply.

She was quiet when she asked, “Cai, do you know what Gadriel was saying about the king’s heir? In the throne room?”

Zaccai exhaled into the hands that cupped his face. “I’ve been thinking about that ceaselessly.” He moved his hands to rake them through his hair, further betraying the stress that gripped him. “I understand why the king would want to dismiss Gadriel’s announcement as convenient timing, but Gad has never lied to Ceres, no matter how much easier the lies would have made our lives. Gadriel didn’t say anything to you?”

“No, nothing. We had spent nearly every day together for an entire summer, and he’s never mentioned a thing… though to be fair, even if he hasn’t lied to Ceres, he was lying to me.” Amaris stared at Zaccai’s face to see if he’d react, but he continued to face ahead. His eyes remained unfocused while she spoke. “He’d told me of the king’s search for his son. He hadn’t told me that Ceres had already learned his lover and son were dead, nor had the bastard informed me he was hunting for the fantasy of some white-haired, goddess-given answer to avenge their deaths.”

He met her eyes long enough to reiterate a truth she didn’t want to admit.

It wasn’t a fantasy.

Their absurd mission, the nonsensical message, the impossibility…she fit.

Zaccai shifted the weight of his head into only one hand. He’d closed his eyes tightly against the night, lost to his memory of the exchange in Gwydir. “But Gadriel only lied through omission. He would have no reason to have changed from believing the king had a son to saying that Daphne bore him a daughter. He would have no reason to deceive with regards to any gender of the heir. That doesn’t make sense.”

“So, you’re saying you believe Gadriel’s telling the truth?”

“I’m saying that I’m ready to believe he might be.”

Amaris leaned her head against the pole. She looked up to where the canvas ceiling vaulted and stared at the pool of shadows above her. “The only thing that changed was the arrival of my friends at the town house. It’s possible that the other reevers had come with information and I was too preoccupied to learn anything from them."

Zaccai considered this. He lifted his head from where he’d been pressing it into his hand. “Who arrived?”

“My brothers, Ash and Malik, and my childhood friend Nox.”

He chewed on this information, the gears in his mind turning. “I met Nox once as well, right after they escaped the castle. Uriah and I had been posted to await Gadriel’s return, which by now we all know never came. The three of them were camping in the forests just outside of Aubade. Your friend could understand us, even in the south.”

Amaris cocked her head at this. The only person south of the Raascot border who’d been able to understand them had been Master Fehu, who, despite seeing the demon she was meant to perceive, presumed her northern blood allowed her a tether to them. “Nox could understand you in your ag’imni form?”

Cai’s brows pulled together in thought as he stared into his memory. “She does look very northern, doesn’t she?”

While thoughtful lines formed on Cai’s forehead, Amaris felt her pulse quicken. Her eyes sharpened as she whipped her head to him. “Are you implying what I think you are?”

“She’s the only variable, Amaris.”

Amaris tried to run her fingers anxiously through her hair, but they snagged on the tangles. She shook her head in denial, watching the small snarls dance in front of her vision in her rejection. “No, we grew up together as orphans. She has no family. Neither of us has a family.”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” His voice was quiet. “Aren’t you in Raascot because you aren’t who—or what—you thought you were?”

Anger flared through her. “You’ve said it yourself: Ceres is mad. Nothing he has said to me or about me made any sense. The man is incoherent. He’s not rational.”

He frowned. “Ceres didn’t invent this information. The priestess who’s been with us in Gwydir told us of your birth. She was the one who told of Daphne’s death and her prayer. The priestess you saw in that throne room was present at your birth. It’s how she had your description. It’s how we knew to look for you. And then when you could see us…”

Amaris’s voice grew louder. Anger knotted in her throat. “You can’t trust anything said from a prisoner, Cai! Someone being tortured will

 say anything to have their suffering end!”

He stood from where he’d been sitting near her and began pacing the small area within their tent. His brows furrowed, muscles tensed. “That’s the thing—the priestess was never harmed. Even if she had been, people invent simple answers to questions when under duress. They can create fictional locations when asked where something is hidden, they might supply fabricated names when pressed for sources, but they don’t craft entire stories about prayers and curses and goddesses and babies with no prompt. She had no reason to invent such a tale. And then look at you, Amaris. No one can be mistaken for your features. You have hair and eyes and skin that were created to be found. It’s as if you were meant to stand out for just this reason.”

Amaris scrunched her eyes tightly. Her voice was quiet as she said, “I should have just killed you in that glen.”

She heard Zaccai crouch before her but didn’t look at him as he rested a hand on her arm. It was a gesture that was meant to make her feel better. She turned her face away from his, eyes still closed, but he continued the comforting rest of his hand. “You don’t mean that.”

She absently wondered how much of their conversation could be heard beyond the flaps of their tent. They were not in the company of the rambunctious war march of bloodthirsty men. Quiet pressed itself upon the encampment like a damp quilt. The men and women, both human and fae, were moving and talking in subdued tones somewhere beyond their tent. Horses shuffled and whinnied occasionally. Fires were popping, but even the flames seemed melancholy.

“Do you believe Gadriel?” she finally asked.

“I do,” he said, no hesitation in his answer.

“Then do you believe in your king’s mission for self-destruction? If he takes you and your men into Farehold…”

“It’s a death sentence,” Zaccai agreed.

Amaris echoed her question. “So what do we do?”

 

Chapter Three

Yazlyn’s feet had barely touched the ground before Nox pushed out of her arms. The sergeant wasn’t very good at hiding her emotions, and Nox was perfectly aware that everyone saw the conflict for what it was. Nox marked the successful blows as each new insult chipped away at Yazlyn until her emotions transitioned from wounded flinches of rejection to a tangible anger.

Good. Let her be angry. The fury would never match Nox’s own.

Perhaps Yazlyn had only sent her raven in an attempt to end further suffering in Raascot. Maybe it was true and Yazlyn hadn’t wanted to cause pain for anyone. Nox had heard the arguments as many times as Yazlyn could spit them out: she didn’t want any more Raascot men to have to die.

But Nox didn’t give a damn how well intentioned the bitch may have been. ...