Page 1 of Sharpen Your Claws

1

Nicholas

HillCastlehadmanyforms depending on the household’s mood. Once the structure made an indentation into the land, sinking low as a hatchling in their nest. Then it would contort into a tower, thin as a grown man, with an interior vaster than grasslands and more treacherous than caves.

That day, Hill Castle sprouted more voraciously than unwanted weeds, shutters hanging off their latches and vines braiding over mismatched rooftops. The stonework shimmered beneath morning light, varying shades of reds and greens and blues. Birds sang from the chimneys upon their nests that would get a swat if they dared defecating on Hill Castle itself.

All knew of the castle’s prickly demeanor, making offerings to its guests as snacks or flowers and growing murderously upset when one did not appreciate its efforts. Nicholas knew better than to ignore the appearance of the kitchen when he opened a door that should have led outside, but alas, Hill Castle loved keeping inhabitants on their toes.

The Darkmoon family had gotten lost in their own halls, forced through a labyrinth for making a mess or, the worst offense of all, vomiting on the floors. Years ago, he had been eaten by the wall, forced to hang from the entangling roots for a day because he dared to call Hill Castle’s tastes in decorum tacky.

Baskets of fruits and vegetables lined the kitchen countertops, for perhaps Hill Castle believed he needed a snack. The castle assumed correctly because his appetite had been rather dulled for years. He thought little of rest, nothing of mingling with the hundreds of fae swarming to and from Darkmoon lands.

Many yearned to ask a million questions of him about Fearworn, the war, and his demeanor. But all Nicholas had on his mind was William. Jade eyes and golden hair softer than silk, of his voice and his laugh and his smiles. He was homesick for William’s touch, so much so he hallucinated the medic in his bed. He’d wake to William’s morning stubble tickling his fingertips. Then the vision vanished, and he hardly resisted the urge to burn the world to ash.

Rather than risk the house’s wrath, Nicholas plucked an apple, then left the kitchen in search of an escape. Guests filled the ballroom. Their voices and laughter carried through the halls. If any caught him, they would drag him to his doom. Typically, Blair would be among them. His attention still swept the halls for the silhouette of his sister, prepared for another assault.

After Nicholas killed Fearworn, after witnessing William being torn apart, something within himself broke. Blair saw that. On the battlefield, she swept through the masses, blades drawn and pointed at his throat. He hadn’t seen her, would have fallen to her if not for Arden and Amos stepping in. Upon learning of what she had tried, their father banished her, if only because Nicholas still had more use than she.

Opening another door, he clung to the doorframe to prevent himself from falling into a pit of his brother’s peculiar plants. They adhered to the soiled walls, their leaves vibrant in colors, and vines snapping with snarled teeth. Solomon Darkmoon tended to them, swinging on a pair of vines that breached the earth and held him like a lover. His brown hair had never been less than a knotted mess of flowers and leaves. One could lose sight of him among the glade, his pale green skin blending in with the nursery.

“Evening, brother.” Solomon snapped a dying bud. “Are you prepared for tonight’s festivities?”

“I will not be attending,” Nicholas replied hesitantly.

Solomon speaking to him was a rarity and always ended with one of them annoyed, injured, or both.

“Why not? Do you worry Blair may turn up and relieve you of your head?” Solomon laughed, because he would enjoy the debacle.

“If so, she would fail a second time.” Nicholas slammed the door shut.

Blair had never been a sister. Solomon and Percival were not brothers. Laurent wasn’t a father. And yet, remembering Blair on the battlefield, the hatred in her eyes as she ran at him, dug a hole in his chest that couldn’t be filled.

Nicholas hadn’t seen her since Fearworn died, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t waiting for him to leave. She would be given another chance to rid the world of the potential coming of the second Fearworn, or so she claimed as she tried driving a dagger into his heart. Her hatred shouldn’t have surprised him, seeing as she was always more than open about said hatred, but alas, the memory left a foul taste on his tongue.

“I am in no mood to play games or attend the revel,” Nicholas grumbled, with his forehead pressed against the door.

The castle groaned. Floorboards bent beneath his feet. He opened the same door. A hall greeted him. Right or wrong ways did not exist at Hill Castle. One walked with a place in mind and the castle led them there, if it was feeling generous. He suspected these games resulted from Laurent, his father, the lord of Darkmoon. Laurent had Hill Castle working overtime for the revel. A celebration supposedly for Nicholas’ return after two long years of hunting the remnants of Calix Fearworn’s shadowed disciples, the cursed shade bent on opening paths to new realms, even if it meant destroying theirs.

Nicholas refused to be paraded around by his father for all to fawn and gossip over. Because of Fearworn’s demise at the hands of the Darkmoon family, foolish mortals lined up at their door for deals. Some would even attend tonight, unaware that that they’d drown in faerie wine, and die pirouetting on the dancefloor as they once did before the Collision Treaty.

He refused to be trapped by gawking fae, reduced to an evening entertainment. He was not an animal to be teased in a cage, not a piece of tapestry to be admired on the wall, and he wasn’t to be pitied or condemned. He saw their looks, the concern, the rage, the desire, all captured in their eyes, twisted among their words.

With Fearworn’s fall, Nicholas took his place upon the pedestal, to be talked about, watched, pondered by any and all. A fair few worried, perceiving him in the same way Blair had; a threat. Others, like Laurent, saw Nicholas as an opportunity, a weapon to be pointed at any he perceived as an enemy. Nicholas couldn’t stand it, and few had already faced his wrath for daring to speak ill behind his back.

Finally, Hill Castle released him into the sunflower field at the back of the household. They bowed in welcome, shifting to form a path. He kicked off his shoes. The soil beneath his bare feet was soft, full of endless life that had been loud before, but now it was nearly unbearable. He saw more, in a way he couldn’t explain. He sensed the weather changing, felt the earth take a breath, saw magic slipping through roots, cobwebs, from one animal to another. Even these flowers.

He pinched a petal between his fingers. Light flashed beneath in a pale grayish-blue hue.Was this what caught Fearworn?he wondered. The lights, the feelings, this sense of being so small in the face of an infinite wonder. Fearworn leaped forward, desperate for answers. Nicholas did not because he thought of William always.

A cavern formed in his chest, expanding by the day, consuming more and more until it wouldn’t be manageable. The worries, fears, and ambitions he once had were replaced by the ravenous want of William and anything he desired. He thought of holding his hand, dancing with him, taking a stroll under the stars, the most ordinarily mundane day-to-day activities that he would have scoffed at years ago. But now he couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful.

He fell to his knees and plucked the sunflowers, promising they were being remade for good reason. The lush green of their stems reminded him of William’s eyes. So often his wicked forced hostility out of his heart for protection, but on nights when they forgot about the world outside their embrace, William’s eyes held the first breath of spring, of promised renewal and strength like no other.

He had neither heard nor seen William in two years, but no amount of time could make him forget. He would recognize William’s laughter, his scent, his voice, even at the ending of the world. Memories sustained him, but wouldn’t forever. He craved to feel William’s breath upon his skin, to run his lips over William’s pulse, to burrow himself within William’s heart, tangled among his bones, filling his veins, stealing his heart as to never to be torn apart.

I’ll lock us away, my wicked, where none will dare disturb us,he thought with a sneer that flipped into a scowl. Laurent kept them apart, but deals had loopholes and Nicholas would tug the fray. He would find the loose thread, break free, and slither his way out of his father’s noose. A man had Nicholas’ heart, and if he could not be with William, he would tear this world apart until all that remained was them.

“Making a crown for yourself, mighty shade slayer?” Evera Bloodbane called in an angelic voice that betrayed most.

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