Page 3 of The Crown of Moonlight
Well, I refuse to cower and play this game.
“Who’s there?Come out and show yourself instead of hiding like a coward.”
The Wood falls unnaturally still.Then shadows stir beneath an oak tree to my left.
“I know you’re there,” I say, gripping the dagger tighter.
A voice answers me from the shadows.“Careful, little one.Taunt the things you fear, and you might just prove you were right to be afraid.”
The voice is male—slow and resonant, pitched between a growl and a cat’s deep purr.A predator’s voice, claws barely sheathed.
A shiver of awareness ripples down my spine.I draw on the cool, gritty power of the earth and fuse it with the fire that burns inside me.Needles of magic rake through bone and tissue as I force it outward, pouring it into the dagger.The blade groans, lengthening and thickening until it becomes a perfect replica of my father’s sword and rests cold, heavy, and steadying within my grasp.
An Ever steps forward, his figure cloaked in gloom, footsteps whispering over the frost-crusted moss.He’s larger than the bodies behind me seemed, taller and broader, his features carved in bold strokes beneath gilded hair that’s tied half-up in a warrior’s knot and reveals a widow’s peak.He looks gaunt, worn down, yet power and command still radiate from him.And he’s every bit as beautiful as the others in a way that remains entirely male.
He watches me with a faint but dangerous smile.“You can put that illusion away,” he says.“You’re lucky I didn’t mistake it for a threat.”
“The sword is no illusion,” I say through gritted teeth, “and the threat is no mistake.”
His easy dismissal stings more than I’d care to admit.I spent months mastering even this small feat of magic, pouring all my strength and then waiting days—sometimes weeks—for the ember inside me to grow warm enough to try again.
The Ever’s eyes harden, the molten honey colour darkening into something sharper.“You do know what I am, don’t you?”
“An Ever…a Rider,” I say, watching him.Still hoping there’s a different explanation.
His jaw tightens.“We prefer to be calledSiorai.Not Evers.Not Everfolk.There’s no need to be impolite.”
“Just leave.Go away.We’ve done nothing to harm you, and we don’t want any trouble.”My voice stays steady, but the sword quivers and gives me away.
The Ever moves towards me, one step, then two.I back an equal distance, giving myself time to think.
The width of his shoulders and the way his muscled thighs and arms strain against his clothes leave no doubt about his strength.His hand rests on the hilt of his sword in a quiet threat.Then he steps even closer, emerging from the shadows into a shaft of broken sunlight, and for the first time, I see the blood that slicks his coat and seeps down one leg of the breeches he wears tucked into his leather boots.His skin is pale and beaded with sweat, and the silver-gold hair that falls to his shoulders is damp along the temples.
He’s wounded.Weak.That gives me a chance.
My blade won’t kill an Ever, but I’d lay odds that his is made of celestial steel.If he’s injured as badly as I suspect, I might be able to take it from him.
His mouth twitches at the corners as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.“Please don’t try anything foolish,” he says in that deep purr of a voice.“Trust me, if I’d wanted you dead, you would never have seen me coming.”
Chapter 2
Bloody Palms
Chyr
T
he woman must have a death wish.I have no magic left, and I can scarcely lift the sword I’ve carried nearly all my life, yet I could still crush her as easily as a rose beneath my heel.
If she fears me, she hides it well.She promises nothing and cloaks herself in defiance, which only makes my decision harder.But another soul on my conscience today would be the straw that breaks me.
I need a way to save her from herself.
Tuirse and Oran are dead from these strange wounds that do not heal, and I couldn’t protect any of the countless mortals who’ve tried to help us.Reaching Tirnaeve to demand the army we were promised is the only way to make those deaths count for something.I can’t put that at risk by letting this woman get word back to the Raven witch that we were here.
A hard pulse beats at the hinge of my jaw.“Tell me how your illusion works,” I say.“Is Vheara giving out some new sort of amulet to her allies?”
“The Raven Queen has given nothing to anyone but herself.”The woman sends me a glare that could eviscerate a man at fifty paces.“Not that your so-called king is any better.”
