Page 1 of Shadow and Son

PROLOGUE

TENEBRIS NOX

Five days after the events at Seastone

King’s Keep was still burning.

Not in the literal sense, of course. Any actual fires that the Cult of Malakar’s attack might have left in its wake had been extinguished days ago. But the palace still smoldered in every other way.

Grief lingered in the hallways. It clung to stone, to banners, curling around those who had survived, hanging off them like smoke. The betrayal by their own—their brethren, their comrades—had cut the humans deep. The recovery from Lord Church’s betrayal, from not only the unmasking of his true identity as Varyth Malchior but the depth of his infiltration, would be slow going.

Especially with the throne room standing empty, the human king still relegating himself to his chambers. King Callum barely spoke to a soul outside the sycophants that did his bidding—something that, granted, not all his loyal servants seemed too upset about. Tobin Barcroff, for one, had taken up the mantle of the king’s new right hand with an inappropriate amount of delight.

Not my concern, thought Tenebris Nox. They stood in the east wing sitting room, looking out the shattered frame of a window that had been blown out during the attack. Below, Cedric Thorne was in the training yard, as he had been every day since their return, drilling through sword forms like his life depended on it.

Perhaps it did.

Perhaps all their lives did.

The knight needed somewhere to funnel his rage, after all. And he would need to find somewhere more practical to direct it soon. Without purpose and without Elyria’s presence to ground him, the sunbringer posed a whole new kind of danger.

Which was, of course, something that Tenebris Nox found absolutely fascinating.

From an armchair in front of the nearby fireplace, Kit cleared her throat. “You’re sure they’re still all right in there?” she asked, one knee tucked against her chest, her arms draped loosely overtop.

Nox turned to look at her, smiling inwardly. It was only the twenty-seventh time or so that the fae had asked since returning from Seastone. They didn’t begrudge her nervousness though. Kit had lost so much already in her short life. They supposed it was reasonable that she feared the loss of Elyria, too.

Feared losing her again.

“You need not be concerned,” Nox said evenly. “The in-between is like a pocket in time. The Revenant’s wings are safe in the shadows. They remain encased in your frost, a perfect preservation.”

Kit exhaled, a sigh of relief, then leaned her head against the chairback and drew her lids shut over her blue and green eyes.

Nox rarely found themself taking much notice of physical features, but they had to admit, those eyes were . . . entrancing. More entrancing yet, though, was the resilience of her spirit, something that shone as bright as her moonlit hair, carving a path through the darkness constantly trying to stain her soul.

Nox knew that Kit was strong. Had known it from the moment she’d burst through that doorway in the Celestial Sanctum and beaten her fists on the walls in an attempt to unlock the Trial of Spirit. Knew it from the way she’d clawed herself back after Evander’s betrayal during the Crucible, the way she’d withstood—survived—the years of loneliness that preceded it.

Tenebris Nox saw her strength, her fortitude, and they reveled in it.

At present, they also saw the steady rise and fall of her chest, the relaxing of her furrowed brow.

She was asleep, her worries temporarily assuaged by Nox’s reassurance, and that made a fascinating feeling spark in the depths of their chest.

With a curious tilt of their head, Nox returned their gaze to the courtyard . . . but Cedric was not there anymore.

The sitting room door creaked open behind them. “I thought I might find you two in here,” Tenny said softly, brushing a lock of strawberry-blond hair out of her face as she waltzed across the room to stand beside Nox at the window.

The nocterrian raised a single finger to their lips, inclining their horned head at Kit.

Tenny’s gaze followed theirs from the resting fae back to the now-empty courtyard below. “I’m glad Ric’s taking a break,” she said, voice hushed. “He’s been at it since sunrise.”

“Today and every day,” Nox murmured. “Not very princely of him.”

“Don’t joke about that.” She swatted their arm. “We cannot blame him for not being ready to broach that particular subject yet.”

“Ready? Or willing?”

“Either.”