A Breath of Sunlight Page 10

  Avonia’s wings flared as hope stretched across her feathers. “I know one. He left Heulwen a couple years ago when his family fled the city. If we track him down, we can send him to retrieve Calle.”

  “And how can we trust this man?” Cian asked.

  “His name is Joel Harrington. He used to be Calle’s best friend. They grew up together.”

  After pondering her suggestion for a few moments, he finally nodded. Relief burst through her, not only at the hope of reuniting with Calle, but also at meeting her daughter. She would see Scarlett again. She had to believe that.

  Cian motioned his staff toward the closed door. “Then go find this man and ask him to bring Calle home.”

  Skaja stood on top of one of the watchtowers with a spyglass against her eye. She breathed in and out slowly, not daring to joggle its position lest she lose sight of the horizon. Gray storm clouds rolled across the blue expanse of ocean that stretched from one side of the island to the other. After they sank the ship from Heulwen yesterday and killed every single man on board, she almost expected a second ship to come in its place.

  It didn’t.

  Not yet at least.

  She set down the spyglass and twisted the ring on her finger. The piece of jewelry glinted beneath the sunset, giving an almost magical sparkle to the simple gold band. Two months had passed since she’d seen the fae man.

  She had never expected an ache to form in her chest at his absence. Their brief encounter had filled her with sunlight, and now every day felt as if it were cloudy and bleak.

  A part of her wanted to take the ring off and throw it from her perch. But she instead found herself cradling her hand to her heart.

  A fire burst to life at the first watchtower, followed by the second. Skaja lit her own fire in the open, circular hearth. She watched as the flames danced like two lovers spinning in each other’s arms, one dipping the other and about to bestow a kiss—

  “Skaja, now that your shift is over, Paula wants to see you.”

  She jumped when someone touched her elbow, and she twisted to find one of her valkyrie sisters standing on the platform with her. Her heart raced with anxiety, and as if she’d been caught doing something bad, she hid her hand behind her back.

  Had Paula found out about what she’d done?

  “Where is she?”

  The other woman moved past her and picked up the spyglass she’d set down earlier. “The arena. Best be quick. She’s angry.”

  A cold bucket of dread dumped over her head. At least she thought as much until she realized the dark clouds above released its rain in earnest. She jumped off the tower and spread her wings in an attempt to avoid the worst of it, but spatters of rain still fell on her. It soaked her hair and clothing. Droplets of water ran across her wings and rolled off the tips of her feathers.

  By the time she landed at the arena, a shiver ran through her body, and she doubted any amount of fire could warm the dread in her frigid limbs.

  High-pitched screeches and booming roars drowned her ears from the creatures they kept in cages within a slab of hollowed-out rock at the base of the cliff. Tall, thick walls arced outward from the cliff to form a semi-circle.

  The outer door was cracked open, and she slipped through, only to be met by a small door made of steel bars. She cranked open the door and closed it behind her before climbing up tunneled steps to the spectator stands.

  A gust of cold, wet air hit her face when she once again faced the elements. She placed her hands on the railing and peered below to find several newbies years younger than her battling against demon toads. Though the size of a person’s head, the saliva on their tongues contained poison. One lick would cause paralysis that lasted for several hours.

  She shuddered as she remembered her younger years spent training in the arena, and the many scars she’d received.

  Tearing her attention away from the girls who weren’t more than twelve years old, she scanned the stands. Only a few people remained outside, and Paula, in particular, gripped the railing with tight fists as she intensely watched the training below.

  “Lift your weapon!” Paula barked. “It won’t do you any good for it to sit in your hand.”

  Paula muttered a few profanities before she shouted again. After a few moments, she noticed Skaja’s presence.

  “You’re finally here,” Paula said as she pushed away from the railing. Anger rolled in her eyes like thunder. “The patrol returned with a severed man’s head. Another fool to step foot on our home. Someone recognized him from the Pits. A slave master who made it out alive.”

  Skaja forced her expression to remain blank, and despite her sudden desire to cradle her hand to her heart, she kept it at her side.

  Paula continued. “I expected Arlo and his cronies to send men to attack us. But Heulwen too? They have to be working together. Tell me, Skaja. How do these two places connect?”

  Her heart pounded as she answered honestly. “I don’t know. Perhaps they have formed an alliance.”

  “Perhaps...” The valkyrie leader’s attention returned to the arena, though her mind seemed miles away. “We could handle Arlo. But I don’t want Heulwen’s army on our doorstep. Who did we kill? Or did King Liam have profits to be made in the Pits? You have sharp eyes, Skaja. What did you see? What can you tell me?”

  A dam of relief burst in her, and her shoulders relaxed as she released a breath. Paula didn’t know. Her secret was safe.

  “Men, women, slaves.”

  “Did you see Arlo?”

  The question caught her off guard. Another wave of unease turned in her stomach. If she admitted the truth to it, Paula would likely be able to connect the missing pieces together.

  Heat tumbled in her blood, the need to protect, no matter the cost. She didn’t know why she opened her mouth, or why a lie spewed out. “Arlo wasn’t there. At least not as far as I could tell.”

  Paula gave her a side glance as if searching for the lie, but to her relief, she said nothing more on the subject. Instead, she gestured below. “Those girls will grow up together. They will form a strong bond. Strength and loyalty and trust. These are our valkyrie values.”

  She cringed inwardly when she realized Paula might suspect something after all. Skaja was plenty strong. But loyal and trustworthy?

  Her jaw clenched when she realized she had not adhered to their values. “Anything else you need of me?”

  With a shake of her head, Paula gestured to the skies. “No. You may go.”

  She took a couple steps, but then halted in her tracks. Trust... Could it be that Paula had not adhered to their values either? It couldn’t be true, what the fae man had told her. She needed to know the truth.

  No matter how much it might hurt.

  “I met someone,” she murmured, turning slowly to find Paula’s attention focused on her. She tried her best to not give away that he was a man. “This person thought they knew me. They said...they said my name is—was—Scarlett.”

  Paula inhaled sharply, her eyes wide. “Who did you meet?”

  “Then is it true?” Her chin quivered despite trying to rein in her emotions. But it was as if the last two months of suppression had come tumbling out. “My parents abandoned me.”

  The other valkyrie grimaced, but not apologetically. She swiped a strand of her damp, short brown hair out of her eyes. “I have not been completely honest. Your parents did not abandon you. I stole you from them. I saved you from a life of servitude and gave you freedom instead.”

  Shock punched her in the gut and knocked the breath from her lungs. She reached out to steady herself against the railing. “What do you mean, servitude?”

  “Harpies in the Sun Kingdom find pride in serving. At birth, the parents of the child force them into a blood oath to serve the royal family. To protect them with their lives, even against their will.”

  “Royal family?” she coughed. Her head spun. She might have lost her balance if not for her grip on the railing. “I would have served King Liam?”

  What a horrible, sickening thought.

  Paula nodded gravely. “And Prince Calle.”

  Her eyes widened, her heart stuttering with the revelation. Her mind spun as she recalled all the similarities, all the familiar stories, and the fact that she could hardly harm a hair on the fae man’s head. Prince Calle’s sweetheart had been killed by King Liam, and then Calle soon after. But what if the prince never died? What if he was covertly forced to a life of slavery in the Pits? A life of pain and suffering?

  The fae man was Prince Calle.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! She hadn’t even bothered to ask for his name because she hadn’t cared. And he hadn’t bothered to tell her. She wasn’t sure if she was more angry, shocked, or confused. And she wasn’t sure if her emotions were directed at Paula or the prince. Her parents hadn’t abandoned her. Her entire life had been a lie.

  But...

  But...

  But...

  What was the entire truth then? Who was she?

  She wasn’t positive if the fae man really was Prince Calle, but she needed to know for certain. And only one person could give her the answers she sought.

  “I need some space,” she gasped, and before Paula uttered another word, she scrambled away and took off in flight. If she flew quickly, she could reach his location by sunrise.

  No excuses.

  None whatsoever.

  Especially not the rain.

  Calle gritted his teeth as his perspiration mingled with the heavy sheets of rain falling from gray skies. It obscured the view of the village like a thick fog. Yet, he inhaled its cleansing mist and lifted his head to further drench his face and bare chest.

  His arms shook with the strain of keeping the stack of crates from crashing to the groun
d. A rope wound around the crates, which then stretched around a pulley secured to a high branch of a tree, and finally the ends of the rope rested in his hands.

  He released a labored breath as he lowered the stack and then pulled on the rope again to raise them. His entire body wanted to give out, but he’d been pushing himself harder and harder these past couple of months.

  Courage. Strength. Bravery. Endurance. Honor. Love. Sacrifice.

  These words were forever etched onto his skin, and he wanted more than anything to live up to them.

  Releasing one last breath, he carefully lowered the crates, not stopping to catch his breath as he backed up several paces. The sun may have been hidden behind clouds, but he still felt its power flickering beneath his skin.

  Concentration rested on his brow as he dug deep within himself to find the sun’s elusive power. But the magic shied away from him as if it were held prisoner in its own cell of darkness.

  Nonetheless, he continued reaching for it. He widened his stance and lifted his hands to point at the nearby tree. Minutes passed. Nothing happened.

  He planted his feet more firmly and imagined an explosion of searing sunlight bursting from his fingertips. Still nothing.

  After standing still while having a staring contest with the tree, he finally dropped his hands in a wave of frustration. The red, scarred brand on his forearm taunted him, reminding him he was still a slave as long as it marked his arm. Even Cian hadn’t been able to remove it.

  The frustration tore at him until he could stand it no longer. He picked up Skaja’s dagger from the base of the cottage and attacked the scarecrow dummy he’d created. Head. Neck. Heart. Bits and pieces of straw flew in all directions.

  He traded the dagger for Cian’s precious sword. Instead of unnecessarily blunting the weapon by using it against the target, he practiced his footwork. Still sloppy. He’d never been good at fighting with a one-handed sword. He used to fight with a greatsword, and unfortunately, trading it for a lighter weapon wasn’t easy without a teacher.

  His wrist burned with pain as he held the sword in both hands. But at least this time, he didn’t drop it. The muscles in his hand and wrist were growing stronger.

  Almost too slowly.

  Spattering rain drowned out all noise, making him feel as if he were in his own private cloud. So, when he heard a scuff behind him, he spun around.

  The pounding fear in his heart quickly turned into shock when he found himself gazing back at a beautiful harpy. Skaja’s golden-white wings drooped, soaked with rain. Her brown hair clung to her face and shoulders. Fatigue rested beneath her eyes. But the pain in her expression gave him pause. When he wanted to run to her and spin her in his arms with the joy of seeing her again, he remained rooted to the spot.

  The roaring rain almost claimed her words. “You’re Prince Calle Everdon.”

  Her expression begged him to contradict her. He remained quiet, even when his pulse thundered in surprise. How did she find out? Why was she here? Did she come alone?

  But when no one joined her in their cloud of rain, he relaxed.

  “I think this is a conversation best held indoors, out of the rain.” He reached out to touch her but thought better of it and retracted his hand. Instead, he tied Skaja’s stone to his left wrist, gathered up his weapons, and guided her inside. She followed.

  The smell of old wood and musty books greeted them, with a hint of sweet leaf tea lingering in the background. Rain pattered against the rooftop, leaking through the worn patchwork in several places. One of the buckets began to overflow, so he picked it up off the ground, opened the wooden shutters, and tossed the water out before replacing it beneath the leakage.

  When he turned, he caught Skaja staring at him from where she stood in the doorway. A blush filled her cheeks, and she quickly glanced away.

  A wave of excitement and satisfaction churned within him. Perhaps he was starting to look how he used to years ago instead of gaunt and underweight. He quickly tried to push the feeling back down.

  He disappeared beneath the folding screen beside the bed and pulled on a dry shirt and trousers. He came back out with a blanket tucked beneath his arm, only to find Skaja glancing about warily.

  “I’m alone, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said as he handed the blanket to her and watched as she wrapped it around her shivering shoulders. “Cian hasn’t returned from Heulwen yet, and his last letter hasn’t said anything about him returning soon.”

  When she still said nothing, his mouth worked its way into a frown. He crouched beside the hearth, wishing to start a fire with his magic. Instead, he settled for flint and steel. A fire quickly sparked to life. He moved to the stove next and poured a couple cups of tea. Still warm, though not as warm as he would have liked.

  Skaja took the cup from him and stared into the hearth as the flames continued to rise. While she sat on the sofa, he perched cautiously on the arm.

  “It’s good to see you,” he said finally, breaking the tense silence between them. “I wasn’t sure if I would. How did you find me?”

  She gave him a teasing half-grin. “I just located the stench of fae slave and followed.”

  He cracked a smile at her humor, grateful for the jest. “I don’t stink. Anymore,” he amended as he thought of how long he’d gone without a proper bath in the Pits. “How did you really find me?”

  She nodded to her dagger he’d placed on the kitchen table. “My dagger has a pair. It located its other half. Why else do you think I gave it to you, other than to be able to find you and finish my original job?”

  “You can’t kill me,” he chuckled. “I think you left it behind because you couldn’t help the urge in your blood.”

  The air once again stiffened with tension. Dozens upon dozens of words swirled in his mind, but he couldn’t grasp onto any long enough to form a proper sentence. How were they supposed to start this conversation? What did she want to know? What lines should he avoid stepping over?

  “You never told me your name,” she accused finally, giving him a characteristic glare.

  He shrugged and took a long sip of his tea. Its naturally sweet flavor coated his tongue. “I didn’t intentionally hide my identity from you. I honestly forgot. In the Pits, it’s easy to lose yourself. You start answering to ‘slave’ or ‘worthless cretin’. No one has called me by my name in a very long time.”

  “Calle. Everdon.”

  His body hummed pleasantly in response to the way his name fell from her lips. He liked hearing it. A lot.

  Reaching across several feet to the hearth, Calle grabbed a fire poker and encouraged the flames to grow with a few prods. “I want to think you came to visit because you like my company...” He turned to grin at her. She did not appear amused. “Tell me the real reason why you’re here.”

  She tucked herself further beneath the blanket as if to make herself smaller. “The valkyrie leader, Paula, confirmed your story. She stole me from my parents. To give me a life of freedom rather than servitude. And I’m...angry.” Her jaw clenched and her eyes grew misty. “Angry at her. Angry at you. Angry at my parents. Angry at myself.” She whispered, “I’m so confused.”

  Her head dropped into her hands, her wings drooping where she sat. Caution led his actions as he set his tea aside and slid onto the cushion next to her. He warily lifted his hand and placed it on her shoulder as she had once done for him. Instead of shifting away like he thought she might, she leaned into his touch. He dared to trail his fingers across her shoulders while trying his best to avoid touching her blanket-covered wings. When he had her firmly in his grasp, he slowly pulled her toward him until her head rested against his chest.

  A different kind of tension filled the cottage. Heat crawled up his body and encouraged his heart to beat faster and faster until he was certain she might hear it where her ear rested against him.

  He wasn’t sure what surprised him more—his own reaction to her proximity, or the fact that she didn’t move away.

  “Will you tell me about them?” she whispered. “I want to learn about my parents.”

  He swallowed, his gaze far away as he tried to figure out where to start. “Avonia and Typheal had a special bond with my family. They were my parents’ personal guards, though more like family than anything. They laughed with us, ate with us, played with us.” A smile lifted his lips as he recalled the fond memories. “I remember playing with you too, as much as a six-year-old could play with a one-year-old.”