A Breath of Sunlight Read online

  Liam ground his teeth together, his fingers now resting on the sword on his belt. “Step. Aside. Your king has spoken.”

  Instead of succumbing to Liam’s unspoken threat, Nyana wrapped her arms around Calle’s waist from behind, making her choice. He attempted to swallow his fear, but it remained lodged in his throat. They should have escaped the city when they’d still had the chance. Now he’d have to fight, and he wasn’t sure he could win.

  He eyed Liam’s sword, the harpies standing at his back, and the hundreds of spectators standing between him and the nearest exit.

  Before he had another second to evaluate his surroundings, Liam drew his sword with frightening speed and swung it toward him. A surge of magic rippled through him, and he raised his arms in time to block the attack with a sturdy rod created from ribbons of magic. A clang echoed through the courtyard. His hand protested at the effort to keep his brother’s weapon at bay. Liam pressed harder, and his fingers slipped. He slammed his magic into Liam’s chest. His brother flew several feet before he smashed into the fountain. Water splashed around him, the cherub’s bow breaking in half against the blow.

  “Go!” he cried as he pushed Nyana into the chaotic crowd. People screamed as they fled the scene. “Don’t look back. You know where to meet me.”

  “Calle,” she sobbed, her blue eyes wide. “I can’t leave you.”

  He pulled her against him and crushed her lips with his own. “Go,” he said again in a husky whisper. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  He turned just in time to block the next attack from his enraged brother. Liam’s eyes were bloodshot, sticky ribbons of blood dripping from his hairline. Liam smashed his sword against his magic rod once, twice, three times, until his weapon shattered into golden dust. He rolled out of the way of the next swing, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the tip of the sword slicing his left shoulder.

  A cry of pain escaped him. His arm refused to lift when Liam swiped at him again. He ducked the attack and kicked him in the knee, producing a loud crack. His brother’s howl stirred the harpies loyal to Liam into action. Three harpies tackled Calle to the ground. Someone held an arm against his throat, choking the air from him. Black dots fizzled into the edges of his vision as he clawed and kicked and punched. Magic heated his hand, and the moment he touched it against the arm on his throat, the harpy hissed and flinched away. He gasped in a breath of air, only for his windpipe to get blocked by another arm.

  Just when his vision threatened to fade completely, the weight on top of him disappeared.

  He gasped in breath after breath as he sat up in a daze. Avonia and Typheal were fighting to protect him.

  Sunlight fueled him as he charged forward and locked himself in battle once again with Liam—rod against sword. He struggled to keep up with Liam’s strength when one arm still hung uselessly at his side, even as his brother limped and favored one leg. But he didn’t need to win. He only needed to distract him long enough for Nyana to escape.

  Calle dodged Liam’s lunge and managed to disarm him with a lucky hit to his hand. Calle tackled his brother to the ground, and they traded blows with fists. Magic stirred within him as he punched him in the jaw. Heat blasted out from his fist and seared one side of Liam’s face. Liam screamed and clutched the burn that stretched from his forehead to his jaw.

  Not daring to stay a single moment longer, he pushed up from the ground and sprinted toward an exit. But in a blindingly fast movement, a harpy dropped down in front of him and kicked him in the chest.

  The air whooshed from his lungs as he stumbled backward, and he couldn’t right himself before he was pinned to the ground again, two sets of brown wings blocking his view of the sky.

  One of the harpies turned him around and smashed his face into the ground, arms pinned on either side of him.

  But then his entire world froze as if encased in a block of ice. He ceased struggling, his eyes wide. Liam’s scarred face contorted with anger as he held a fistful of blonde hair in one hand, and his sword in the other. The weapon protruded from Nyana’s creamy skin. Her face twisted with pain as blood soaked the front of her gown.

  Calle screamed her name and struggled against his captors with every ounce of strength and magic he possessed. But just as he escaped, another couple of harpies pinned him again.

  Tears streamed down his face as he watched Nyana slump to the ground. Her chin trembled. Her fingers shook. And then her body became still as the life left her eyes.

  “No,” he sobbed. “No!”

  Again, he screamed her name, but she didn’t respond. He attempted to free himself from the weight on top of him to get to her, but he only cried out when Liam stepped on his left wrist and ground his boot until only a fiery trail of agony remained.

  “You have defied me for the last time,” Liam spat, his words stilted by the burn tugging on his lip. “I will make sure you never again see the light of day.”

  “Go to h—”

  Something heavy smashed against the back of his head, and darkness quickly shrouded his vision. The last thing he was aware of was heat searing into his forearm before his consciousness became as black as the midnight sky.

  Six years later

  A tusk horn blew out a deep, melancholy note to signal the start of another day. The note echoed in the deep ravine long after the noise ceased, followed by the sound of stirring men and women.

  Calle opened his eyes to dim surroundings, only a couple shades lighter than absolute darkness. He stared at the rocky wall of his nook—a small shelf lodged into a steep, rocky ravine, just large enough for one man to sleep.

  His body refused to move. It lay still as the last of his spirit melted away like hot candle wax. He breathed in and out slowly, willing himself to succumb to his endless fatigue.

  But he kept breathing.

  And he kept living.

  Minutes passed before the second horn blew—a warning. If he didn’t reach the bottom of the ravine before the third horn, he would be whipped.

  He winced as he finally moved. The newest lashes on his back split open and burned as he pulled himself to standing. He swayed on unsteady feet and closed his eyes when he leaned a shoulder against the cold, rocky wall. A chill seeped through his threadbare tunic, adding to the unending layers of frigid misery.

  A foggy breath escaped him on a sigh. As he did every day, he held out a hand and willed his magic to form a ball of light between his fingers.

  But no light formed.

  The brand on his forearm not only marked him as a slave, but it suppressed his magic.

  His entire body ached from head to toe as he grabbed onto the rope dangling outside his nook and hefted himself over the ledge. One arm dangled at his side, his hand now more useless than ever after Liam had injured it further all those years ago. He descended into the deep, inky ravine. He only wished his good hand would slip and he would fall to his death, but self-preservation forced him to hold on to the dirtied rope with his fingers and legs.

  Feet covered in holey leather touched the bottom of the ravine just as the third horn sounded. One of the slave masters scowled at him, but otherwise made no move to whip him.

  At least not today.

  He kept his head down, not bothering to greet the other slaves just as they kept to themselves. Life was too short to make friends in the Pits. No one had any desire to make the effort anyway.

  A slave master pushed a dark-skinned woman forward. Judging by the untried smirk growing on her face, she was likely their newest recruit. The slight downward slant of her long, pointed ears indicated she was a Forest Fae. Her black hair poked out from a red headband, her ears standing out in the dim light of the cavern. She held herself tall and proud as a slave master shoved mining tools into her hands and pointed her in the right direction.

  The fae woman held Calle’s gaze as she walked by, but as she passed, she ran a hand through his hair. Her smirk grew wider. “Love your locks, fae boy. I’m going to remember you.”

  Confusion seeped through his numb walls as he watched her disappear around the bend. She wouldn’t be smirking for long. The women were usually some of the first to die from mistreatment and horrible living conditions.

  He touched his hair, his now-usual frown deepening. It had grown long and ratty, along with his dirt-stained beard. If Nyana saw him now...

  An invisible hand squeezed his heart as he pushed thoughts of her away. Remembering her only hurt and added to the many injuries inflicted upon his soul.

  A well-dressed man shoved mining tools into Calle’s arms, eyeing him carefully. He’d killed three slave masters with a pickaxe only six months ago in a desperate attempt to escape. It had earned him twenty lashes and no food for two weeks. He couldn’t believe he’d survived it.

  He wished he hadn’t.

  Lanterns lit his way down the dark, chilly path. Slave masters watched him, whips in their hands, as he passed. Rough blue and gold streaks sparsely coated the cavern walls, becoming thicker and more prominent the further he traveled into the belly of the Pits. The temperature decreased, his body shivering. His feet expertly traversed the loose rock on the ground, while newer recruits slipped, some even falling occasionally.

  A rough slab of blue caught his attention, and he took up position beside it. He released a weary sigh as he tightened his grip on the pickaxe with one hand. His fingers trembled, every inch of his muscles famished with fatigue.

  Please. No more.

  But no one answered his silent, monotonous prayer.

  His gaze traveled upward, at the several hundred feet of slick, gray rock rising toward the unknown. He hadn’t seen sunlight in six years. Memories of sunshine faded in his mind, leaving far too much room for dull, gray nothingness.

  “Get to work,” a ma
n behind him growled before giving him a rough shove to the shoulder. He stumbled on weak feet and smacked his head against the rock. The impact left him dazed, but he still forced himself to lift his pickaxe and slam it against the vein of dalium.

  Clink. Clink. Clink.

  Minutes passed. Or perhaps hours. He couldn’t be sure without the position of the sun to guide him.

  The fae woman from earlier sidled up to him and mined only feet away.

  He ignored her.

  “You can’t fool me,” she said after a few minutes. “I bet those locks are beautiful beneath the right lighting. A simple wash will have it shimmering in no time.”

  He turned his shoulder and continued to ignore her. And what was with her fixation on his hair?

  He made the mistake of glancing in her direction, only to find her gazing hungrily at his unruly mane of dirty red-brown hair. Eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, he opened his mouth to tell her off when he spotted a tattoo peeking out from her left shoulder. A blizzard swept through his body, chilling him to his core.

  The purple design swirled from her shoulder to her collar bone. He’d seen it before. Many years ago. Just before one of his friends—male friends—was found face down in the courtyard fountain. Dead.

  A valkyrie.

  A shudder ran through him as he snapped his attention back to the ore, pretending to not notice the tattoo. Valkyries were fierce warriors, all women, who took pleasure in killing men. How had one been caught? And why was she in the Pits?

  She scooted closer, and his body tensed. His grip tightened on his pickaxe, ready to lodge it into the woman’s neck if she attacked. Without his magic, he knew he couldn’t best a valkyrie. Especially with the use of only one hand.

  When the supper horn echoed loudly in the ravine, he sighed in relief, the tension melting from his shoulders. It took several trips to return his gear and the ore he’d mined before he joined the other slaves at a long table. He kept his head down and slowly ate his portion of stale bread and moldy cheese.

  As always, he tore off a chunk of bread and passed it to one of the women, the one who looked like she needed it the most. She softly thanked him, though he only nodded in reply.

  A half dozen slavers conversed as they stood guard, but otherwise paid little attention to them. Little by little, conversation around the table picked up. Calle didn’t join in. He did, however, keep a wary eye on the valkyrie woman. She kept glancing his way. Six years ago, the attention might have flattered him. But he was concerned that he may be her next target, slave or not.

  “I heard a bit of interesting gossip from the slavers,” a woman said. Her haunted eyes lit up when many turned their attention to her. He kept his gaze glued to the unappetizing food in front of him.

  She continued, “A shaman from the Sun Kingdom predicted King Liam’s wife was carrying a girl. He must have beaten her hard because she lost the child only days later.”

  Calle sucked in a surprised breath, only to choke on a small piece of bread. He coughed it up, his eyes watering as he stared at the woman in horror. “He did what?”

  Everyone snapped their surprised stares in his direction as if shocked to hear him speak. The sound of his own voice shocked him as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard it.

  The woman’s eyes became even more animated as she continued her tale. “The queen has born two daughters, and the king has yet to have an heir. Some say he is cursed for killing his brother, Prince Calle, and his sweetheart.”

  I’m not dead.

  But he might as well be.

  “What happened to his wife?” he asked. “Is she still alive?”

  The woman shrugged and stared at his ears, likely noticing they came to a long, straight point nearly flat against his head. “You’re Sun Fae, aren’t you? Was he your king?”

  Not wanting to answer, he returned his gaze to the moldy cheese on the table. If he wasn’t in the Pits, he might be able to stop Liam from hurting his wife. Not for the first time, he cursed his brother for sending him here. If he ever got out, he was certain the next time he saw Liam, one of them would end up dead.

  The cheese crumbled to pieces in his clenched fist. That woman could have been Nyana. But was it better to live a life of maltreatment and abuse or die for love?

  His soul deflated, and he closed his eyes as he tried to picture her face. The image was hazy, becoming more so with each passing year. Not a day passed when he thought about what he could have done differently to save her life. Somehow, Liam had found out about their romantic trysts. Only two other people had known about their relationship—Nyana’s cousin and his friend, Joel. Either they were betrayed, or Liam had them followed.

  No matter what Calle’s actions had been, he would have lost Nyana.

  I’m sorry, he said silently. Forgive me, Nyana.

  Another slow, laborious breath left his lungs. Six years... How much longer would he remain in the Pits? How much more could he endure before his soul gave up completely and his body died?

  A chuckle pulled him out of his thoughts, and he opened his eyes to find the fae woman staring at him as she pulled apart chunks of bread. The corner of her mouth turned upward in a smirk. Her gaze was once again fixed on his hair.

  The woman may be a valkyrie, but like everyone else, she had no means of escaping nor weapons to fight.

  Regardless, he planned to sleep with one eye open tonight.

  Skaja crouched low in the shadows, her white-gold wings tucked behind her back. Sometimes she wished her wings were plain—perhaps black or brown feathers—as she often drew too much attention to herself. But when sunlight hit her wings at the right angle, it created a dazzling effect. She liked to use it to her advantage.

  She eyed the two dozen men hauling dalium ore from the Pits and loading them into carts, and then shifted her attention to the descending sun. Just a few minutes more.

  Her leader, Paula, joined her in the shadows of a gnarled black bush. Twenty years her senior, Paula sported new lines on her forehead and around her eyes, but the light of the thrill still lived in her expression.

  “Inari should be in position in the Pits about now,” Paula said, her gaze on the dry, rocky plain between them and the ravine. “I trust she will be creative with her lack of weapons.”

  “Oh, Inari will enjoy this far too much.” Her mouth lifted on one side. “How much hair do you think she will accumulate?”

  Paula rolled her eyes at Inari’s quirky interest. “Remember, we’re not trying to annihilate the operation, only wound them. Liberate as many women as you can. Kill the men.”

  The amount of male blood on Skaja’s hands was innumerable. But like all her valkyrie sisters, she believed men were cruel and heartless. They deserved nothing but death and suffering.

  A rush of nervous excitement pulsed through her blood, and her wings ruffled at the flaring emotion. She rested each hand on the daggers strapped to the back of her shoulder blades, making sure they were still there for the dozenth time.

  “This entire undertaking relies on you,” Paula said, her tone urgent as the sun sank a bit lower in the sky. Skaja was the only harpy among her valkyrie sisters and had the best advantage to create a distraction. “You must be ready.”

  “I am.”

  A breeze lifted a strand of her straight, dark brown hair. She pushed it out of her face and watched for the perfect opportunity. Several men exited the Pits, and she knew at least a dozen more still remained within its dark depths. She counted three men wielding bows and arrows—those were her biggest concern, as they were the most likely to strike her down.

  A nervous thrumming pulsed in Skaja’s throat as she crouched, ready to spring forward. At last, the sun moved into a position to give her the best angle. She leaped upward, her wings unfurling on either side of her. The wind caught beneath her and lifted her into the sky. Sunlight brushed her wings, her feathers shimmering in an array of color. Men turned their awed stares to the skies.

  In their momentary distraction, the valkyries began firing.

  Two men received an arrow to the throat before the others leaped into action. Valkyries riding on the backs of griffins joined her in the sky and together, they dove downward. Several of her sisters entered the ravine while she dove for a man wielding a bow. She reached for her daggers, snapped them open from their folded position, and stabbed him before swooping into the sky.