A Touch of Moonlight (A Court of Moonlight Book 1) Read online

  “Sure.” Rina took the last target Rengard had. She knew they weren’t done talking. Dorn had blocked her, but she could feel Fen’s emotions bounce between worry and the calm he was trying to portray. It was obvious they were talking about her and likely seizures.

  “Rina?” The concern in Fen’s tone and emotions shook her from her thoughts as he came up beside her. “You all right?”

  “I’m fine, just thinking. You ready?”

  Fen shrugged. “We’ll see. Arlen and I haven’t had a competition in a while.”

  “Stop trying to mark the targets and get to the starting line,” Rengard said. “You have your knives?”

  “Of course, I’m not one of your pups.” Fen shot the retort over his shoulder and his eyes sparkled with amusement as he met her gaze again.

  “No, you’re a kitten.” Rengard gave Fen a little smirk and turned on his heels. “You might want to move out of the way, Rina. Fen’s been known to miss a time or two.”

  Fen rolled his eyes as they headed for where Dorn and Arlen stood at the field’s edge. “You haven’t seen me throw knives in nearly two decades, Rengard.”

  “Then prove me wrong.” Rengard turned to stand beside Dorn. “There are twenty targets within the first five yards of the tree line. Ready, set, go!”

  Rina stopped beside Rengard. She honestly wasn’t sure who she wanted to win, or who she expected to win for that matter. Even Fen wasn’t sure enough to be cocky.

  Arlen and Fen danced between the trees and passed one another with a practiced ease that was unlike anything she’d ever seen. They both thumbed knives free of hiding spots on bracers and belts, knives that she hadn’t noticed either of them carried. It was almost as though they’d been woven into the clothes themselves.

  Then they were done, both of them bowing at them from the tree line. Rengard waved Rina to walk with them as he and Dorn carefully inspected where the knives were on each target. The knives were right next to each other on nearly every single one of them, Fen’s with black handles and Arlen’s with grey handles. Rina wasn’t really sure which of them had won, but Dorn’s shield had dropped from around him and there was a trickle of amusement in his emotions.

  “You’ve lost your touch, Arlen,” Rengard said as they came back into the field. “Fen wins, by a hair.”

  Rina expected to see Fen celebrate, but instead he stared questioningly at Arlen.

  “No, I didn’t let you win. Good job, Fen.” Arlen patted Fen on the shoulder. “I’m glad we didn’t make a bet this time.”

  Fen laughed and Rina couldn’t help but smile at his amusement, at how his happiness fed her own. “Yeah. No, I learned my lesson last time. No more bets for me.”

  “Oh, come now, sharpening and cleaning my knife collection isn’t that bad.”

  “Says the blade perfectionist with hundreds of knives.”

  “Hundreds?” Rina wanted to see this collection. Good knives had always been a distant want that she knew she’d never have, but she could now. She could have the knives and bows she’d yearned for, even if she no longer had a reason to use them.

  “And he says I have a problem,” Dorn said.

  “At least my collection is useful, pillows are just pretty and take up a lot more space,” Arlen teased.

  “Careful Arlen, you’re digging yourself a hole again.” Rengard chuckled, then turned toward the house. “Awe, Wafren, how are you my dear?”

  Rina tensed at the greeting of the healer. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Wafren, but that her being there now meant Dorn sent for the healer behind her back. She hated secrets and lies, and half-truths, even though she’d apparently lived a life of lies.

  “Hello, Rengard. I’m fine, and it’s good to see you are doing well too. Dorn, Arlen, may we have a word?”

  “We’ll bring your knives in to you after we’ve put up the targets,” Fen offered.

  “Thank you,” Arlen called as he went with Dorn and Wafren toward the house.

  43

  Rina

  “Come on.” Fen gestured toward the targets.

  The knives stuck clear through the other side on most of the targets. She was amazed when she pulled the first one out and the hole in the target filled back up. Their knives were lighter and thinner than hers and they didn’t have a spot of rust or wear on them. Jealousy ran through her. She still hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask for a bow, or any weapon. She still had her knife, but it was trash compared to these.

  Beside her, Fen slid each of his knives back into their hiding spots. Their hilts blended in seamlessly with his clothes until he seemed to only be armed with the dagger at his hip once more.

  “How many knives do you usually carry?”

  “Just twenty, most days. When we go to the palace or to events, I also carry a second dagger and a sword.”

  “Really?” She squinted at him. What types of events require swords? She recalled stories her mother had told her about gatherings, ceremonies, and dances. Some had included fights, but most seemed to have been about showing off one’s status and wealth.

  “They’re more for show than anything, as you can probably guess after meeting Trazar.”

  “They do seem kind of pointless.”

  “Magic only gets you so far,” Rengard said and swapped Fen a handful of knives for their stack of targets. “It wears you out faster than fighting with regular weapons.”

  “Only when you start to deplete your reserves. Of course, training with weapons is just as important as training with magic.”

  “What exactly can you all do?”

  Fen grinned and his eyes gleamed in the sunlight. “I suppose I could show you something. Promise not to freak out?”

  “Yeah…” Even with feeling his playful excitement, she was nervous about what exactly he was going to do. Her mother had told her stories about fae who could summon winds and waves, control minds, and so many other things. She had no idea how much of it was real. The flames and shifting were real, so perhaps everything else was too. She suppressed the urge to shudder at the thought.

  Before her very eyes, shadows curled around Fen like wisps of fog as black as night. They twined around his fingers and pooled out from his feet. As soon as he stepped back into them, he disappeared. The shadows faded until there was nothing there. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of him gone.

  “Show off,” Rengard muttered.

  A tendril of Fen’s amusement tickled her senses from somewhere nearby and she turned, searching for him. “I take it not everyone can do that?”

  “No. Only he and a few other fae in our court can shadow walk, and only he and Farin can do it in direct sunlight as far as I know. The rest of us can only make generic darkness, shields, and weapons from light and darkness.”

  Fen reappeared in the shadows of a nearby tree, with his hand hidden behind his back. His approach was slow, and a hint of red colored his cheeks. “Sorry I took so long. I was getting something.”

  “Something?” She quirked a brow and his blush deepend, the color going all the way to the tips of his ears.

  He was half an arm’s reach from her when he revealed a couple of tiny white and purple wildflowers from behind his back. “I thought you might like them.” He reached up and tucked them in her hair.

  Rengard snorted. “Love kittens indeed.”

  She shot Rengard a glare over her shoulder, then turned back to Fen. “Thank you.” She didn’t know what to do with how close he stood. Close enough that she could see the silver that streaked through the pale blue of his eyes. The urge to fidget clawed at her, so she took the knives from Fen and separated Arlen’s out from his before she stepped away. He watched her the entire time and the weight of the knives were a welcome presence in her hands, something to weigh and steady her.

  “You’re welcome. And don’t you have a flower patch to hide in, Rengard?”

  “Meow. Hiss much?” Rengard teased and meandered away.

  Fen put the last of his knives up as they
strolled toward the house.

  Rina stopped in the doorway to the sitting room, gaze running over everyone. They were a little tense, but their gazes were still open.

  “Fen, would you put the knives away for Arlen, please?” Dorn nodded toward his bedroom.

  “All right.” Fen glanced at her and his worry shone in his eyes before he headed for the other room.

  She watched him go before she met Wafren’s gaze. Concern lingered in all of their emotions and she sighed as she sank into the chair across from them. She wanted to tell them she was fine, but she knew it wasn’t true. She hadn’t let Tomilin get by with those lies and they wouldn’t let her, either.

  “May I take a look at your head?” Wafren asked.

  “Yeah.” Rina hated this. She just wanted to be done with all of it and start over, without all the sadness and fear from the past.

  Wafren’s hands pressed against Rina’s head, just above her ears. Ears that were pointed now. “Dorn tells me your brother had seizures. I know they may be uncomfortable to think about, but can you describe them to me?”

  “Why does that matter? He’s dead.” Grief surged up, threatened to drown her, and she shoved it down. She didn’t want to talk about it, but continued so she could get it over with. “He used to convulse. Sometimes it would only last a few seconds and others it would last minutes. They always seemed random, but when I found out what…” She trailed off, unable to talk about it anymore. Tomilin hadn’t even wanted her to know what Jake sometimes did to him, let alone someone else.

  “The seizures correlated with the sexual abuse?” Dorn spoke slowly, cautious of what he might invoke.

  She tried not to let his words affect her, let the topic affect her, but they did. Her stomach turned at the thought of what Jake had done to her sweet and kind little brother. Every fiber of her being ached for everything Tomilin had endured and the things he would never get to experience, all because he’d wanted to protect her.

  They were still watching her, waiting and it took her a moment to recall exactly what the question had been. “I think so. Sometimes I would wake up to him having a seizure in the middle of the night, usually on days that I knew something had happened. I could have just been drawing connections where there weren’t though. Things were rough there for a long time.”

  Wafren glanced over her shoulder at Dorn in silent confirmation of something. “Has what happened in the garden happened to you before?” Wafren retook her seat.

  “The memories?” Rina hoped that was all she wanted to know.

  “Not just the memories, how they occurred. Can you describe what happened? What you saw?”

  Rina rubbed her hands down her pants, as though the action could wipe away the day—a lifetime. “No. I’m done talking about this. I was fine until Fen mentioned seizures.”

  “Rina,” Dorn’s tone was soft—too soft, “you’re not fine and you know it. We can’t help if you don’t talk to us.”

  “I don’t need help. I need you to leave me alone.” Rina stood to make a dash for the door, to give herself space, but her body froze. Her heart beat hard against her ribs, her breaths hollowing out until she wasn’t breathing at all. This time there was no vision, just the encroaching blackness that Tomilin sometimes described in those rare moments he would talk about it.

  “Rina?” It was Fen this time.

  She wanted to reach out to him, to have him squeeze her hand, but she couldn’t move. The world spun and suddenly she was in Fen’s arms, looking up at him.

  Pain shot down her spine as spasming muscles forced her back to arch. She wanted to scream, to beg them to make it stop, but her mouth was sealed shut. Her leg slammed against the table as she shook, her body not her own.

  “Lie her on her side,” Wafren said and furniture skidded across the floor without anyone touching it. “Just breathe, Rina. You’ll be all right.”

  Rina wanted to argue that she wouldn’t, that she wasn’t all right. She hated this, the feeling of being trapped. Being inside was bad enough, but this was—she didn’t have words for this. Her body was hers but not hers, a prison worse than that house she’d called home. Her eyes were open, but she could barely see. Only little specks of light reached her senses. The carpet was soft, yet rough against her skin as she thrashed. There were hands on her head and neck, and something warm against her back.

  The convulsions eased and she finally sucked in a breath. She closed her eyes to blissful darkness as her eyes stung. She understood how Tomilin felt now, why he hated talking about the seizures. Why he preferred to be alone when they happened. She didn’t like this, having them all around her. The tension in her body eased and she sat up.

  “Easy,” Dorn soothed and she relaxed into his and Fen’s touch.

  Leaning into Fen’s side, she flexed her fingers, amazed that even they were tender. Movement caught her attention and she winced as she turned her head to find Farin in the hall doorway. He was silent as he nodded to Wafren.

  “So?” Dorn pressed and Rina turned back to watch the healer tilt her head this way and that.

  “She had some scar tissue that we missed when dealing with the swelling, but I’m not certain why seizures are just now starting. Her brain didn’t move as it should have in response to the scar tissue, inclining me to rule them out as the sole cause.”

  “What does that mean? You can’t help her?” Fen asked, pain flaring in the tether between them.

  “Not without knowing the exact cause and she’ll probably suffer them until the cause is found and dealt with.”

  “Do I need to postpone the meeting with Lord Engar and Lord Airin?” Farin asked.

  “Yes,” Dorn said.

  “Is that your logic or your emotions talking?”

  “Both. She’ll have another seizure if we meet with them at this point.”

  “We don’t know that for certain, but it does seem likely.” Arlen cut in, holding Dorn a little tighter

  “And how likely are they to hurt Rina?” Farin asked.

  “Outside of the psychological trauma of it, at worst the convulsions can cause stress fractures. So long as you don’t let her hit her head on anything or bite her own tongue, she should be fine,” Wafren said.

  Farin nodded. “If Rina is all right with going forward with the meeting, then we should.”

  “What?” Dorn’s head snapped up, his breaths short and edged with inner pain.

  “I don’t like it either, but without the meeting, the seizures won’t matter because we will all end up in a war.”

  “We’ll end up in a war either way,” Dorn snapped.

  “Perhaps, but at least this way we might all live long enough for us to help her through this.”

  “Unless they see it as a reason to attack while she’s weak,” Arlen said.

  “I should get back to my other patients. Send for me if you need anything else,” Wafren said.

  “Thank you, Wafren,” Arlen said.

  “Yes, I’ll still meet with them. There’s no point in putting everyone in more danger because of them. I don’t want to look back and think that I could have done something to help.”

  “Rina—”

  “No, Dorn. I need to do this.”

  He glared at her and she glared right back. When his mouth opened and she could feel the rejection coming in his emotions, she rocked to her feet. She didn’t have the energy to argue and she needed out of this house, needed space to work through the torrent of emotions roaring within her. “I need to go for a walk.”

  44

  Fen

  “Rina?” Fen whispered as she left. He could feel her pain, the deep hurt that settled within her. She didn’t want any of them, not as she sulked away from them all. Still, he shifted and trailed after her. Dorn and Arlen could sit and speculate all they wanted, but he’d find a way to be there for her one way or another.

  He followed her through the woods for a long while but hung back to give her space. She stopped at a glade far out in the woods,
one he had found Lyra sitting in from time to time. He made himself sit and wait.

  Something in her hands gleamed, causing his breath to catch. A knife. He fought the urge to run and rip it away from her. With the desperation and regret in her emotions. His gut told him not to lash out, that he needed to be calm to reach her.

  Even so, his heart was in his throat as he shifted back to his fae form and carefully went to crouch beside her. He had to get close enough to take it from her, to stop her. Had to be there.

  She spun the knife between her fingers. Each time the flat of the blade turned up, Fen could see the reflection of the sky through the tree-tops. Looking back up at his mate’s sorrowful face, he watched her stare at the blade. Even though he wasn’t able to know what she was thinking about, one thing was certain—she wasn’t noticing the stunning reflection in the metal. Something else clouded her vision.

  “Tomilin went through those seizures how often?” She turned the blade one more time, then paused. “Tomilin tried to take his life with this knife once,” she whispered. A drop of blood dripped from her index finger, where the tip of the blade had dug into it. “Now I understand why.”

  He wanted to take it from her right then, but he made himself wait. Made himself give her time to choose not to use it. Still, his body tensed, preparing for a struggle. His mind ran through the movements he’d need to take it from her. He’d throw it across the glade, then hold her until the desperation of grief and fear passed.

  “I was angry at him for wanting to leave me—angry at myself for not being able to protect him. Every time I tried, I just made things worse. I cried myself to sleep that night as I held him, and the next morning, he promised he would never leave me. Not like that.” Tears streamed down her face. “Now this is all I have to remember him by, the knife we’d both planned to take our own lives with.”

  Her fingers flipped around to grab the hilt so fast he didn’t have time to react before the blade went flying. She’d chucked it across the glade, sinking it into the trunk of a tree.