by Zora Marie
A Touch of Moonlight
A Court of Moonlight
Zora Marie
A Touch of Moonlight
Copyright © 2021 Zora Marie
Cover design by: Zora Marie
Edited by: Writing Evolution
All rights reserved. Published by Starcatcher Press. No part of this book may be reproduced, duplicated, copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express written consent and permission of the author.
This work is of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
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1
Arlen
The moss was soft under his paws as he traced the edges of the forest glade. He sniffed around the small opening between the trees, hoping beyond all hope to catch just a whiff of Lyra’s scent again.
This was a mistake, Arlen thought, sticking his snout into the crevasse of a tree, where he’d found Lyra’s book thirteen years ago. It was as he’d left it. There was no hint of her scent in human or fae form anymore. All he smelled was rot mixed with the flowery aroma of the glade.
Seventeen years is a long time for anyone to be in human form. Would she even smell the same after so long?
Shaking out his coat, he sat with his nose to the air. It doesn’t matter. I promised Rye I would find her when it was safe. I promised I would protect her. But where would she have gone? he wondered for what felt like the millionth time.
Sometimes Arlen could still feel his twin’s knuckles pressed against his chest as he’d held the front of his vest. Rye’s eyes had been frantic as he’d begged Arlen to find Lyra and their child. He had known he was going to die that week—had known it as he’d clung to Arlen through those bars.
Shaking the memory off before it could consume him wholly, Arlen focused back on the glade around him. This was the last place he had caught a whiff of her scent.
Even yesterday’s visit to the nearby village hadn’t shed any light on where Lyra was. He hadn’t caught a single hint of his brother’s mate anywhere. Only here. On that book. Thirteen years ago.
I shouldn’t have taken it home then. I should have found a way to leave a note to tell her that it was safe to come home. Maybe then, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
Leaves rustled nearby. His hair rose. A familiar sense of tension tainted the air. The sudden twang of a bowstring had him shifting into his fae form in a flash of light. He snatched the arrow from the air before it could hit him.
“How dare you,” he snarled.
He expected to hear someone scrambling away. Humans this side of the wall always ran—but everything was still. He stared at the tree the arrow had come from.
“Come out and face me.”
He figured it would be some kid. Instead, it was a wisp of a woman dressed in clothes barely better than rags. She held a bow that had seen better days in one hand and two arrows in the other. Her black hair was tied back in a rough braid that probably hadn’t been redone in days. But it was her eyes that drew his attention. They were a startling teal with a little smattering of gold, just like his brother’s.
He sniffed the air. She looks and acts human, but her scent… She’s definitely fae. Not just part fae either. Fae rarely moved into the human lands. Without their magic they couldn’t blend in. The last fae to have fled over the wall had been… His eyes widened. Could she be? Has it been that long? Seventeen years—it has only been a little over seventeen years, but this girl… She should have still been a toddler.
“Why are you so far from the village?” he asked, softening his tone. He couldn’t risk scaring her away, not if she could lead him to Lyra. Not when he was meant to protect her, too.
“I—” She frantically searched the fallen leaves, as though they would give her an acceptable answer.
Gods, she’s so scared. Arlen forced himself to relax, to become less of the imposing male he knew himself to be. “I’m not going to hurt you. I can help you get back home if you’d like.”
The bitter scent of her fear smacked him. It was like a knife to his heart. He had failed not only to protect his brother and Lyra, but their child as well.
“No.” Her voice cracked as she stumbled back, eyes wide. As she tripped over a root, Arlen leapt forward to catch her.
He eased her down against the trunk of the tree, his mind scrambling for what to do and say. Arlen couldn’t help but wish his mate was here as the girl’s breaths came in short, rapid gasps. Dorn would have known how to soothe her. Helping abused children had always been Dorn’s specialty, not his.
“I—” The girl struggled to take in enough air as she shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Hey, just breathe. I won’t make you go back.”
He sat back and studied her as he waited for her to calm down. The scent of fresh blood lingered around her, making his heart race. She’s hurt. He visually searched her for injuries. There, on her bow was a smear of blood. He eyed the cloth on her hands.
“May I have a look at your hands?”
She shook her head as she pulled back and deftly flipped the two arrows she held in her draw hand to face him. They were crude with stone heads, and he wondered if she’d made them herself.
“I promise I won’t hurt you,” he assured. He mentally calculated how many movements it would take to disarm her, without hurting her, if need be.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why bother? Why haven’t you killed me? I tried to kill you.” She met his gaze, and this time, she held it.
“I…” Now he was at a loss for words. Should I tell her the truth? Would she believe me? “I have no desire to hurt a young woman.”
“What are you even doing here? And how can you shift here? I thought fae couldn’t change forms on this side of the border.”
“We can’t, not without this.”
He fished a silver chain from under the collar of his tunic. Farin would skin him alive if he knew he’d taken it off here, but Arlen was desperate to gain her trust. He knew Lyra was her mother by her scent alone, and he needed to know where Lyra was. He held the silver crescent moon out to her. She cautiously took the medallion, the arrows still in one hand. Her trembling eased as she traced the pendant with her fingertip. He wondered if she could feel the magic pulsing off it, the magic infused into the metal by one of Farin’s ancestors.
“I’m here to look for someone,” he said.
“Who?” She glanced up from the pendant before handing it back to him.
Arlen pursed his lips, scrambling for something he could describe Lyra with. Her abilities made it impossible to know what she would’ve looked like when she’d passed the wall. He doubted there was a form Lyra couldn’t take. That book he’d found in the glade came to mind and he bit back a smile.
“A woman who had a leather bound book with the title worn off.” He squinted as he tried to recall the story. “It was about love, hope, and soulmates, if memory serves. She used to come here, to this glade... ”
Her gaze flicked the tree he’d found the book in.
“Do you happen to know her?” Arlen pressed, but the girl just frowned. He tilted his head, as if the movement could rattle some other detail loose. “She is a gardener. She and my mate planned out and planted this giant garden beside the house. Anytime she wasn’t working she had her nose in a book or was singing while she gardened.”
There had been recognition in the girl’s gaze as he spoke, but her gaze was nearly bla
nk as she said. “I don’t know anyone like that.”
“Are you sure? I think your mother is who I’m looking for.”
“My mother died shortly after giving birth to my brother.” There was a hint of bitterness in her tone.
“You have a brother?” he asked, his heart racing. Lyra never would have had a child with a human. It was too risky. Unless someone forced himself on her...or perhaps she’d had twins?
“Had.” The girl looked away. Her voice shook with a familiar hollowness as she added, “Father killed him because I wasn’t working fast enough.”
He knew that feeling of guilt and self-loathing, the heaviness and weight of it all. He felt it every time he thought of Rye and Lyra—of the promises he hadn’t kept. There were no words capable of washing that feeling away, but receiving little acts of kindness and compassion had helped him over the years. Maybe they’d help her, too.
He stared down at her hands. “Would you like some salve for your hands?”
She stared down at her bandages, her gaze growing distant, laden with pain and sorrow.
Arlen wanted nothing more than to scoop her up and hug her to him, like he had seen Dorn do for so many lost and broken fae and humans over the years. Lyra’s daughter should have grown up on the manor as fae, with decades of growing ahead of her and kin to protect her. Instead, she was stuck here, in human form, because he hadn’t found her mother in time. He never should have stopped looking, never should have returned without her.
The girl took a shaky breath and held out her left hand. That little gesture of trust broke Arlen from his spiraling thoughts. He carefully retrieved a small tin of salve from the pocket of his tunic, mindful not to move too fast for fear of scaring her.
She didn’t move an inch as he unwrapped the blood-soaked cloth tied around her hand. His anger flared at the sight of the ragged gashes marring her hand. All of her fingers were a little crooked, and she had crude stitches across two of her fingers. When the girl stiffened and her breaths stilled, he bit back his anger.
“I was mending nets for Father. I needed gloves.” She stared at her hands with the distant look of a warrior who had learned to detach from the world around them, having seen battle a few too many times.
“Can you move your fingertips?”
“Barely.” She flexed them to prove it. “They’ll be fine. I’ve mended them before.”
“How deep are these two?” He pointed to her fingers.
“Nearly to the bone.”
“You stitched them pretty well for being one-handed.”
She looked up at him with a hint of a smile. “Wait until you see the other hand. I’m really bad at sewing with my left.”
“Was that an attempt at a joke?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, this is going to burn.”
Scooping out a tiny amount of the thick cream-colored liquid from the tin, he tried not to wrinkle his nose at the acrid scent. She hissed as he rubbed it across the open cut on one of her fingers. In a matter of moments, the wound closed, confirming his thoughts that she was at least part fae. The stuff smelled horrid but did wonders for his kind—their kind.
“How do you make that stuff?” Her brows raised as she flexed her finger.
“You know, it only works that well on fae.”
“What? I’m not an elf. I’m human.”
“Just hear me out. I think…” He took a deep breath as he debated how to proceed. “I told you I was here looking for someone. I think she may have been your mother. You smell like her and you have her mate’s—my brother’s—eyes.”
“Mother has been dead for fourteen years and Father is—” She looked away and sighed.
Arlen sat back at the declaration. Fourteen years had Lyra dying the same year as Rye. A year before he’d finally cleared their names and came looking for her. If she’s dead… No. Cross that bridge once I confirm who this girl is—once I convince her.
“And how old are you? She went missing a little over seventeen years ago.”
“But fae age slower,” she said.
“Not when they stay in human form.”
She shook her head, edging away from him. Arlen’s mind raced for a way to convince her. Their similar scents would have told her had she been in fae form, but how could he prove it now? Names. It came to him in a sudden flash. Lyra would have given her two names.
“I can prove it, if you remember,” Arlen said, a trill of excitement coming over him. It has to work. She has to remember. Please let her have kept her fae memory in human form.
“How’s that?”
“Think back to times that you were alone with your mother. Did she ever call you by a name different from what everyone else called you?”
Her brows scrunched for a moment, but he couldn’t tell if she was struggling to remember or if she were debating how much to say. “She did, but she told me to never tell it to anyone.”
“That’s right. All fae have two names. One to swear oaths and be bound by, and another to use in day-to-day life. Do you remember your secret name?” When she nodded, he continued, “Children inherit their father’s surname. My brother’s name was Ryfon Varoris.”
Recognition lit her gaze as she stared at him.
“I don’t expect you to trust me enough to give me your real name, but what can I call you?”
“Rina.”
“Rina? That was the name my Mother went by—your grandmother.” He couldn’t help but smile a little even as tears stung his eyes. He had failed Lyra and Rye. Both of them were dead, but maybe some part of them could live on through his niece, through Rina. Niece. He could hardly believe the young woman sitting in front of him was his niece.
Rina stared at him—at his eyes, his hair, and each bit of him that was similar to her. Sitting there in front of her was the first time in years that he was glad Rye had been his twin. He hoped Rina recognized the features that spanned between fae and human forms, from father to daughter. Something else seemed to cross Rina’s thoughts as her expression darkened with sadness, but after a moment, she pushed it away. There was still a distant look to her gaze, but she smiled faintly.
“So what should I call you? Because uncle definitely isn’t going to do.”
“And why not?” He wasn’t really sure he was ready to be an uncle, especially after having spent so much time searching for Lyra. But he wasn’t about to leave her now that he had found her. “My friends call me Arlen, but my family calls me Ayduin Varoris when we’re in private.” Arlen tilted his head. “Well, it’s a mouthful, so not really.”
“Uh, yeah. I think I’ll just stick to Arlen.”
“Works for me. May I finish healing your hands?”
Rina put her hand back in his without hesitation. As he smeared salve onto her wounds, his mind turned over how Farin was going to take it when he brought Rina home. Arlen didn’t know if his lord would argue that she wasn’t Rye and Lyra’s daughter or if he would accept her into the Court of Moonlight. Would Farin accept her into their home? Farin was like a cousin—even a brother—to him, but he sometimes put the court first. Like when he’d put the court first rather than fight for Rye. Would he do the same now? Things were still so tenuous without a royal family to break up disputes between the courts. There was still too much tension between them and the others.
He shook himself from the questions for which he had no answer. He would convince Farin to accept her, to let him take her in. He had to. He had to protect her. She was kin, even if she looked human. It was then that he realized Rina wouldn’t know how to shift to her fae form, but he pushed that thought away too. He would teach her if she came.
“Would you like to come with me?”
“Ye—” She glanced away. “What is it like there?”
“Well, it varies from court to court. They all have unique aspects to them. Your mother was from the Starlight Court, but when she fell in love with Ryfon, she moved to the Court of Moonlight, my court. Some courts are more accepting
of things than others. I like to think ours is one of the more accepting courts.” Arlen paused, having finished healing her hands. “Would you like me to remove the stitches or would you like to do it?”
“Uh. You can. My knife isn’t very good.”
Arlen nodded. He had only asked because he didn’t want to startle her by whipping out a knife to cut them. She was opening up and he wanted that. He had failed to find and protect Lyra, but he could do better from now on. He had to, for Rye.
“So I don’t really know anything about fae. Mother told me stories about the Lord of Moonlight and his two seconds, but I was so young…” Rina shrugged.
Arlen fought a smile as he realized the stories Lyra had told her were about him and Rye; there were no books written of a lord having two seconds. “Well, as long as you’re open-minded and forget all the human gossip about us killing everyone, you’ll do fine. We rarely kill. Banishment works just fine.”
“Then what happened to my mother and… father?”
Arlen sighed. “I’ll tell you, but not today. If you don’t mind.”
“Why not today?”
He tried to ignore the concern in her gaze as he sighed again. He needed to tell her at least some of it if she was going to come with him. “Because I failed your father. I didn’t clear his name until it was too late, and I didn’t keep my vow to find your mother. These cuts on your hands, your broken fingers. They’re proof of that failure.”
“It’s not your fault she chose one of the worst examples of the human race to raise her children with.”
“She probably chose him to help hide you.”
“Can you take any form?”
“No. Your mother could shift between several forms, but it’s a rare gift. Some fae can’t even shift at all.”
“Theoretically, I should be able to shift into a fae. Right?”
“There is nothing theoretical about it. You just don’t know how, and you won’t be able to on this side of the border.”