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Books. Change. Lives.

Copyright

Copyright © 2022 by Piper CJ

Cover and internal design © 2022 by Sourcebooks

Cover and internal art by Kyria and Nigel Smith

Internal images © dariachekman/Adobe Stock

Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks. Bloom Books is a trademark of Sourcebooks.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

Published by Bloom Books, an imprint of Sourcebooks

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

(630) 961-3900

sourcebooks.com

Originally self-published in 2022 by Piper CJ.

Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file with the Library of Congress.

Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Pronunciation Guide

Prologue

Part One

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Part Two

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Part Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Part Four

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Epilogue

Excerpt from The Sun and Its Shade

The Night and Its Moon Playlist

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Back Cover

Can my dedication read:

“To buttery chardonnay, manic episodes,

and every child who wished they were a fairy”?

No, you can’t thank alcohol, mental illness,

and encourage escapism in your dedication.

Well fine, then. I don’t want one.

Pronunciation Guide

Characters

Amaris: ah-MAR-iss

Achard: A-kard

Ceres: SERE-iss

Gadriel: GA-dree-ell

Malik: MAL-ik

Moirai: moy-RAI

Samael: sam-eye-ELL

Odrin: OH-drin

Zaccai: za-KAI

Places

Aubade: obeyed

Farleigh: far-LAY

Gyrradin: GEER-a-din

Gwydir: gwih-DEER

Henares: hen-AIR-ess

Raascot: RA-scott

Yelagin: YELL-a-ghin

Uaimh Reev: OOM reev

Monsters

Ag’drurath: AG-drath

Ag’imni: ag-IM-nee

Beseul: beh-ZOOL

Sustron: SUS-trun

Vageth: VA-geth

Prologue

It’s seldom that a sound defines the course of history. A cannon might blast through a ship, its splintering contact a declaration of the early sounds of war. A bell could ring through a city to alert its citizens to invading forces, or a king might wail into the quiet of the night at the passing of his wife as his grief begins to slowly steer his kingdom. But this night’s course-altering sound was sharp knocks against wood as they reverberated off the stones just past midnight.

People weren’t supposed to visit the orphanage at such an hour. Nox was only three, but she knew a few things for sure. The first: Running in the halls made the matrons terribly angry. The second: Swimming in the pond was a very bad idea. The third: There was never, ever a reason to leave your bed after dark.

Until there was.

Rain tapped on the windowpanes, broken only by intermittent rumbles of thunder. Nox sat up in the warm folds of her sheets, listening intently as the house matrons stirred from their beds. The rhythmic pounding must have woken them too. She huddled against the high, whistling noises of wind on the windows, conjuring visions of ghosts and dark fae with sharp teeth and long talons. She blinked at the sleeping children who lined the cots around her. The storm’s haunting melody and the staccato percussion of knocking didn’t seem to bother them.

A new sound joined the storm. Not just the waking sounds of the matrons, but the grumbling of angry words. Nox slipped from her bed and followed the noise. The muted sounds of sleeping children disappeared behind her as the banging continued. Perhaps she wouldn’t be the only one awoken.

Nox wrapped her fingers around the edge of the door and peered into the hall.

Though she hadn’t made a sound, the unfortunate orange of a candle hurt her eyes. She lifted her forearm to shield the pain as the shadow gave way to light. The Gray Matron stilled at the top of the stairs. The matron peered down at her. If she had been anyone else, Nox knew the woman would have yelled. Instead, the matron frowned and her voice softened ever so slightly. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, Nox. It’s time to sleep.”

The Gray Matron walked away without waiting to see whether Nox obeyed.

No, she would not be going back to bed. She watched with wide eyes as the woman disappeared down the hall with only the candle’s flicker to betray her place in the dark. Something was at the door, and if the matron wanted to know, then she wanted to know too.

Nox followed. Curiosity pulled her forward like a rope, the desire to know burning hotter than the chill of the night. Carpet muted her footsteps as she padded along the corridor, allowing her to move soundlessly down the hall. If it hadn’t been for the distracting crack of thunder and ongoing banging at the door, the matron might have spotted her as she descended the stairs. Instead, Nox remained several feet behind the Gray Matron and the buttery glow of her candlelight, unnoticed.

Nox knew she was clever for her age, as the matrons had repeatedly told her as much. On more than one occasion they’d complimented her curiosity, her studiousness, and remarked on how peculiar it was to see such an old soul in someone so little. She spent hours watching the world unfurl around her, learning its games, rules, and players. Her small stature and quiet nature helped her remain undetected as she observed.

Her cleverness for shadows reassured her she wouldn’t be spotted if she crouched behind a table in the foyer. The curtain of her hair fell around her, concealing her in the shadowy puddle of her hiding place. She curled her hands around her toes to warm them as she sat in darkened silence, watching, inhaling the scent of rain and wet earth and the cold, sharp smell of late seasons.

A visitor in the middle of the night was a new player. This was a game she’d never seen before.

The matron reached the large wooden front door and lifted the iron cover to the glass spyhole carved into its middle. She peered at whoever pounded on the door from their place on the landing. The matron appeared to consider her options briefly before lifting the wooden slot barricading the manor from trespassers. The knocking stopped the moment she began to pull the door open. Swirling raindrops blew over the threshold with windswept fury as if the storm itself spat in her face. A cloaked, rain-drenched man with wild eyes leered down at the woman in her wool shawl and nightclothes. He did not step into the manor, but the sight of him sent a shiver through Nox all the same.

“Agnes, I have something you’ll want to see.”

The Gray Matron started to shake her head with a disgruntled sound. She moved to push the door shut once more, ridding herself of the bother of the rain and the unwanted presence of the stranger.

The man flattened his palm against the door, refusing to let it close.

He pushed past her as he crossed the threshold. The Gray Matron let out an irritated protest, but the man didn’t seem to care. He stopped on the landing and presented a large, covered bundle that he’d tucked carefully under his arm. He lifted the treasure into the space between the two of them. Wanting to know what the man held, Nox leaned forward as far as she could. She frowned, realizing she wouldn’t be able to see his treasure without giving herself away.

Water droplets dripped from the blankets that shielded the bundle onto the rug below. The matron glared, whispering something in sharp, angry tones. Nox strained her ears but couldn’t discern one verbal hiss from the other. The pounding rain and angry howls of wind drowned out whatever the two were saying. She wished they’d shut the door. The storm was wetting the carpet and drenching the matron’s nightclothes, hair, and face. A few stray droplets carried in on the wind and pressed chilly kisses into Nox’s face, hands, and knees.

The Gray Matron tried again to usher the man out of the hall, but he disregarded her efforts entirely.

The man began to uncover the bundle. Matron Agnes shook her head again, volume growing with her anger.

“I don’t do that anymore,” she said.

The man’s eyes seemed to sparkle with a smile, though his mouth did not curve as it should. Nox’s stomach twisted uncomfortably at the man’s unsavory delight. He grinned. “You mean you didn’t do this anymore. That was before you saw what I’ve brought you.” He peeled off the sopping wet top layer of blankets, continuing to unwrap what appeared to be a wicker basket. He lifted the bundle, urging the matron to peer inside.

Matron Agnes lifted her candle close to the bundle and let out a small gasp as its glow illuminated whatever it contained. “Wait,” she breathed.

Even from her puddle of shadow, Nox could feel the way the energy shifted.

The Gray Matron hurried to the door and closed it the rest of the way, shutting out the world beyond and the storms that raged. She ushered the man a few more steps inside the manor onto dry carpet. The new silence had a smothering effect. With the door latched once again, the wind, rain, and thunder were muted with unnatural intensity. The silence was so pressing that Nox wondered if they could hear her little heart as it thundered with curious anticipation.

She clutched herself more tightly, not only to protect herself from the cold but to hold herself back from the temptation to see what had caused the Gray Matron to gasp.

The Gray Matron walked away from the man to light the hall’s fixtures. She held her candle to the lanterns on either side of the door, chasing the eerie gloom from the room as their oil-soaked rags caught fire. While the lanterns filled the foyer with light, Nox remained concealed. The woman returned to the basket, her face betraying a complex array of emotions. Wary curiosity bubbled to the forefront as she stared down at whatever had been smuggled into the manor.

The Gray Matron’s fingers stayed against her mouth, stifling her sharp inhalation. She looked up at the man’s degenerate grin. Nox’s eyes flitted between them before fixating on the strange way the man’s eyes and mouth failed to match as he smiled. The pair kept their voices low as they spoke, tones hushed with secrecy.

Nox scrunched her face in whatever unnamed frustration burbled within her. She hated that she couldn’t hear. She wanted them to share what they’d found. She needed the tether that wrapped itself fully within her chest and pulled her toward the basket to relax its taut hold.

“Well, that does change things.” The matron’s words seemed painted with disbelief.

“What did I tell you?” the stranger asked.

She didn’t look away from the bundle.

The man pushed on. “It’s just past its first birthday. It won’t be needing a wet nurse. Anything in the kitchen can be mushed up right fine. It’s already made it through the hardest time. I’ve been traveling with it for nearly two weeks and had no trouble keeping it alive.”

“Two weeks?” The matron’s brows collected in the middle as calculations flitted behind her eyes. “Where did you find it? Why did you bring it here?”

“You know me,” he said with too much familiarity. “I owed you one. You deserved first bid at the treasure.”

Nox heard their words but couldn’t fully understand their meaning.

The matron’s face creased as her mind moved. She seemed to experience conflicting emotions that gathered in the twist of her mouth, the wrinkle of her forehead, and the parallel lines between her brows. She stared for a while longer before asking, “How much do you want for it?”

“Fifty crowns.”

She made a sound between a cough and a laugh that shocked Nox from her pose in the stillness of the quiet manor. She jolted upright in a startle, but the shadows clung to her, keeping her safe from detection. The matron’s bark mixed with the sounds of the storm outside. The shadows from the lanterns made her face look like an animal as she prolonged her disbelieving gape.

“Fifty crowns! There isn’t nothing in the good goddess’s lighted earth worth fifty!” The matron looked over her shoulder, her gaze roving up the stairs as if she could see through the stones and into the dormitories where the children rested on their cots. Nox curled more tightly into herself as the matron spoke. “I haven’t paid a penny over five silvers for half the bastards in here. I have one girl worth ten crowns on a good day, and she’s the rarest of them all. Ain’t no one spending fifty crowns on your stolen babe.”

The man’s gaze no longer twinkled. His mouth tugged upward, revealing his teeth, cold smile glinting in the candlelight. He said nothing but remained holding the basket, unmoving.

The Gray Matron balked. “I’ll give you fifteen.”

He remained impassively rooted to the carpet.

“Twenty, and that’s the highest I’ll go.”

Nox knew little of money, except that it was good to have some and that people always wanted more. She thought of the coppers, steel, and golds of the heavy coins she’d seen and what it might be like to have twenty metal circles in her tiny hands. Instead, she continued to clutch her toes against the cold. She wiggled them within her hands, knowing she had ten toes and ten fingers. That was twenty.

The Gray Matron’s offer had already betrayed her. She wanted whatever the stranger possessed.

The man tilted his head ever so slightly, raising a brow. Rain dripped off his soaked cloak. Small puddles formed on the carpet around his wet boots. “Farleigh isn’t the only mill on this side of the mountains, Agnes. It’s a rainy night, and I don’t particularly want to play games. I like you, and we’ve done business in the past, so I wanted to give you the first crack at the treasure. But you and I both know that no one’s getting this pretty thing for a cent less than fifty crowns.”

The matron shuffled her weight from one foot to the other for a moment. “Is it a boy?”

“It’s a girl.”

She chewed her lip, looking conflicted. She lowered her voice when she spoke again.

“Your stolen goods were fine when we were younger.” She seemed to be arguing against herself. “We had a good thing back then. You’d take from the village. I told myself you were doing a favor to the parents, I did. You were taking away a mouth to feed. I’ve always preferred that parents come to me on their own, of course… I’m not that person anymore.”

Nox was still listening intently as the matron spoke. Her eyes had adapted to the dark, but she strained them as she squinted up at the matron, hoping it might help her understand what was happening.

“I didn’t feel guilty, you know? I always felt I was doing a good thing—we did a good thing. Give a poor mother a silver to feed the rest of the young ones at home. Perhaps even a few pennies to a peasant or a town whore so she could get boots for the winter or a warm blanket in exchange for the struggles of motherhood. It was a good thing, it was. Times were different then. But after…” She shook herself and met the man’s eyes. “It’s not like that. People are going to come searching for this one. Look at her.”

His smile fell a bit as he spoke with seriousness. The hush of his voice sent a chill through the hall. “No one is going to come looking for her.”

The matron’s brows puckered. She let the silence between them stretch. The window and rain beyond the closed door had a soothing, stifling effect on the room. Torches flickered, rain droplets continued to drip onto the floor from soaked clothes, thunder rumbled in the distance, and yet the matron stared.

“Will she be any trouble? With her lineage, I mean?”

“You’re asking me if she’s one of them?”

The matron said nothing.

He didn’t seem perturbed by the question. “Raise her however you want, and don’t let her give you trouble. When the time comes, sell her for a hundred.”

She reached a hand in close to touch whatever was within the bundle. Her fingers stroked a slow line along the unseen package. Nox’s fingers twitched from where she hid, aching to feel whatever it was for herself. “One hundred?”

The man’s wordless stare seemed to be the only negotiation tactic he required.

“I said I was done,” she repeated. Despite her words, it was clear she had already decided. Her fingers lingered on whatever or whoever was inside the basket. Her words came out nearly as a purr: “Turn fifty crowns into one hundred…or one thousand.” She finally lifted her eyes to the man, speaking with certainty. “Never again. After this, you don’t come back.”

He dipped his chin once in solemn acknowledgment.

The Gray Matron sent him a final, telling look before giving him a hushed command and pattering away from the large landing room. She headed up the stone stairs and down the corridor lined with doors to the children’s rooms. A moment stretched when the man watched after her, shifting his weight on the threshold.

The tether tugged Nox once more, and she obeyed its call.

From her hiding space several paces away, she straightened her legs and stepped out from where she’d been crouching. The man noticed her immediately. He smiled, his face a bit soft, a bit sad. For the first time that night, Nox thought his expression held no wickedness. Now that the matron was absent, he was able to drop whatever hardness he’d needed for negotiations. Nox saw how droplets of water caught in his beard and reflected in the torchlight, giving him something of a shimmer. The sparkle seemed reassuring somehow.

The man knelt on one knee and placed the wicker basket on the floor between them.

“Do you want to see?” he asked. His voice lowered with a paternal gentleness, though he framed his question like a conspiratorial temptation.

She did indeed. Nox had no desire to draw closer to a strange man, but the basket called to her. She took a few careful steps across the cold stones of the corridor onto the carpet of the threshold. Her bare feet paused on the fibers of the scratchy rug. Her eyes felt too large as she gazed at the man and his treasure. A renewed rush of rain and earth greeted her with every step she took.

He looked at her expectantly. She remained several cautious arms’ lengths away from him. He chuckled quietly, as though he knew she wasn’t permitted to be awake past bed and had no interest in getting her in trouble.

He motioned her toward the basket. Nox took the opening. She moved forward on the tips of her toes, hands extended. She folded her fingers around the wicker edge of the basket and looked. She stared down at the baby inside, her glossy hair creating a shadowed curtain around them while she peered. A rush of something other than rain—something more like cold and pine—drifted up from the swaddled little one. Nox peered at the infant wrapped in furs, sleeping soundly despite the turmoil raging outside.

“It’s a baby,” she whispered. She did not look back up to the man. For all she cared, he had ceased existing. She was transfixed.

Nox had seen babies before. The matrons let all the children play together, often with the older ones looking after the younger ones. Infants never lasted long in the manor, sometimes for good reasons, sometimes for bad. The orphans who survived their first year of life were taken off the matrons’ hands more quickly than the rest of the children. Babies came and went, creating fairy tales amongst the children built on hopes of escape and wishful thinking.

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