Break the Day (Nightstar Book 1)

Fennrin didn’t know what was wrong for a moment, but it was a moment too long. Before he could get over his confusion at Ainreth freezing in the doorway and then his shock at suddenly doing so, the flash of light Ainreth had shot at whoever was inside flying back at the lightweaver, a strange trill in the air as it did.

As Ainreth cried out, grabbing the side of his face where the beam of scorching light had hit him, Fennrin longed to check on him, to make sure he was okay, but he knew that no matter what his heart wanted, the logical thing to do was stop whoever had managed to throw the light back at him.

Running into the room just enough to stand in the dimness inside, he turned into a shadow, bolting to the woman standing there over two corpses, and sliding into her shadow, immobilizing her.

The woman let out a half-confused, half-angry sound, trying to fight against Fennrin’s hold on her, but nothing she did was useful.

“A shadowforger can do this?” she asked in a thick Orinovan accent, her voice far too calm for what was happening. Ainreth, Petre, and Enlin were now standing around her, their swords pointed at her. Fennrin was relieved to see that the new burn on Ainreth’s cheek, while big—a red, angry starburst shape covering most of his right cheekbone, didn’t look as serious as Fenn had worried it would be. It could have hit his eye.

“Great trick you have there,” Ainreth joked, though his voice was pained, no matter how much he tried to hide it under his bravado. Fenn wanted to rush to him and fuss over his burn, but he was stuck here, keeping the woman restrained. “Did you have to hit me in the face?”

“Don’t worry, comrade, I’m sure your future husband won’t mind. Your face is still the prettiest in all the land.”

Fennrin would have frozen in shock if he could. Why would she say that unless she had been at the feast as well? And it suddenly came rushing back to him. He’d seen a flash of her last night, but he hadn’t given it any thought. If he had known that this person, the soundsmith that had attacked Ain in the first place, was at the feast he would have gone to tell everyone immediately. But he hadn’t known what she looked like.

“You were there, weren’t you?” Ainreth said, clearly catching on as well. “These are the assassins that escaped. And you killed them. Why?”

The woman let out a dismissive snort. “Fanatics. They wanted to try to kill you and your boy toy. And that would be an awful waste.”

Fennrin wanted to tell her off for calling him that, but he couldn’t say a word like this. It was probably just her trying to antagonize him, anyway. Maybe to provoke him to lose control over her shadow so she could run. As if Fennrin would ever let that happen.

“Uh-huh. Because you didn’t try to do that exact thing to me a few months ago,” Ainreth said, rolling his eyes as he turned to Petre. “You have any hand clamps on you?”

Petre reached into their satchel, producing the very thing Ain had asked for, which Fennrin hadn’t expected, as well as some rope. Apparently, the sproutkeeper always came prepared, though Fennrin had to wonder just how many things they had with them on the regular. That satchel didn’t look that big.

And yes, hand clamps for az-ari were simply a collection of metal plates designed to stop anyone wearing them from moving their fingers, but that still took up some space.

“I wasn’t going to kill you,” the woman argued as Ainreth took the hand clamps from Petre, her tone offended, as if the thought was insulting to her. From what Ainreth had told him about it, Fennrin had gotten the opposite impression, though.

“Sure, just like you didn’t kill these assassins,” Ain snarked, walking to her. “Fenn, could you move her hands a little?”

Fennrin did as he was told, moving the shadow of the woman’s hands so that her fingers were straight so that Ainreth had an easier time pulling the clamps on them.

The woman huffed as Ainreth proceeded to restrain both of her hands. “You should be thanking me for that. Lys-Akkaria should be more careful in how it monitors the border.”

That Fennrin could agree with. It wasn’t a good sign that not one, but three assassins plus this soundsmith had been to the feast without anyone noticing. Surely that couldn’t be how it usually worked, could it?

“And yes, I wasn’t planning on killing you, svjetlinko,” the woman continued. “I wanted to take your power. Just like I took it from the flamewielder here.” She looked down at the corpses as she said this, and for a second Fennrin almost did lose control over her shadow.

She claimed to have stolen an az-ari’s power? How was that possible? That must have been a lie. Nothing like that existed, surely. What would that make her, anyway? An az-ari? Something completely different?

“What the sunder do you mean take my power?” asked Ainreth, his voice just as incredulous as Fennrin’s would be if he could talk right now. But he didn’t dare let go of her, not yet. He wanted to make sure she was restrained enough that she couldn’t hurt anyone again.

“I said what I said, Daybreaker. What, do you not believe me?”

Ainreth glared at her, this time looking outright angry. And even from the strange angle Fennrin was looking at him from, he could see the discomfort in his eyes. Fennrin understood because he felt it, too. The possibility of someone having the ability to rob az-ari of their powers was terrifying, even to him and his still somewhat torn feelings on being a shadowforger.

Though he had to admit that just a few months ago, he’d be happy to give them up. In hindsight, he doubted his life would have gotten better if he had been given the chance, but back then he had been so focused on his shadows being the sole reason his life was awful.

“Of course I don’t believe you. You just burned my face,” Ainreth retorted, shaking his head as he grabbed one of the woman’s arms. “Grab her other arm, Enlin.”

Enlin immediately came over and did as she’d been ordered, putting her sword in its sheath hanging from her belt.

“Great, now Petre, do you have the—” Ainreth didn’t finish his question as Petre came over with a length of rope in their hands, apparently already knowing what the lightweaver was planning on doing. “Great, let’s do this. You can let go of her, Fenn.”

Fennrin couldn’t help but feel a little hesitant in doing that, but he trusted Ainreth’s judgment, and so he slid away from the woman’s shadow, letting Ain and Enlin wrench her arms behind her back.

“I cannot do anything to you with my hands in those clamps, you know,” the woman complained as Petre tied her wrists together with the rope. Fennrin in the meantime turned himself physical again, feeling so much shakier now that he had an actual body.

“I’m not taking any chances with you, whoever or whatever you are,” Ain said, scowling. What the woman had said must have shocked him enough to drop his usually jokey attitude. Fennrin certainly hoped that the woman was lying.

But he also couldn’t get himself to care that much right now. He rushed over to Ainreth even as they started to lead the woman outside, grabbing his chin and tilting his head enough to look at the burn on his cheek.

It truly didn’t seem serious, but it was large, and no doubt painful, judging by how red the skin was, and Fennrin worried. Even as Ainreth chuckled and gently pushed his hand away.

“I’m fine, Fenn, don’t worry.”

Fennrin scowled. He wouldn’t be so easily brushed off. But first, they needed to secure this person, lock her up somewhere, or however this worked. He didn’t actually know much about how much authority the army had, though everyone seemed too intimidated to deny Ainreth anything, which if anything warped Fennrin’s view of jurisdiction even more.

Even though he still wasn’t planning on joining the army if he didn’t have to, he should still read about these things. He’d been too focused on shadowforgers and his training to pay attention to much else.

“You two are ridiculous,” the woman complained, stretching the last word as much as she could to underline it. Fennrin glared at her, as did Ainreth. Petre had been scowling the entire time while Enlin just looked worried as they led the soundsmith—or whatever she was—outside.

“There’s some sunburn salve in my satchel,” Petre told Fennrin, turning their head to look back at him as they continued leading the woman away. “I will give it to you once we secure her.”

Fennrin actually stopped in his tracks for a second. “You just have that on you?”

“Ain gets sunburnt easily,” they explained, which only added to Fennrin’s shock as he looked over at Ainreth. Their captive of course started sniggering.

“Yeah, so what?” Ainreth snapped, immediately defensive as he gingerly touched his burn. It looked even more red and painful in the stark, morning light outside. “Just because I can control light doesn’t mean my skin likes it.”

Ainreth was now pouting, and Fennrin wanted to kiss him. Now that they were together, suddenly these stray thoughts were at the forefront of his mind at nearly all times. There was just something painfully endearing about a lightweaver having trouble with sunlight. But Fennrin was still far too worried to properly enjoy how adorable Ain looked when he was grumpy.

It wasn’t an entirely common sight.

“The hero of Lys-Akkaria,” the white-haired woman said, snorting and shaking her head before looking over her shoulder at Enlin. “Tell me, is everyone working with him such a kresenka, or am I just lucky?”

Enlin blinked, looking shocked that the woman had even spoken to her. “Um. What?”

“Don’t talk to her,” Petre grumbled at their captive in a surprisingly dark tone, pushing the Orinovan to go faster. Fennrin only then realized that they were heading for the fort on a slight hill in the back of the town. At least that was the only place that made sense to him.

There must have been a jail there.

“Yeah, shut up until we get you to a cell. Then you can talk as much as you please,” Ain said, scowling at the woman, who looked back at him just so she could roll her eyes.

But she then stayed silent, just like she’d been told, which was surprising, but welcome. She was making Fennrin uncomfortable, mostly because she was claiming that she could take az-ari powers, but also just in general. Her comments weren’t appreciated.

Thankfully the trip over to the fort wasn’t too long, and after a quick explanation by Ainreth, the guards led them to the dungeons where they locked the soundsmith in one of the empty cells.

The whole place was dim, with light coming in from tiny windows high up in the cells as well as torches burning on the walls, and Fennrin could smell mildew in the air.

And it was cold, even with the coat Fennrin was wearing. Truly not a place he’d want to be locked up in.

But given that the woman they’d arrested had attacked Ainreth twice, he had a hard time feeling sympathy for her. But Fennrin wasn’t even paying attention to her, watching them through the bars standing straight and calm, still restrained because no one had dared to remove the rope.

No, all he was focusing on was Ainreth as he rubbed the salve onto his burned cheek, grimacing a little. Fennrin had wanted to do this, but then Ain had grabbed the ointment from Petre and started doing it himself, and Fennrin hadn’t wanted to interrupt him.

They were alone with the woman now, along with a local guard who was standing there with them to keep an eye on things, while Enlin and Petre had gone to find the other three soldiers who had come with them to inform them about what was going on.

“So who the sunder even are you?” Ainreth started the interrogation, making Fennrin raise his eyebrow at him. Was this how interrogations usually went?

“Yarima Anarova,” the woman replied, tilting her head a little as Fennrin and Ainreth immediately exchanged a look.

Anarova? Why was that last name so familiar? And come to think of it, he felt like he’d heard the first name before somewhere as well.

“Anarova?” Ain repeated, his voice incredulous. Then he laughed. “Like the blighted queen?”

The woman grinned. “Look at you, remembering things. I was wondering if there’s a brain in that head of yours.”

Fennrin wanted to tell her to shut up, but Ainreth didn’t seem at all insulted. He just didn’t seem to care. “You expect us to believe that you are related to the queen of Orinovo?”

Yarima huffed, adjusting the way she was standing. “Unfortunately, yes. As awful as my mother is, I am related to her.”

Fennrin stared at Yarima with wide eyes. This person was claiming to be a princess? Was that even possible?

He didn’t know much about Orinovo, much as he’d demonstrated just a moment ago by not remembering their ruling dynasty’s name. But he was sure he’d never heard of the queen having a daughter. There was a son, Fennrin was fairly certain, but that was it.

And then suddenly it came rushing at him just why the name Yarima had seemed familiar. “One of the orders from the Orinovan camp. It mentioned a Yarima.”

Ainreth turned to him with surprise in his eyes, nodding and pointing his index finger at him. “That’s right!” Then he turned back to Yarima. “There was an order to arrest you.”

The woman sighed, though she still seemed amused, a smirk dancing on her lips. Fennrin didn’t like that one bit. “My mother must have heard about me completely obliterating you in combat.”

“Only because you don’t fight fair,” Ainreth immediately snapped, which of course made Yarima snigger because she had clearly gotten what she’d wanted from him. It felt as though she was just playing with them, and that thought made Fennrin very uncomfortable.

“Oh, and you do?”

“Why do you want to take Ainreth’s power?” Fennrin cut in before Ain could start a fight. He was now pouting again, his hands crossed over his chest, as if sulking over the fact that Yarima had pointed out how unfairly powerful a lightweaver was.

Fennrin wouldn’t say anything, even though he agreed with her, but he found how power Ainreth was very appealing.

“I want to kill Mother,” Yarima answered easily. “A lightweaver’s power would certainly help me.” Then she ran her eyes up and down Fennrin’s whole body. “Though a shadowforger’s would be even better.”

“Touch him, and you’re dead,” Ainreth growled, his voice darker and angrier than Fennrin had ever heard it before. It actually sent shivers down his back to hear it, paired with the murderous scowl, though his heart did swell at how protective Ain was of him. “Now how in the blighted sun can you take az-ari powers?”

For the first time, Yarima’s expression lost the slight amusement that had been present the whole time, her smirk turning into a grimace. “There is a lot you don’t know about Orinovo, comrade.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ainreth still sounded angry, his fists clenched, but he seemed to have calmed down a little by now at least.

“Experimentation,” Yarima answered, her lips pressed into a thin line, her gray eyes thoughtful. “I will answer any question except for this. All you need to know is that I can take priori powers for my own.” Then she looked at Ainreth again, her gaze piercing. “And I will use them to kill kralevna Svytlani.”

“What do you make of all of this?”

Fennrin asked as he ran a gentle finger under the burn on Ainreth’s cheek. It already looked a little better, going from an angry red to a deep pink, but it still looked tender and painful.

They had gone to a random empty room they’d found in the fort to talk about Yarima, but Fennrin had no idea what to think. Everything she’d told them sounded insane to him. Perhaps she was delusional. That would explain quite a lot.

“I mean, she does look like the queen,” Ain said, shrugging before wincing when Fennrin’s finger brushed over the burn directly. Fennrin immediately yanked his hand away, cringing. He hadn’t meant to do that. Before he could apologize, though, Ainreth took his hand into his, squeezing.

It was such a small gesture, and yet it made Fennrin feel like he was melting. It was ridiculous.

“With the white hair, and all.”

Fennrin didn’t actually know what the queen looked like very well. He hadn’t cared much, nor had he had the time before now to worry about such things.

“That doesn’t prove anything, though. I have nearly white hair.”

Ainreth grinned, huffing out a laugh as he brushed a strand of Fennrin’s hair behind his ear. Ainreth had done that several times already, and Fennrin hoped he would continue. It made him feel all fluttery.

“Yours is blond, silly.”

Fennrin’s eyes once again found the burn on Ain’s cheek, then, his happiness rapidly deflating.

“How does it feel?” Ainreth’s free hand automatically flew up to the burn, gingerly poking at it.

“It’s not that bad. I’ll be fine.” Then he grinned again. “A little less handsome, though. Good thing I snagged you before this happened, eh?”

Fennrin scowled. He didn’t like jokes like this. They sounded far too much like something he would think, and he didn’t even think he was that attractive, no matter what Ainreth kept saying. “You are very handsome. The burn will change nothing. And I don’t like you for your looks.”

Fennrin wanted to continue, but he was stopped as Ainreth leaned in and gave him a short but sweet kiss, making the whirlwind of thoughts in his head disappear, replaced by absolutely nothing.

He had to blink when Ain pulled away because it took him a second or two to compose himself again. And then his eyes widened when he noticed that there was light emanating from Ainreth, beaming out of him, lighting up the dim room.

By the moon, he was beautiful.

“You’re glowing.”

Fennrin had noticed that earlier when they’d kissed for the first time, but he’d said nothing, then, too lost in his thoughts.

Ainreth grinned. “What can I say? You just light up my life.”

Much to his absolute horror, a small chuckle made it past Fennrin’s lips. He immediately frowned, disappointed in himself. That had been a terrible joke. It wasn’t funny.

“It happens when I’m happy,” Ain explained, his tone more serious now, though a beautiful smile was still on his face. Good.

And Fennrin couldn’t help but smile, as well. That was adorable. And now Fennrin’s heart was doing happy flips. Not only because of Ainreth’s endearing glowing, but also because the reason he was happy was Fennrin. It made him feel strangely accomplished to be able to say that he had made Ainreth feel this way.

Then he blushed in embarrassment, catching himself. They should be discussing Yarima. Not flirting. “What are we going to do with the soundsmith?”

Ainreth’s smile lessened a little, though he was still staring at Fennrin’s lips. It took all of the shadowforger’s willpower to not do the same to Ainreth’s. “Bring her to Kyr-Toryl. Study her, or something. See if she’s lying.”

“She has to be.” Fennrin frowned. He didn’t want to even entertain the thought that Yarima was telling the truth. He didn’t much care if she wanted to kill the queen of Orinovo, but the idea that somehow, Orinovo had learned to give people the power to take away az-ari abilities was horrifying.

To think that if she was to be believed, Ainreth could have lost his powers several months ago…. The Daybreaker was such an important symbol to Lys-Akkaria. Fennrin couldn’t imagine what it would do to everyone to see him defeated like that.

He wanted to continue, but a sudden commotion down the hall interrupted him. He turned around to stare out at the corridor through the open door, but there was nothing to see. And yet the noise continued, people yelling and a strange, unnatural-sounding wailing piercing the air.

Exchanging a look and then a nod with Ain, they both rushed out of the room, following the clamor, only to realize that it was coming from downstairs. Running now, they made their way to the stairs, but when they reached the corridor near the exit, they found nothing except dazed guards on the ground, shaking their heads and holding them, or with their hands over their ears, groaning.

“What happened here?” Ainreth asked, even as Fennrin’s stomach sank. He didn’t like what this might mean, even though he felt like he already knew.

One of the guards got up, a short, armored woman, and still with one hand over her ear, she answered. “The woman you brought here. She made this awful noise. It made me dizzy. My ears are still ringing.”

“She escaped?!” Ainreth cried in alarm, his eyes wide and outraged. Fennrin didn’t wait around, already running outside, but when he scanned his eyes over the snow-covered, lazy town, there was no sign of Yarima. There weren’t even any footprints in the snow that he could follow because they were everywhere from both the guards and the locals walking around.

Gritting his teeth, he marched back inside the fort. There had been a guard keeping an eye on Yarima. He had to know how she’d gotten away, surely. Even if they couldn’t catch up to her anymore, at least they would know what she was capable of to escape like this.

Though he didn’t understand why she would let herself get captured if she could free herself so easily.

Ainreth was already heading to the dungeons when Fennrin came back, and so the shadowforger followed, running past the dazed men and women to catch up to him, which he managed just in time to reach the guard together.

The guard, who was now glaring at Fennrin and seemed completely unharmed, standing next to the empty cell, its barred door wide open. Fennrin frowned, having no idea what was the reason for this hostility, but he said nothing, letting Ainreth do the talking. Not only was the lightweaver more experienced with this sort of thing, he was also much, much more respected than Fennrin, and people seemed to automatically trust him.

Fennrin wondered what that felt like.

“How did she escape?” demanded Ainreth, practically spitting the words at the guard, but the man kept looking at Fennrin with hate in his eyes, prompting Fennrin to scowl right back, even though he still didn’t understand what this was about.

“I let her out,” the guard replied, which almost made Fennrin gasp. He stared at the man with his mouth hanging open, too shocked to continue glaring at him.

“What?!” Ainreth shouted, his voice more furious than shocked. “What the sunder are you talking about?”

He advanced on the guard, towering over him, but the man refused to back down, his head held high and proud. “I don’t mind being commanded by az-ari like you, general, but I draw the line at him.”

The guard pointed an accusatory finger at Fennrin then, almost making him flinch. He swallowed, a familiar sense of shame spreading through his veins.

“She said she would kill the queen. And take the shadowforger’s powers to do it instead of yours if I let her go, which will rid us of his curse!” the guard continued, his voice raised as he stared Fennrin down with more venom in his gaze than he’d had directed at him in a very long time. “There are no drawbacks.”

Fennrin wasn’t fast enough to react when Ainreth’s fist flew up and right into the guard’s face, knocking him to the ground with a pained cry. He did manage to grab Ain’s arm before he could try to hit the man again, though, pulling together all of his strength to keep the lightweaver from closing the distance between him and the guard, anyway.

“You know I’m right!” the guard yelled from where he was now kneeling, his nose bleeding, his bloody teeth bared. “The shadowforger will bring doom to us all! If that woman can kill the queen—”

“Shut your blighted mouth!” Ain snarled, shockingly gently pushing Fennrin’s hands away from his arm. Fennrin wouldn’t let go, if not for the fact that Ainreth now seemed much calmer, despite still looking furious, a dangerous glint in his eye. “That woman tried to steal my power. She attacked your guards. Clearly, she is dangerous, and you just let her go, you sundering moron!”

The guard put on a grim smile, wiping the blood away from under his nose as he pulled himself to his feet again. “Maybe she is dangerous. But then, you are here working with a shadowforger, ignoring how much of a threat his kind are. He will be the death of you, the death of us all. Just wait.”

Fennrin swallowed, trying his best to continue glaring at the man, but he couldn’t help but lower his gaze, regret stabbing through him. This was his fault, then. If it weren’t for his presence here, Yarima wouldn’t have been allowed to escape. None of this would have happened.

“Guards!” yelled Ainreth, bringing Fennrin out of his thoughts, but it couldn’t bring him away from his spiral of despair. He knew that new guards arrived, he could hear Ain angrily instructing them to arrest the one who had betrayed them, but he wasn’t really paying attention to any of it.

He just stood there, unable not to wonder if maybe this guard was right. He had gotten better at not letting himself worry that deep down he might turn evil, or that perhaps he already was evil, and he just hadn’t shown it much yet—his lack of reaction at killing the guards during his and Ainreth’s reconnaissance mission being a prime example of that potential.

But now he was questioning everything all over again. Most of Lys-Akkaria seemed to be so sure he’d bring bad luck to them at best, kill them all at worst, that Fennrin couldn’t help but wonder if maybe they were right.

“Fenn!”

Fennrin blinked, flinching a little when he realized Ain’s hands were squeezing his shoulders. They were still standing in the corridor next to the cells, but they were alone now, the guard who had betrayed them having been dragged off by the ones Ainreth had summoned.

“Don’t tell me you listened to what that misborn was saying,” Ainreth said, his face inches away from Fennrin’s, his eyes wide and worried. And his gaze was far too intense for Fennrin to keep looking into them.

“We lost the soundsmith because of me,” he said instead of answering the question. He didn’t want to talk about all of this. He just wanted….

He didn’t actually know. He wanted Ain to hug him and forget all of this ever happened, but how could he? What if he really would end up hurting Ainreth somehow?

It was like all the confidence he’d built up had dissolved. He hated it, but he found it difficult to just push it aside.

“No, we lost her because of that asshole,” Ainreth said, his voice hard and uncompromising, but when Fennrin’s eyes dared to meet his, his gaze was soft and comforting. Fennrin sighed as the lightweaver wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close and kissing the top of his head. “Don’t listen to that nonsense, Fenn. Remember what I told you. Just think about it. Would you be worrying about this if you were a bad person?”

Fennrin had no answer to that. He supposed the easy answer was no, though that felt so easy to just say. “But what if—”

“No buts, no what ifs.”

Ain hugged him tighter, and Fennrin found it impossible to argue anymore, pressing himself closer and hugging him back. It was so comforting. All of the chill of doubt in his veins seemed to melt.

“I hope he gets a harsh punishment, talking about you like that,” Ainreth muttered angrily, kissing Fennrin’s head again. The shadowforger pulled away just enough to look at the other man, one eyebrow raised.

“And for letting Yarima go?”

Ain huffed, still scowling. “Sure, that too.”

He almost looked offended that someone had been rude to Fennrin. It was so heartwarming that for a moment the ache of what had just happened left Fennrin’s heart.

“All of that drivel was just prejudiced, paranoid lies, all right?” Ain pressed again, and this time Fennrin couldn’t fight him anymore. He nodded with a sigh, his shoulders sinking. It was still indirectly his fault that Yarima had escaped, but there was nothing to be done about it.

“Come on, we better sweep the area. Maybe we can still find her somehow.”

Ainreth didn’t sound very convinced of this himself, but Fennrin didn’t point that out. It was worth looking for her, especially since tracks in the snow might help them find her if she didn’t use roads. But it was highly unlikely that they would end up managing to track her done, anyway.

“Okay. Let’s go.”