220 years ago

Being a soldier is a thankless job. The Kingdoms of Day and Night are forever fighting over the Borderlands, the territories that divide our two kingdoms. And so long as they are in dispute, there will always be another battle to fight. That means more bloodshed, more close brushes with death, more giving in to my dark nature.

Since Malaki and I joined the military nearly two decades ago, we’ve been almost continuously deployed at the Borderlands, first fighting at the territory of Dusk, and now here at Dawn.

Our camp sits on a bit of glittering meteorite the Night Kingdom keeps locked in orbit. This barren landmass makes Arestys look like an oasis.

Only the most important buildings here are solid structures. The rest of the outpost is nothing more than a small city of tents, the fabric of them faded from such extended use. The war has been waging on even longer than the Shadow King has sat on the throne. My grandmother, the king’s mother, started it nearly four centuries ago, and it has toiled on ever since.

At the end of today’s shift, I head back into my tent, the entrance flapping closed behind me. I sit down on my cot and crack my neck before I reach down and begin to remove my armor.

At this point, wearing the protective gear is a mere formality. There hasn’t been any active fighting for almost two weeks, not after we trounced the Day soldiers so completely that they had to retreat. Eventually they’ll be back. They’re never gone for long.

I unlace my greaves and toss them aside. Then I remove the boiled leather armor encasing my forearms and chest. I only give a passing glance to the blood embedded beneath my nails and between the creases of my knuckles. If I cared much, I’d spell it away. I don’t.

This place is beating down my will.

I glance up at the ceiling from where I sit. It’s been enchanted to be semi-transparent, and through it I can just barely make out the faintest hints of stars amongst the predawn sky. No matter how long I live here, I’ll never get used to the sight of the sky, caught somewhere between day and night.

… Someone’s heading your way …

The shadows are forever goading me, hoping to taste a bit of my power in return for their secrets.

Let them come. I’m in no mood to make idle deals with shadows today.

My tent flaps are thrown aside, and Malaki strides in. “It’s our last night on this fucking wasteland. Let’s get drunk and celebrate.”

It’s our last night—for now. I’m under no illusions that either of us will be back in Barbos for long. Just long enough to remember how nice it is to not fight for a stupid cause. And then we’ll be called back, just as we have been a dozen times before now. The war is always raging.

My eyes move to the bronze band circling my bicep. I frown at it. How thrilled I’d been to receive it, believing this would be my opening to face the king again. But it had amounted to nothing.

Malaki takes me in, his eyes missing nothing. “You are the only man I know who pouts about a war cuff,” he says.

I push off the cot. “I’m not pouting.”

“You are,” Malaki says. “Because leaving this damned rock means you’re farther away than ever from seeing your vendetta through.”

I push to my feet. “Where are the festivities at?” I ask, ignoring his words. Wine and women go a long way to making everything better, and there’s always a little of both around here.

“Dining hall.”

Figures. That’s where the festivities usually are—unless they’re taken outside.

Before I leave with him, I grab a bottle of oil, a dirty rag, and my sheathed sword, my leather belt wrapped tightly around it.

The two of us exit my tent, and I squint against the dawn. The edge of the sun perpetually sits on the horizon.

Malaki and I move across the camp, threading our way between tents. Around us, I can hear several soldiers singing ballads, one even playing a lyre. When we’re losing a battle, the songs turn into dirges, but right now, the music is lively and upbeat from our recent win.

Malaki and I enter the dining hall, the place nothing more than a massive tent filled with rough-hewn furniture and soldiers. Fairies sit around the tables, their cheeks ruddy and their mouths loose. It won’t be long until the festivities move outside. Get enough liquor into us, and we like to dance and dally under the open sky.

A few soldiers still on duty are serving food at the back of the room. Perched next to them are two barrels—one of distilled spirits and another of ale. Ogre piss tastes better than this stuff, but when you’ve been far from civilization for this long, it’s all practically ambrosia.

Malaki and I make our way to a group of soldiers seated around a circular table, the group of them drinking liquor and laughing.

This is how my days go. Wake up, grab a bite from the dining hall, take a shift, get off, grab another meal and share a drink with comrades—perhaps warm myself with a woman—then go to bed. Wake up and it all begins again.

An hour after we enter the dining hall, the room has filled to the brim with rowdy soldiers. I pull out my sword and unstop the vial of oil. Pouring a little onto my rag, I begin to clean my blade, my boots propped up on the table.

Tonight I’m in a grim mood. Still no closer to killing the king.

Maybe the prophetess never meant for me to be in the military this long. Perhaps I found my valor long ago without realizing it, and all this time I’ve spent slaying the enemy has all been in vain.

My sword has barely begun to glisten when the dining hall’s tent flaps are thrown open. Two dozen scantily clad men and women file into the room, the lot of them clearly here to trade flesh for the evening. I stiffen when I see some mortals mixed in with the fae.

That’s new. There are always fairies coming to these outposts to relieve soldiers of their most primal urges, but never humans.

Malaki’s eyes are on me. He leans in. “Supposedly the mortals are a gift from the king for our latest victory.”

A gift? Marrying a human is outlawed. Even sleeping with one is taboo. They’re considered unclean and primitive. To send them to us as a reward … it seems more an insult than a gift.

The group of men and women filter through the room, quickly pairing up with interested soldiers. Malaki and the others around me get up, letting the fairies and humans lead them outside, where they’ll dance around the campfires before moving into the clouds for a little privacy.

“Not coming?” Malaki asks when he notices I’m still sitting.

I give a shake of my head, my attention on my sword. So far, I’ve shrugged off three separate attempts to pull me away.

The girl Malaki’s with tugs on his arm with a giggle. He backs up a few steps, wanting to say something, but he chooses not to, instead turning on his heel and leaving with the rest of the soldiers. In a matter of minutes, the majority of the room has cleared out.

Just when I think I might have a little alone time, I hear the soft swish of a woman’s skirts heading my way.

… Slave …

The woman steps up behind me.

“I don’t sleep with humans,” I say before she can touch me, not looking up from my blade. 

There’s a pause, and then her hair brushes mine as she leans in over my shoulder. “I can promise you that I’ll do things your fae lovers won’t.” Her breath fans against my cheek.

I sheath my sword and take a drink of my ale. “It’s not anything personal. I just happen to like my women willing.”

She runs a hand across my chest. “What makes you think I’m not?”

I catch her wrist and I run my thumb over the royal emblem branded onto her skin. The crescent moon looks grotesque when it’s made out of raised flesh.

“Tell me,” I ask, studying it, “would you be propositioning me if you weren’t owned by the crown?”

She leans in. “Tell me, would you be sitting here, waiting for battle, if you weren’t owned by the crown?”

I release the woman’s hand and look at her. She has a sharper tongue than some fairies I know, but her features hardly match her mouth. Wideset eyes, heart-shaped face, and smooth, ivory skin surrounded by wild red hair. It’s a very pretty face, a very pretty, innocent looking face.

“Fair point,” I admit.

I stare at her a little longer. She’s piqued my curiosity. Though I’ve spent years saving mortals, I haven’t ever actually stopped to talk to one. And now here I am, surprised that this human woman can actually grab my attention with her words.

Making a decision, I nod to the now empty table I sit at. “Want to join me?”

In response, mortal begins to sit on my lap.

“No.”

I might want to talk to this human woman, but I don’t want her touching me. I don’t want any human woman touching me. None except for …

A cynical smile almost slips out at the half-formed thought; apparently I’m saving myself for my mortal bride. How quaint.

The woman takes a seat across from me and grabs a nearby ale stein that one of the other soldiers abandoned. She trains her gaze on me while she takes a swallow.

“Where are you from?” I ask her, my eyes sharp.

She sets the drink down. “You really want to talk?” She looks surprised.

“If you’d rather not …” I gesture to around the room, where several soldiers still sit. I’m sure someone will take what she’s offering.

Her eyes flitter about the room before returning to me. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You’re the entertainment. You tell me.”

I’m being a dick. I don’t care. This is not how I envisioned my last night here.

“Surprising as this might be, I’m not being paid to talk,” she says.

“You’re not being paid at all.” Another shitty comment. But it’s also the truth.

Her eyes thin. “How was your d—”

“Boring,” I interrupt her.

She looks affronted. Fragile human egos.

“How did you become a slave?” I ask.

“I was captured as a baby.” So she’s a changeling.

“And then?” I ask.

“… And then I was raised to please fairies.”

… Lying …

I narrow my eyes at her. “No you weren’t.”

She hesitates. “No,” she agrees, “I wasn’t. My master taught me all sorts of things you’re not supposed to teach slaves.”

“So how did you end up here?” I ask.

“My master died without releasing me. When her estate went up for auction, I was sold to the crown, and here I am.”

She raises an eyebrow at the war band I wear. “A medaled soldier. What did you do to earn it?”

Deep in enemy territory, blinding sunlight burning my eyes. Blood pouring out of my many wounds. Surrounded on all sides. My magic swarms out of me, devouring the enemy and permanently dragging the night into what was previously Day territory.

I take another drink of my ale. “I killed the right people.”

She takes in my expression. “So, you’ve met the king?” she asks.

I stare at my stein. “He was away the night I was medaled.” At least, that’s what his right hand had said when he, and not the king, presented me with the bronze cuff. More likely than not, Galleghar was either sleeping in with his harem or off killing innocents. It’s anyone’s guess which he enjoys more.

My hand tightens around my mug at the memory. I’d been so ready to end him. How often does any soldier get that close?

The woman leans back in her seat. “Huh.” She stares at her branded skin, “I saw him once.” Her eyes flick to me. “He looked an awful lot like you in fact.”

Trust a human to notice.

It’s all I can do to keep my body loose and languid. “Then he must’ve been a handsome devil.”

She nods slowly, her eyes going distant. “He was. But there was something cruel about him. Something around his eyes and his mouth.” She brings her hand up to her jaw, distractedly running her fingers along the edge of it. “You could tell he was a man who liked killing.” She blinks, returning to the present. “Not like you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Her eyes are far too shrewd. “I’ve met enough soldiers to figure out which ones that like the carnage and which ones simply bear it—or am I wrong about you?”

She isn’t, and the fact that a mortal can read me this well has me shaken. Either I have far more work to do on controlling my features, or she’s even sharper than I’ve given her credit for.

Outside the dining hall, the music and laughter quiet. I turn away from the human woman, cocking my head to better listen. It only takes seconds for the shouts to start up.

My chair scrapes as I stand, unsheathing my sword.

“What’s going on?” the human woman asks.

Around me, the other soldiers in the dining hall are looking about, sensing something in the air. I feed a little of my magic to the darkness.

… enemy …

… amongst you …

Shit.

“Ambush!” someone outside yells a second later.

Without a backwards glance, I storm out of the dining hall. Night soldiers are scrambling around me, grabbing for their weapons. Moving like a wave amongst them are fairies in golden uniforms.

Day soldiers.

I don’t have time to grab my armor. All I have is the sword in my hand.

I leap into the air and join the fray, my sword arm swinging as I begin to carve into the enemy. They’re everywhere, around us and above us, setting fire to tents and cutting down the unsuspecting Night soldiers.

“Desmond!” Malaki’s voice comes from somewhere up and to my left.

It’s the sound of my true name that draws my attention to him.

I glance towards Malaki just in time to stare at the sun. As I look at it, it dims just enough for me to see the bright gold of a ranking Day soldier’s uniform. He’s coming at me from above, his weapon already slashing down at me.

There isn’t enough time to block the attack. If I do nothing, I’m a dead man. There will be no revenge, no mate, no tomorrow. There will only be what comes next, after fairies die.

Just as I’m about to melt into darkness, a shadow knocks me out of the way.

My wings fold up in surprise, and I tumble through the sky. It takes several seconds to right myself, and when I do, I see something turns my blood cold. Poised where I was moments before is Malaki.

His arm is up, blocking the bulk of the strike with his forearm, but the enemy’s blade still cuts through his face, so deep it had to have hit something critical.

For a split second, the world goes quiet.

My friend, my beloved friend. He’s protected my secret from the world, and now he’s taken a sword for me.

I roar, shattering the silence.

Darkness blasts out of me, devouring my enemies and flooding the dawn with shadows. With effort, I rein my power back inside me before the nearest soldiers can do more than look puzzledly around them. No one knows about the extent of my power.

Malaki’s wings fold, and now he’s the one falling from the sky. My magic thunders through my veins as I fly towards him. I can barely breathe through the pain in my chest. I close the distance between us and catch him in my arms.

“I’ve got you, friend,” I say.

His face is a mess of blood and pulpy things. One of his eyes is gone; the other is unfocused.

I glance to the sky in time to see the bright Day soldier staring at me stonily. My hands tighten around Malaki.

Very deliberately the soldier turns his back to me and resumes the fight in the air.

He doesn’t consider me a threat. His mistake.

I lower Malaki and myself to the ground. My friend needs a healer, but right now even healers are fighting for their lives. The best I can do is take away his pain. I run a hand over his face, feeling his agony throb against my palm before my magic eats through it. It will only last an hour or so. I hope that’s long enough.

I look around the burning outpost. Nowhere to hide him. Half of the tents are on fire, and the rest are soon to follow. I settle for laying him across a stack of abandoned belongings sitting on the outskirts of our camp, positioning Malaki to look like he’s been struck down. That’s the best disguise I can give him.

I move away from him. I have to believe he’ll be okay for now.

“I’ll be back, my friend,” I promise.

Revenge calls first.

I soar into the sky, my eyes scouring the heavens. My fury sings through my veins. Enemy soldiers don’t have time to touch me; my darkness snaps out, feasting on them one by one. I’m damning myself by letting my power seep out of me so recklessly, but I’ve never been so close to losing my friend.

He was willing to die for you.

Only one other person cared about me that intensely, and she did die for it.

Below, the world is on fire. Malaki doesn’t have much time. This needs to end. One way or another I’ll make sure it does.

I spot the luminous Day fairy far in the distance. He makes quick work of Night soldiers; they fall from the sky one by one.

I head towards him, my wings beating like mad. His form pulses with blinding light. He must be a royal. His power is practically pouring out of him.

I reach him just as he rips his sword from the belly of another Night soldier.

My body nearly shakes with the need to charge into the duel. Instead, I come to a stop half a wingspan from the Day soldier.

Control, Desmond.

His blade drips with blood. But as I watch, the blood bubbles and hisses on the metal until it dissolves away. Enchanted to stay perpetually clean.

I take the rest of him in. Tan skin and hair like spun gold. Eyes bluer than topaz. Skin bright like the sun. I’ve only heard stories of the Soleil twins, but I’m guessing this is one of them.

The Day royal rolls his wrist, his sword whistling as it makes a figure eight in the air. “Back for more, shadow-whore?”

I tighten my grip on my own sword.

This fucker nearly killed my dearest friend. He needs to die.

My power is doubling on itself and yearning to break free. But I’m not interested in wiping this fairy out with my magic. I want to take his head the old fashioned way.

So I wait.

When I make no move to attack him, he sighs, looking off to the horizon and loosening his shoulders, making it plain that it’s tedious to deal with foot soldiers like me. Reluctantly he returns his attention to me and makes his move, closing the distance between us. All the while I hover there in the air, waiting.

He swings his weapon, the sword arcing through the air. My arm snaps out, my blade connecting solidly with his. He jerks with surprise. Surely he didn’t think I’d be that easy to kill a second time?

He yanks his own blade back, and I let him, still making no offensive move.

He blinded Malaki. Should’ve been me.

That last thought, more than anything, fuels my rage.

Another Day soldier closes in on me. While still staring at the Day royal, I carve my blade up the incoming soldier’s chest, splitting him open. With a cry, he falls away.

“Is that supposed to impress me?” the Day royal asks.

I don’t answer.

“Can you talk at all?”

When I don’t respond, he glances away from me for a split second.

His mistake.

I move in then, swinging my blade. It slices through the skin of his shoulder.

He cries out as blood blooms from the injury, seeping into his gold uniform.

“First rule of battle: don’t underestimate your enemy.”

With a cry, the Day royal lifts his sword and charges me, and then the two of us are locked in combat.

Left, right, upper cut, downward strike. We’re a flurry of movement. Our metal blades sing as they meet, sparks dancing from the power behind each swing. He’s impressively good, but he thinks he’s better than a common soldier like me. There’s nothing like cockiness to get you killed quickly on the battlefield. Death doesn’t care whether you were born a king or a beggar.

I meet each stroke of his blade. He should be the better swordsman; I’m sure he has decades of life on me and the best instructors money can buy. But I have my gossiping shadows and my angst and vengeance. That and almost twenty years’ worth of constant warring. It’s a surprisingly useful mix of factors, and I’ve single-mindedly used them to master how to fight. After all, I know I’ll need more than just magic and cunning to defeat the Shadow King.

Once the Day royal starts breathing hard, I begin to fight him in earnest. His eyes widen for the briefest of moments when he realizes that I’ve been holding back.

Now I’m the one on the offensive, and he’s trying to stop each of my successive blows. My cold, calculating rage has taken over. It’s in my every movement. I couldn’t stop myself if I tried.

I raise my sword high and bring it down. He deflects my blow, and in the process leaves his stomach exposed, giving me my opening.

I pull my weapon away, and, bringing my sword arm back, I drive it forward, into his gut. It slides cleanly in one side and out the other.

The Day royal’s eyes widen. Did he think he was impervious to injury? To death? The way he’s looking at me, he must’ve.

His sword-bearing arm droops as he lets out a choke. 

With a slick, wet sound, I pull my weapon out of him.

His hand moves to the wound, his mouth opening and closing. Then his eyes roll back and his wings fold up. He begins to fall from the sky.

I stare down at him as his body tumbles. I should finish him off; all I did was gravely injure him. But the human woman was right, I am not like my father. I hate the art of killing.

So I let him go.

The ambush comes to an end shortly afterwards. The Day royal was in fact one of the Day King’s twin heirs. He’d been the mastermind behind the ambush, and once he’d fallen, his troops lost their nerve and retreated, carting him and the other wounded back with them.

I don’t bother watching their retreat. Instead I swoop down to camp. Malaki still lays where I left him, his one good eye closed, his pulse weak. Hauling him into my arms, I sprint to what’s left of the healer’s tent.

Already there are injured soldiers lining most of the pallets and only a few healers who’ve trickled in from battle to help the wounded, but the place is not yet swarming with the injured like it will be in another hour. Shortly after I lay Malaki out, a healer comes over to us and begins working on him.

“Will he live?” I ask ten minutes in. Malaki hasn’t so much as twitched since we arrived.

The healer nods, not looking up from his work. “Aye, he’ll live. The wound looks bad, but the cut is actually quite clean. He’ll lose the eye, and he’ll carry a scar for the rest of his life, but his mind is intact.”

I sag both in relief and defeat. He’s going to be scarred and sightless in one eye. Fairies love beauty; having this kind of deformity means that Malaki, who loves women as much as I do, will be seen as undesirable.

“You should go. He needs time to rest.” The healer says it nicely enough, but it’s less a suggestion and more an order. Injured soldiers are piling up, and the last thing anyone needs are hovering comrades.

Reluctantly, I stand, and it feels like I’m lifting the world up as I do so. Everything is so heavy—my muscles, my bones, my heart, my mind.

“You’ll tell me if he gets worse?” I ask.

“Of course,” the healer says. It’s a lie and we both know it. There are too many patients here to keep track of one man.

“Come back in the morning,” he adds. “He’ll be better then.”

I take a shaky breath and head out of the tent.

“Nova!”

Distracted as I am, I almost don’t react to my fake surname.

I glance up at one of the Night generals. She’s across the way, but quickly striding over to me.

I stand at attention and touch my fingers to my forehead out of respect.

The fairy waves the action away. “I saw what you did out there,” she says.

For a second I think she’s talking about my momentary lapse of power, when my darkness had seeped out of me, and I tense. If the right person noticed—say, this shrewd general—they’d know that only a Night fae from the royal bloodline could have such extensive magic.

“I saw the tail end of your duel with the Day soldier,” she says, and I relax a little. “You know that wasn’t just any Day fae; that was Julios Soleil, one of the king’s sons.”

I raise my eyebrows. My assumption had been correct.

“You are the reason they retreated.” She gives me a meaningful look. “I’ll make sure the king hears of your valor; your sacrifice will not go unrewarded.”

I stare at the general, my heartbeat growing louder and louder with each passing second until it is a drumbeat between my ears.

She means to tell the king. Striking down one of the enemy’s sons is big. The kind of big that gets you medaled. The kind of big that allows you to meet the king.

I can feel the wheels of fate turning; after all this time, I’ll finally get that meeting with my father. The victory feels hollow. Had I not been so set on revenge, Malaki and I would not be here, and he would’ve never gotten hurt.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice hoarse.

The general nods at me, then takes her leave, heading into the medic tent.

My heart’s heavy as I make my way back to my own tent. I pass the dining hall, somewhat surprised to see it intact. I pause, then stride inside, making a beeline for the barrel of spirits.

Five steps in, I stop in my tracks. Several bodies lay scattered on the floor, one is a Day soldier, and three others are Night fae. But it’s not the sight of them that closes up my throat.

Lying only a few paces away from me is the gutted body of the human woman I shared a drink with. Her sharp eyes now stare sightlessly at the ceiling, and her mouth hangs loosely open.

I stagger over to a nearby table and fall into one of the chairs, my eyes locked on her.

I don’t know why it’s her death that breaks me.

She was just a human, slated to die within a few decades anyway. I didn’t know her name, and a day ago, I wouldn’t have thought it worth knowing. But I was wrong. We have all been wrong. Humans aren’t just slaves to free. They’re not the coarse, slow creatures I’ve been taught to think of them as.

I cover my eyes with a hand, and I weep.

For Malaki, for this woman, for this misguided life of mine.

I’ve been so busy trying to fill the world with my hate that I’ve left no room for anything else.

Tonight, that changes.

I swear to the Undying Gods that once I’m able to, I will scour the earth for my soulmate. I’ll put my past behind me and focus on the future. And when I find her—if I find her—I won’t waste time fearing what others will think. I’ll cherish her, respect her, love her.

For all the days of her mortal life, I’ll claim her as mine.