Break the Day (Nightstar Book 1)

Fennrin panted, sweat running down the sides of his face as he raised his sword again, just in time to meet the Bulwark’s blade as the woman attacked him again. They’d been training for hours now, and Fennrin truly felt that he was at his physical limits. But he kept going, not letting up, too stubborn to.

At least that was what he thought, but in a short moment, blocking blow after blow, a badly coordinated counterattack resulted from her slamming her blade into his hand hard, knocking his sword out of his hand.

Fennrin groaned as the blade clattered against the stone floor, the Bulwark not even bothering to keep her sword at his throat anymore. She’d done it the first few times she’d beaten him at sword fighting, but she didn’t do so anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sighing. Why was this so much more difficult than using his powers? Turning into a shadow seemed much more intimidating than fighting with a sword, but clearly, it wasn’t. He’d been training for weeks now, and he wasn’t getting much better.

“You are improving,” the Bulwark said, wiping her forehead as she put her sword down. It was still a little strange seeing her in simple clothes made up of a tunic and trousers compared to the luxurious robes she usually wore, but Fennrin had gotten used to that mostly after training with her for so many days now. He had had no idea she was so good at fighting, but it made sense if she was the leader of the army. Fennrin had simply thought she was a politician more than a soldier.

“Better than Ainreth was when he started training, I must say,” she continued, putting on one of her small but genuine smiles. Fennrin frowned.

“Ainreth wasn’t good at sword fighting?”

The Bulwark snorted. “No, and he still isn’t.”

This information almost shook him. Ainreth wasn’t good with a sword? Fennrin supposed he didn’t strictly need one when he could simply burn his enemies to a crisp, but it was still odd to him. Ainreth was a general. And he did have a sword that he seemed to like, given how many times Fennrin had seen the lightweaver polishing it.

“He always argued with me about not needing a sword. I am glad you haven’t said anything about that. You never know when knowing how to fight with one may be useful.”

Fennrin nodded. While he did sort of see fighting with a sword as somewhat unnecessary when he could simply become a shadow to avoid blows and kill people by moving their shadows, but he certainly didn’t see any detriment to knowing how to use a sword. Maybe it would come in handy someday, what did he know?

And besides, it helped him build up some strength. Already, he could feel himself getting stronger, his arm no longer getting tired from slashing the sword around so quickly.

“I think that’s enough for today,” the Bulwark said, putting her sword into the sheath hanging from her belt. “We will take a break from training for Dragonrise, and we will reconvene after the celebrations are over.”

Oh, yes, Dragonrise. Fennrin kept forgetting the national holiday was almost here. He’d never had much of an opportunity to celebrate it, but he wasn’t looking forward to it very much now that he could anyway, most of the reason for that being Ainreth.

The lightweaver had been growing less and less talkative and cheerful the closer Dragonrise loomed, and Fennrin didn’t understand why. It was a celebration of Ainreth and his army’s victory over Orinovo those ten years ago. And yes, it would make Fennrin uncomfortable to be subjected to such an honor, to be celebrated like this, but Fennrin wasn’t Ainreth.

He might have only known him for not even two months yet, but he did know Ainreth liked being fawned over, and had almost never reacted negatively to being called the Daybreaker, or people expressing their appreciation for him. So why was he bothered by this?

Unless of course it had nothing to do with Dragonrise. Perhaps he was simply one of those people who grew sad with the approach of winter. In Ainreth’s case, it would make perfect sense because sunlight was scarcer and scarcer now, and there was a nip in the air, even during the afternoon. That wasn’t something he’d considered when he’d started living up here with Ainreth, but it was much colder here than in any other place Fennrin had been in.

Maybe Fennrin should suggest to Ainreth that they should try sword fighting each other. If the Bulwark was to be believed, perhaps Fennrin stood some chance instead of being obliterated every time. Maybe Ainreth would find that fun, even if he truly didn’t excel at it very much.

But maybe Fennrin was being stupid. He couldn’t know if this would improve Ainreth’s mood. However, he did know one way to do it—with food. Remembering their first day in Kyr-Toryl, Fennrin smiled as he dried himself off and gathered his things. He would go buy Ainreth some of those meat cubes. Fennrin still wasn’t sure what they were called, but he did know where to buy them.

Excusing himself, and grabbing his sword and sheathing it, he turned into a shadow, slinking away outside. He’d already learned to find his way around the city using shadows, especially now in the late afternoon when the shadows were long and everywhere. Over the last few weeks, he’d been testing the limitations of his shadow form more and more, trying to see how fast he could go, how much he could carry before he turned, if he could fall without hurting himself.

So far, he hadn’t found many limitations. Like this, he was weightless, shapeless, unable to feel the chill in the air or the blowing of the wind, or anything else for that matter. He could transport heavy burdens with him like this, also, though he had noticed that it was much more draining for him to transform back into his physical form like this.

The main issue truly seemed to be sunlight, and it sometimes made his head spin, even after so long of using this power, that it was so simple. It seemed like he shouldn’t have the power to go wherever he wanted without anyone seeing him. He could spy on anyone, theoretically, if he wanted to, also, though the idea didn’t agree with him unless said person was an enemy.

But he couldn’t really think about any of this right now. Sliding down hills and walls, making his way rapidly to the marketplace, Fennrin couldn’t help but feel absolutely free. There was something truly thrilling about zipping through the city, unseen and unheard, especially when he compared it to his first experience with traversing the massive place.

All too soon he found himself at the stone square. He hadn’t been here since that first day, too busy training to do much else. Since the Bulwark had started supervising his progress, he hadn’t seen as much of Ainreth as he would like either, but he agreed that he needed to work as hard as possible to be ready if Orinovo truly was planning another attack.

Moving to the side where no one would see him, Fennrin turned into his physical form once more, shivering as the cold air hit him, but he didn’t let that stop him, already searching his pockets for enough virens to buy the food as he walked over to the stand and took his place in the line of four people.

Now that he was working directly with the leader of the army, he was getting a weekly salary, and while it was modest, he still felt like he didn’t deserve any of it. He hadn’t even officially joined the army, after all, but he hadn’t managed to find it in himself to not take the money. After so many years of never having enough, it was so difficult to be humble, to fight things like this.

Still, at least he was being paid for working, even if it wasn’t the kind of work he should be given this much money for, in his opinion. And like this, he could finally give something back to Ainreth.

The woman selling the meat gave him a strange look, but said nothing when he ordered two portions and paid for them. Unfortunately, Fennrin had gotten used to this kind of behavior also. He had hoped that once the truth came out about what he was, the people here might be less likely to shun him due to his friendship with Ainreth. But everyone had treated him coldly. At least they weren’t outright hostile or afraid, he supposed. Maybe there was hope still, but it did make him a little sad.

Thanking her, Fennrin walked away, heading in the direction of the palace until he was out of sight of everyone. There weren’t that many people out here at this time of day, especially given the cold weather. The only reason Fennrin wasn’t that affected by the cold wind was the hot boxes of food in his hands.

Melding into shadows, he rushed back up the hills, over bridges, just in case this somehow made food cold. He had tried turning into a shadow with food in his hand, so he knew it did nothing to it, but he hadn’t tried with hot food, which was an oversight on his part.

Thankfully, with how fast he was as a shadow, he quickly reached Ainreth’s house, turning into his human form again and swinging the door open, walking inside.

“Ain?” he called, frowning as he looked around, not seeing the other man. The lightweaver usually spent time in the living room, reading or writing. Fennrin wasn’t sure what he wrote, originally thinking it was a journal, but Ainreth wrote at random times and with days of not doing it in between. But it was none of his business, so he hadn’t pried.

Putting the food on the table, Fennrin first checked the bathroom, finding the door ajar and the room empty, before walking upstairs, looking over Ainreth’s bedroom, but the lightweaver wasn’t here.

Fennrin couldn’t help but feel disappointed, but honestly, he should feel foolish for not checking if Ainreth was home before buying him food.

He didn’t want to go looking for him because he didn’t have to know where Ainreth was every minute of every day, and he didn’t want to seem overbearing. But the meat and the sauce would go cold, and then it wouldn’t be nearly as good.

It seemed Fennrin would have to go find Petre. They always seemed to know where the lightweaver was, which was good because despite his best efforts, Fennrin still wasn’t very good at navigating the city, and Petre was, giving him detailed instructions when asked.

Going back outside, Fennrin dissolved into a shadow again, making his speedy way directly down the mountainside the palace had been built into, knowing that Petre lived in the quarter located directly below it. It would usually take at least half an hour of walking over bridges and down many, many stairs, but as a shadow, Fennrin was there in a short moment, and with barely any effort.

Knocking on the door of Petre’s small, white house once he reached it and turned himself physical again, Fennrin had to smile at the mushrooms growing all around the front door and around the house, practically anywhere with dirt available to them. If he hadn’t known Petre was a sproutkeeper, Fennrin would have put it together just from seeing that.

The door soon swung open, revealing Petre, reading glasses on their nose. Fennrin hoped he hadn’t disturbed them from something important.

“Hi, Fennrin,” Petre said easily, but with very little emotion in their tone. It was hard to tell if they were annoyed or not sometimes, but Fennrin would assume that they weren’t because they never seemed to react outright negatively to him.

“Petre, do you know where Ainreth could be?”

Petre’s face fell as they ran a hand through their messy ginger hair, looking off to the side at the door hinge. They sighed and took off their glasses, letting them hang from their neck. “He’ll be fine.”

Fennrin frowned, his chest tightening up with worry. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Petre looked him right in the eye. “Look, every year he gets like this around Dragonrise. Usually, he gets drunk. Just give him space, and he’ll be fine.”

“But why?”

Fennrin felt like he didn’t understand anything. Petre was usually quick to explain things, not minding that Fennrin didn’t know a lot, so it was incredibly odd of them that they were avoiding telling him any of this.

Petre sighed again. “It’s not my story to tell. Just know that something bad happened when Ain won the day. And he doesn’t like being reminded of it every year.”

Fennrin scowled at the ground. He wanted to respect Ainreth’s privacy, but he was worried about him. This couldn’t be good for him, especially if he did it every year. Ainreth was prone to reckless decisions even when sober. Who knew what he’d do when properly drunk?

“You aren’t going to listen to me, are you?” Petre asked flatly. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I can’t tell you where he is, though, because I don’t know. Try the taverns in the lower quarters. He will be somewhere there.”

Nodding at Petre in thanks, Fennrin couldn’t even manage to say anything as he dissolved into shadow again, already heading down the path that he hoped led to where he needed to go.

He had no idea where to even begin. He didn’t know how many taverns there were or where they were located, so the best he could do was slink around as fast as he could, looking around for any place that sold alcohol.

It felt like it took him hours to find the right place, though that was probably not accurate because the sun hadn’t moved that much, going from one tavern to the next, having to search every place properly to see if Ainreth was inside, until Fennrin finally came across a small inn on the outskirts of the city, a somewhat empty part of it with only a few houses around and not much else.

But all Fennrin could pay attention to was Ainreth sitting at the bar, his head bowed, his shoulders low, staring down into a glass of amber liquid. The old man behind the bar was telling him something, but Ainreth didn’t seem to be listening. And neither was Fennrin.

He couldn’t resist the wave of concern at how sad Ainreth looked when he saw him, immediately turning into his physical form and marching over to Ainreth.

“Ain,” he whispered, shocked at the lightweaver’s gloomy, empty eyes. It was such a shocking contrast from how he usually was that it made Fennrin feel as though someone was squeezing his heart. Especially once Ainreth turned those sad eyes on him.

“Fenn,” the man said with shock, blinking, his gaze regaining some focus. “Um, what…you doing here?”

“I was looking for you,” Fenn said, hesitantly sitting down on the bar stool next to Ainreth. “Are you okay?”

Ainreth grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just great. Don’t ya worry.”

The bartender was looking at them both. Fennrin could feel the man’s eyes on him, but he couldn’t look away from Ainreth. “How much have you had?”

“Too much,” the bartender said, shaking his head. Fennrin finally turned his gaze to him, scowling. It wasn’t the man’s fault, this was a public place and as such, they couldn’t expect to have much privacy, but Fennrin still felt annoyed for the bartender intruding like this. “And he hasn’t paid a single viren.”

Fennrin’s scowl deepened.

“I forgot to bring money, all right?” Ainreth snarked at the bartender, putting his glass to his lips and downing the rest of his drink. “Y’know where to find me to get the money later, anyway.”

He was slurring, his words not as clear as they should be, though still understandable. Fennrin huffed, reaching into his pocket. He didn’t have that much money on him, but he put it all on the wooden bar, pushing it to the bartender.

“Will this do?”

The bartender counted the mess of copper and silver coins before scoffing. “Close enough.” Then he muttered something under his breath and grabbed the money, pocketing it.

“Come on, Ainreth,” said Fennrin, grabbing the other man’s shoulder. “You need to sleep this off.”

Ainreth’s face turned into such a miserable grimace that for a moment Fennrin wanted to take it back, even though he knew he was right. But then Ainreth nodded, sighing heavily. Seeing his eyes glistening made Fennrin’s stomach twist. He hoped the lightweaver wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t sure how he would even begin handling seeing that.

“Okay.”

Wavering, Ainreth hauled himself up to his feet. But as he took a step forward, he stumbled, almost falling to the ground if not for Fennrin catching him, and pulling him up with all his strength. Ainreth was still a bit too heavy for him to hold up that well. Fennrin hoped that Ainreth would manage to walk mostly on his own.

Looking at the other man, Fennrin blushed when he noticed the other man was staring at his lips.

“Really want t’kiss you right now,” Ainreth slurred, his eyes half closed. Fennrin grimaced, looking away. Ainreth was drunk. He was saying that because he was drunk. It didn’t mean anything.

“Come on, we need to get you home.”

Ainreth’s face fell, but he nodded, pulling himself to his feet properly, letting himself be led out of the inn, into the last rays of the sun outside. Only then did Fennrin realize how long it would take to get back to Ainreth’s house from here. He hoped they would make it.

Fennrin expected Ainreth to talk on the way, perhaps not about what had just happened, but just in general. But he was staying shockingly silent, not at all like how he usually acted. He didn’t even stumble much after a while, managing to pull together his balance fairly well for how much he must have drunk.

And while Fennrin was glad they would manage to get to Ainreth’s home, it only served to make him worry more. What was going on in Ainreth’s head? What had happened on the battlefield that day that Ainreth was so affected by it? The lightweaver never seemed affected by anything.

But Fennrin had no right to pry, to ask questions about it. Not unless Ainreth wanted to share, and Fennrin wouldn’t go asking before he knew it was okay with him.

It was somewhat uncomfortable to traverse half of Kyr-Toryl in silence, even as people all around them decorated their houses with banners with the national colors of red and black, and hung flags and paper lanterns all around. Fennrin doubted it made Ainreth feel any better, but the lightweaver was keeping his head down as they walked up the road, not paying much attention to anything.

When they finally reached Ainreth’s house, the sun having set, Fennrin let out a sigh of relief as he closed the door. He was glad that was over with. Ainreth walked inside on his own, still not truly paying attention it seemed as he headed for the stairs. Fennrin was about to tell him good night when the man paused, looking over at the table where the two boxes of meat cubes still waited for them, the paper half soaked through with the sauce.

“You got us food?”

Fennrin couldn’t help but blink at the so touched tone in Ainreth’s voice as the lightweaver look back at him. “Um, yes. That’s why I went looking for you. I wanted to….” Fennrin huffed, feeling so stupid now. “Make you feel better, I suppose.”

Ainreth was now staring at him with big, vulnerable eyes, still just as wet as back at the inn. “Aw, Fenn. You care about me.”

Fennrin scoffed, shaking his head. “Would I go searching half the city to find you if I didn’t?”

Ainreth grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck as he bowed his head a little. “Oh. Sorry. Should have told you where I was going.”

Fennrin shook his head again. Unbelievable. That wasn’t at all what he’d meant to imply, but Ainreth was drunk. He was probably more than a little confused about everything right now. They could have this conversation in the morning when he was sober again. Or potentially never if Ainreth didn’t want it to happen.

“Come on, you need to go to bed,” Fennrin said, looking pointedly at the stairs. Ainreth heaved a sigh and nodded, turning around to climb the stairs. Seeing him stagger a little bit, Fennrin decided to go with him, keeping a hand on the other man’s arm to steady him. He didn’t let go until they were inside of Ainreth’s room, standing by his bed.

Fennrin tried not to stare too much, not having been in this room before, but he couldn’t help but notice that Ainreth had four throw pillows on his bed, along with a regular pillow that was far too large for any one person. Otherwise, the room was very simple, though. A few bookshelves along the walls, a wardrobe or two, and a large window with a balcony.

“Fenn?” Ainreth’s voice made Fennrin focus on the lightweaver again, who was now sitting on his bed, attempting to kick his boots off his feet. “I just…. Sorry you had to see that.” He deflated further, hugging himself. Fennrin was almost horrified at how vulnerable and almost small the great general looked. It seemed unnatural, almost. “I tried not to drink. I didn’t want you to see…. But I just…. Sorry.”

Fennrin wasn’t sure what to say, too stunned by all of this to respond, but thankfully that didn’t seem to matter to Ainreth, who continued.

“It’s just hard for me, this time of year,” he said, sniffling. And blight take it all, Fennrin almost winced at how much that sound had pulled at his heartstrings. “Everyone celebrates our grand victory. They celebrate me for stopping Orinovo. But nobody—” Ainreth sniffled again, wiping his eyes. He wasn’t looking at Fennrin at all anymore, preferring to stare down at the carpet. “Nobody cares who died with those Orinovan soldiers.”

“Who died?” The words were out of Fennrin’s mouth before he could stop himself, and once again he froze, expecting Ainreth to get upset. But he seemed unaffected, staying just as sad as before.

“My best friend.” Ainreth’s voice broke, shaking Fennrin to his core, as the lightweaver put his face in his hands. “A-and she didn’t just die. I…killed her.”

Fennrin could barely think, reeling from this revelation, but he found himself sitting down next to Ainreth and pulling him into a hug as if by instinct. It didn’t even feel like he was doing it, but it also felt necessary. Ainreth immediately clutched onto him, wrapping his arms around Fennrin’s chest and burying his head in his shoulder. Fennrin could already feel tears soaking into his tunic.

“What happened?” he asked softly, not sure if he would get an answer. He just wanted to understand. He refused to believe Ainreth would just kill someone, especially his friend, so there must have been more to this story.

Ainreth sniffed again, pushing himself even closer to Fennrin. “When I killed all those soldiers with a wave of light…she was in the way.” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t know what I was doing. I couldn’t warn her. I had to watch her burn to death right in front of me. ’Cause of me.”

Fennrin swallowed, his heart clenching. Just as he’d thought, it had been an accident. But this was awful. Fennrin hugged him tighter. He had no idea what to say to comfort him, but he hoped the hug was helping at least.

“The damned celebration is just a reminder of what I did. That’s why I’ve been so….”

As if Fennrin cared about that. It was nice knowing what had been the cause, but he felt all the more helpless now. What could he possibly do to help Ainreth cope with this kind of pain? It had clearly not been his fault that his friend had died, but he was blaming himself, anyway, and pointing this out wasn’t going to be useful.

“I’m sorry,” Fennrin said uselessly, and Ainreth pulled away.

“Thanks for listening.” Ainreth sniffled again, a tear flowing down his face. Even in the dark, the glint of it was unmistakable. “And, um, for not voicing whatever judgments you’re rightfully thinking.”

Fennrin immediately glared at him. He didn’t like being told what he was thinking, especially since it wasn’t true. “I am not judging you. This is clearly not your fault.”

“How’s it not?” Ainreth spat, though his heartbroken voice made it sound more hopeless than angry. “She died ’cause of me. Doesn’t matter that I didn’t intend it.”

“Yes, it does, you sundering idiot,” Fennrin growled, grabbing his shoulders. He wanted to shake him. What a stupid, stupid thing to say. “It’s tragic, and I’m very sorry for your loss, but it was an accident.”

Fennrin expected Ainreth to argue back, but instead, he let out a sob. And then he was hugging Fennrin again, almost desperately pushing his face against his chest. Fennrin hugged him back, his own eyes stinging as the lightweaver started crying in earnest, sobs shaking his whole body as he clutched onto Fennrin, who fought his awkwardness as he stroked the other man’s back.

“When we met, you told me that accidentally hurting someone with my powers doesn’t make me a monster.”

“This is different,” Ainreth mumbled, sniffling as his sobs subsided. “I had training, I should have known—”

Fennrin scowled, not willing to take this. “You told me you didn’t know what you were doing at that moment.”

Ainreth pulled away a little, avoiding Fennrin’s eyes, though even like this Fennrin could see how red the lightweaver’s were. Ainreth’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “It’s…diff’rent. Just is.”

“It isn’t, and you know it. You can mourn your friend without hating yourself.”

Ainreth wiped his eyes, sniffing. “Without me, she’d still be here.”

“Without you, Orinovo would have taken Lys-Akkaria once more, and the sun knows how many they would kill.”

Ainreth said nothing to that, which Fennrin hoped was a good sign. He really hoped he was getting through to him because he had very little experience comforting people. But what he was saying was nonsense, and Fennrin hoped that on some level, Ainreth knew that too. He was an idiot sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Since when are you so wise?” Ainreth asked, adding a huffy laugh, though it sounded a little broken after all the crying.

“I’m not. This is just common sense.”

Ainreth finally straightened a little, looking Fennrin in the eye. His face was wet, his eyes red and puffy, but he was smiling. “Nothing common ’bout you, Fenn.”

Fennrin blinked, doing a double take at the sudden change of subject. Was Ainreth saying…. What was he saying? He didn’t think Ainreth was referring to him being a shadowforger.

“Look.” Ainreth turned his gaze back to the bedcovers. “Look, I like you, Fenn. You know, like like. Romantically.”

Fennrin’s face went red as he shut his eyes, his heart clenching once again, but for a completely different reason. He appreciated that Ainreth was being so direct about it, leaving no room for ambiguity, but he was drunk still. Or at the very least tipsy. There was no telling if he meant it, and Fennrin wouldn’t take it seriously unless Ainreth told him when sober.

“Kind of terrifying how much,” Ainreth continued, still looking at the bed, now once again hugging himself. “Since I…since Zenri…died, I haven’t let anyone get close. But with you….” Ainreth’s eyes flicked over to Fennrin’s. “I don’t know how to not let you close. It’s scary.”

“Ain.” Fenn sighed. He didn’t know what to do. How to handle this. “You are drunk. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

Ainreth pouted, more tears gathering in his eyes. It was hard to look at how heartbroken he looked, but eventually, he nodded, sniffling. “Okay.”

Fennrin sighed as he got up, his heart hurting. This was a lot to think about, and a lot to take in. He longed to return Ainreth’s feelings, to tell him that he did like him too, he just wanted to hear it from him when he was sober. But how could he say any of that when he couldn’t know that Ainreth meant it? He’d just end up looking foolish, maybe even desperate.

“Could you…stay?” Ainreth asked, bringing Fennrin out of his thoughts. Ainreth was looking up at him with his head ducked, hair falling in his eyes. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. If you don’t want. I just…I don’t want to be alone.”

With the big, sad, pleading eyes Ainreth was giving him, how could Fennrin say no? Sighing again, he walked around the bed, took off his shoes, and climbed on it, unable not to feel incredibly awkward as he lay down.

Ainreth didn’t seem to share these thoughts, though, as he eagerly scooted over to him, pressing his head against Fennrin’s chest and wrapping an arm around him, as if continuing the hug from earlier.

And within a few moments, he was out, dead to the world, his breathing slowing, but his body pressed to Fennrin’s as tightly as ever before. And Fennrin was left alone with his thoughts, swirling in his head in a chaotic whirlwind.

For once he was glad for his constant exhaustion from his all-day training sessions. It would be the only thing that would help him sleep tonight because like this, next to Ainreth, he didn’t think he could otherwise.

As if this could ever not mean anything.