Infinite Night: The Da’Valia Trilogy, #3

By Christina Davis

In the riveting conclusion to the Da'Valia Trilogy, Neva, a half-human thief now notorious for escaping from Lithlorian Island, grapples with the consequences of an unbreakable blood oath and her failure.

 

With war looming, she must return empty-handed to her mother's people: the Da'Valia, who are as cruel as they are beautiful.

 

Everything she loves and holds dear will be ripped away as the gods orchestrate a war for the ages.

 

The fate of her realm hangs in the balance, and only one person can tip the scales in favor of her homeland. Will she embrace her destiny in time?

 

What to expect:

• Found family
• Chosen one trope
• Friends to lovers
• Happy ever after

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christina Davis Writes
• Release date: May 8, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227925206

Book preview

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Chapter One

Neva’s blue eyes flicked to the dark expanse beyond the stern for the umpteenth time. She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip, half expecting to find an army of dragons flying low over the inky water, converging on the Dancing Sandpiper and its crew.

Instead, all she saw was a clear and ominous night sky.

Anything out there? Ballard, the leader of her gang, leaned against the taffrail next to her. A fine mist clung to his beard, and the gold hoop in his ear winked.

Not yet.

The wind whipped Neva’s short locks, chilling the tips of her pointed ears as she turned back toward the bow. They lapsed into a silence that was heavy with uncertainty. The ship creaked and groaned as it crested another swell.

The visions Neva had endured every night since coming aboard the ship were the focus of her mind’s eye. Thousands of dragons invading her homeland, and a firestorm ravaging the coastline.

Digging her nails into the railing’s wooden ridges, she turned over the question of whether the vision would come to pass, and, more importantly, when. The answer still evaded her, just as it had done every day for the past fortnight.

She wasn’t certain what she was more fearful of—that the dragons would harm her loved ones and lay waste to Cirandrel, or that she would be the only thing standing in their way. Her stomach churned as she considered both possibilities, although there was a chance that she needn’t worry about taking on the dragon army, since her powers would be forfeit as soon as she returned to the Da’Valia empty-handed. Trinizhi would become her new boss, and Neva’s future would be one of powerless servitude.

In some ways, many ways, it sounded easier.

Neva barely suppressed a shudder. She was an accomplished liar, but she couldn’t quite fool herself into thinking that losing to Trinizhi was a good thing. The leader of the Da’Voda clan was powerful, driven, and heartless, a dangerous mix for anyone who should find themselves in her path, or under her control. She was loathe to speculate about what tasks Trinizhi would think up for her. Stealing from friends? Hurting those she loved?

Neva had a fortnight of freedom remaining, and she intended to use it wisely. The only thing worse than returning to Picquereau a failure would be returning without having done everything she could to prevent Emiliand from being killed by Vodou witches while he sought vengeance for the Leon Camp massacre.

She could still feel Emiliand’s heart beating faintly beside her own, but she had watched her friend and aliado die in her nightmares, the air stolen from his lungs, the ability to move stolen from his limbs, the light fading from his eyes. She blanched, recalling the prophecies. They were always different. Always awful.

With a shake of her head, Neva checked to make sure she had her throwing knives stowed in their proper places. The sheaths strapped to her forearms hadn’t inexplicably come loose, but she tightened them anyway.

Sure you don’t want us to come with you? Ballard asked, rubbing his earring.

I would never ask you to.

I have a full suit of armor getting dusty below deck, Tavo butt in, taking the spot on her other side. Where are we off to?

Neva’s lips twitched as the rest of the Dragonslayers joined them. Since escaping from their island prison, her gangmates had shed their dragon-scale armor. Tavo’s carnelian cape was the most ostentatious article of newly acquired clothing, while Durant’s trousers and vest were the most civilized. Neva herself had taken up wearing a patched doublet with mismatched buttons and a woven scarf. With her flowy Da’Valian pants, she looked vagabond.

Are you telling me you don’t have a score to settle with Baroness Fysk? Neva asked Tavo. Or that you don’t need to call on your mum, Crowe? Your families? She looked at Durant, then Debo.

See? She doesn’t want our help, Durant said. She wants to be alone with that aliado of hers. What was his name?

Neva punched Durant’s arm lightly. He flinched but still managed to look pleased with himself.

Emiliand, Rinaldo supplied the name of her aliado.

Isn’t Astiand the one you’ve been waiting to see? Crowe’s forehead wrinkled.

Neva’s cheeks heated. You lot are incorrigible.

Thought for sure Crowe had that right, Debo said.

When Neva had escaped from Lithlorian Island, she’d intended to seek Astiand to confess her feelings for him. But that had been before she’d Seen what would happen to Emiliand if she didn’t intervene. As much as she longed to be forthright with her guardian, to discover if they might have a future together, she couldn’t abandon Emiliand when he needed her.

She might not be able to change the outcome of what she’d Seen, but she had to try. The alternative would be to bear the burden of guilt for the rest of her days. She was done living like that.

Where I’m going, anyone I care about is a liability, Neva told her gangmates. You’ll all be better off elsewhere.

Never been called a liability before. Tavo grunted. I think I’m offended.

We all have unfinished business, Neva said more firmly. This is mine, and I’ll not distract you from yours.

Ballard gave her a subtle nod, and her throat thickened. She’d been imprisoned on Lithlorian Island for mere weeks. Durant and Ballard had suffered there for years. His approval meant more than he could know.

Incoming. Rinaldo nodded to the upper deck.

Mad Merrick, his floppy hat pulled low on his forehead, sauntered down from the helm. The feather dangling from his fiery hair spun about. Genivra, the first mate, hopped down to the main deck after him, the ends of her dreadlocks dusting her elbows.

We’re rounding the headland, Mad Merrick announced flatly. His eyebrows pulled together.

I’ve signaled my man. Genivra went over their plan again, blatantly disregarding the captain’s mood. You’ll have just under an hour to make it to shore. If the Order spots you, it’s trouble for all of us.

They won’t, Neva said. The coastline was practically swimming with ships from the Order of Cirandrel’s armada, but she operated best under the cover of darkness. Alone, she was more than capable of going ashore undetected against King Stephen’s military forces.

Right, Genivra said. Merrick?

The captain had stepped forward as if he had something to say.

I didn’t want to have to do this. Mad Merrick blew out an exaggerated breath. I’m not one to beg—but I will double my offer if you stay on. The Hand has already proved invaluable. We would make you very comfortable.

That’s generous, Neva said. The captain had been attempting to add her to his crew, and this was by far the most lucrative proposal. His last offer would have turned most thieves. How to let him down gently? But I’m making it my life’s mission to never eat another mouthful of squid stew.

Suppose we knew you’d say that. Mad Merrick chuckled. If it helps, I’ll gladly toss the cook overboard.

Neva shook her head. It doesn’t.

She had spent the early days of their journey with her head hanging over the railing, and she had returned there both times the cook had served squid stew thereafter. She’d made it clear that she intended never to board a boat again after she returned to Cirandrel. But the food was just an excuse.

Besides, I’d be useless to you by the end of Cravell, Neva reminded Mad Merrick.

And if she joins a crew, it’ll be one of mine, Ballard said.

Where’s your sense of gratitude? Mad Merrick sulked.

It’s fairly accounted for in the trunks below deck, Durant said.

The Dragonslayers were all very rich, but so were the captain and his crew. Throughout their voyage, Durant and the quartermaster had meticulously split up the treasure they’d looted from the dragon horde. They didn’t owe Mad Merrick anything more, except for the collection of jewels that Ballard would pass to him on Neva’s behalf after she departed. Payment for altering their course.

I’ll be your muscle if you’re handing out fortunes, Mad Merrick. Tavo climbed atop a barrel, presumably to make himself appear taller.

You call those muscles? Debo flexed his biceps, which each rivaled the size of his head.

Neva laughed, drinking in the last few moments with her gang: Tavo’s attention-seeking, Debo’s simpleness, Durant’s restored confidence, Rinaldo’s newfound calm manner, Crowe’s naiveté, and Ballard’s steady presence. Their banter lifted her spirits.

She didn’t like being uncertain of when she would see them again, and she said as much. The blustery wind was suddenly making her eyes water. Debo’s, too, from the looks of it. She politely pretended not to notice.

You’ll make sure my family gets my take? she asked Durant.

The Roses. Calabray’s. Roberts. Durant recited her instructions for finding her family in Ashford. They’ll get it.

Neva gave a brisk nod. Some might think her addled to trust a swindler to deliver her fortune to her family, but it was different for her. She would trust Durant with her life, and more. She turned to Rinaldo. And you’ll remember—

To ask for Adam Tate, Rinaldo finished. We’ll be fine. Go save your aliado.

Genivra tossed Neva an oar. Your boat awaits.

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Sweat lined Neva’s brow, and her shoulders burned from exertion. She was a stone’s throw from the base of the cliffs, where waves boomed against the sheer stone, and she hadn’t raised her sail once.

The furious incoming tide pitched her forward. She dug in her oar to slow her approach. Too fast. Her skiff jolted and splintered against the barnacle-covered rocks.

Seawater gushed through the cracked hull, drenching her boots. Panic shot through her, propelling her to her feet. Hands trembling, she dropped her paddle and leaped for the cliff. Another wave swallowed her skiff.

Her fingernails bent and shredded as she sought to gain purchase. Her skiff gurgled, surrendering to the sea.

Muffled shouts reached her faintly from the headland.

Behind her, the Dancing Sandpiper had disappeared into the night as if it had never been there at all. But near the headland, a ship with a blue and orange flag flapping in the wind was cutting straight toward her.

The Order. Had they seen her?

Neva murmured the incantation for her trusty invisibility glamour, hoping it wasn’t too late. She cringed as the magic stung her skin. A wave crashed over her. Saltwater slipped between her lips. She coughed and spit it out, blinking frantically against the gritty shower.

Her paddle, which was floating in the foamy waves thanks to a hollow shaft, was the only sign that something was out of the ordinary. Perhaps they wouldn’t spot it, but she hadn’t stayed alive this long by counting on best-case scenarios.

Neva climbed, quietly cursing when the cliff crumbled under her fingers. Her wet clothing clung to her, pulling against her efforts as she sought tangled root after tangled root. Breathing heavily, she stopped halfway up the cliff as the Order’s ship drifted closer.

In some ways, she and the Order were on the same side. They both had Cirandrel’s best interests at heart, after all. But the Order wouldn’t see things the same way she did. She was a thief, an enemy of the kingdom, and after her escape from Lithlorian Island, they would undoubtedly offer a bounty for her capture soon, if they hadn’t issued one already.

Not only had she and her gang embarrassed the Order by breaking free from their legendary prison, but she’d taken down the dragon wardens. The lack of wardens on Lithlorian meant that any nation, pirates included, could claim the island. And the Order didn’t know about the prophetic visions she’d Seen. They still thought the dragons were on their side—a mid-sea barrier between Amania and Cirandrel.

At least she had her invisibility glamour. Her double set of horns and the conviction marks on her wrist would confirm her identity otherwise.

Keep moving, she encouraged the ship. Nothing to see here.

But the sails lowered, and the ship slowed. She held perfectly still. The Order glided past her, and her abandoned paddle. She let out a slow breath. Perhaps her luck was changing.

A crewmember shouted, and she stifled a groan. He held his lantern out over the side of the boat and was calling attention to where the paddle bobbed near the cliff below.

She weighed her options while the ship circled back. If she used the Hand to create a barrier between them, she could make away, but they would keep coming for her. Jumping was out of the question; she still hadn’t learned to swim. And if she climbed, they were bound to notice any rocks that might fall in her wake.

She cursed. At least they didn’t appear to have a mage. She clung tighter to the tree root, prepared to wait them out.

The crew gathered on deck, bringing more lanterns to the side of the boat. Yellow light splashed against the alabaster cliffs.

Nothing here, a sailor called.

Here neither, another said.

Rouse the mage, the boatswain ordered.

A sailor scurried off, and the profane thoughts running through Neva’s mind amplified. Unwilling to keep her roost until being found out, Neva reached for another gnarled root and climbed as quickly as she dared.

The wind kicked up, and she prayed that the pebbles she knocked loose would be attributed to it.

Just as the Order’s mage appeared on deck, Neva pulled herself over the top of the cliff. Dirt caked her damp clothing, and sweat dripped down the sides of her face. She rolled away from the edge and lay on her back in the dirt, panting heavily. A burst of white light mushroomed into the sky. She loosed a breath of relief as she waited for the spots to clear from her vision, and she released her invisibility glamour. That had been close.

A throat cleared above her.

Up to your old tricks I see, said a husky feminine voice. Took you long enough.

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Chapter Two

The last member of the Dragonslayers planted her feet wide and peered down at Neva with yellow cat-like eyes. Mari’s clothing consisted of a sable Cirandrelean bodice and a tapered skirt the likes of which Neva had only ever seen worn in brothels. The front was hiked to above her stocking-covered knees. A thick, black velvet cloak that matched Mari’s hair billowed out behind her. The Djinn’s nose wrinkled, and she covered it with her hand.

I’m not sure what smells worse, Mari said. "You or your cemnocht."

Nice to see you, too, Neva replied dryly. But she didn’t mind Mari’s comment. She was just happy to be with her friend again, bad fashion sense and all. She accepted Mari’s hand, and they hugged.

Let us make away, Mari said with a nod at the sea. I have much to tell you.

My father? Neva asked.

He is well. Mari led the way through tall grass. He sends his love. He said to tell you he will solicit a fencer before your loot makes it to Ashford.

The tension in Neva’s shoulders dissipated. Learning that her father was all right always put her mind at ease. She longed to see him, her aunt, and her cousins again.

And Astiand? Neva asked.

They stopped at the road, and Mari gave her a side-long look. A hint of sarcasm laced her tone as she said, You held out longer than I thought you would asking after him.

Well? Neva prompted, appreciating that the hour helped conceal the heat that climbed her cheeks.

He said he will do what he can. Mari flicked a tick off her shoulder. There are many temples like the one you described in Simeon, but he will seek assistance in locating the Chameleon.

Assistance from who? Neva asked. With the Mouth on the line, she didn’t like that Astiand would bring anyone else into the affair, but she also recognized that he would have difficulty doing what she’d asked of him alone. Thatcher Sullivan was notoriously unscrupulous and had proven himself a master of disappearing both times they’d met.

Someone called the Baron, Mari replied.

Neva’s lips parted. Astiand knew the Baron? Despite the Baron having his operations based in Simeon, his reputation as a cut-throat crime lord preceded him throughout the realm. She wasn’t sure involving him was the right call. If he discovered why Astiand was searching for the Chameleon, the Baron’s well-known greed might present problems.

Astiand also said you should come directly to Picquereau.

Did he? Neva bristled. I hope you set him straight.

Of course. Mari’s eyes gleamed. I told him that Emiliand is your priority.

Neva stopped mid-stride. You didn’t.

Ah, Mari said, gesturing at a faint glow through the trees. Our accommodations.

Neva stewed over Mari’s meddlesome choice of words as the Djinn stomped up the stone steps to a tavern. Neva’s feelings concerning her aliado and her guardian were muddled, and she certainly didn’t need Mari complicating things.

But when Neva saw who was waiting for them in their room, she stopped caring about what Mari had or hadn’t said to Astiand in her stead.

The room’s lone candle flickered, sending bursts of shadows and light across the walls. A mountain of luggage sat at the foot of the bed. Benjamand jerked against the ropes constraining him to a chair, his sharp teeth fraying a gag. One lens of his spectacles, which sat askew on the floorboards, was cracked down the middle, and the skin under his binds was raw and bloody.

For all the—what have you done, Mari? Neva rushed forward. She hissed and yanked away when her power flared back instead of burning through the ropes. Spelled. She worked them loose. Did you need to abduct him?

He wouldn’t have come otherwise, Mari said, checking her reflection in an oval mirror mounted on the wall. She looked pleased with herself. He’s an ornery beast.

Benjamand yanked the gag out of his mouth and tossed it on the floor, rising as Neva finished releasing the binds on his ankles. You will burn, Djinn. Benjamand’s voice shook with a deep fury.

Oh, shush. Mari flicked her fingers at him in the mirror.

Mari, Neva exclaimed.

Benjamand flung a burning sphere at Mari. Neva dropped the rope and smothered the attack, using her power to cover and extinguish his. Mari, who had phased to dust, reformed on the bed. She rested on her side with her head propped in one hand.

Benjamand kicked the chair over, flinging the ropes away. Flames rolled along his knuckles. Did you order this creature to collect me?

I did. Neva winced apologetically and shot a look at Mari. I didn’t think she would take such drastic measures.

I agreed to bring him, Mari said, tapping her golden, pointed nails on her cheek. You didn’t specify how.

I apologize, Benjamand, Neva said. She brought you here because I need your help.

You— Benjamand sputtered. "I helped you once, when I could, not to establish a pattern of dependency. I have responsibilities that take priority."

The Eye came unbound, Neva said simply.

That stopped him. Benjamand’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He squinted at his spectacles and bent down, swiping them off the floor. He muttered under his breath and studied her closely through the broken glass, fuming. That’s not possible. You would be incapacitated.

Yet here I stand. Neva held her hands out, palms up, in a gesture of appeal. I need you to tell me how to use it.

If he didn’t, if he couldn’t, she wouldn’t be able to use it reliably to help Emiliand. She wouldn’t be able to use it reliably to thwart dragons or Trinizhi or anyone.

Figure it out on your own. Benjamand strode toward the door.

Pray, wait. Neva lunged after him.

Benjamand stepped out and slammed the door in her face. She caught herself, reeling. The smoke-stained panels stopped a mere inch from her nose. She grabbed the handle. It refused to turn. She stepped back and aimed a kick just above the lock.

Ouch! She hopped on one foot. The door should have crashed open with the strength she’d used.

She glanced around the room but failed to identify a serviceable lock pick and wrench nearby. Not that it would have mattered. Benjamand was an advanced warlock. He’d probably spelled the door in more ways than one. With a huff, she turned back to Mari, who was watching her with a cheeky smile.

Shall I fetch him again? Mari asked.

Neva rolled her eyes. Sending Mari for Benjamand would surely see one of her friends in the grave, and Neva was rather attached to both of them.

Stay here. Neva shoved the window open and jumped out into the night. She landed solidly, directly in Benjamand’s path. Stop.

Her vision spun as her mind conjured another plane of existence. One where he would have to listen to her. One where she was in control. She and Benjamand materialized in her landscape, a vast desert ringed by snow-capped mountains. It was night here, too, and feather-light snow drifted down. A thin layer of frost covered the cracked earth, where spider-leg cacti crept out from the crevices.

I aided you, yet you see fit to abduct me? Benjamand fumed. Your disrespect is repugnant. Your mother would be ashamed.

Neva flinched. All she had ever done was try her best to honor her mother’s memory. Benjamand was angry. She understood that. She’d been abducted in the past, and it wasn’t an experience that put one in a good mood. Still, she charged ahead.

Benjamand, pray listen. I did not tell Mari to take you against your will, but I do need your help. The things I’ve seen are terrible. Death. Destruction. I can’t control what the Eye shows me.

Benjamand’s expression turned from stormy to incredulous. Of course you can’t control it. Dhianz never meant for the Trishula to be controlled by a mere mortal.

But there has to be a way. Her throat tightened, and the fabric of her landscape wavered. How do I stop what I’ve seen from coming true?

What makes you think you can stop the future?

There are variations. I’ve Seen my aliado die in more than one way. Doesn’t that have to mean something?

You come to me, asking for miracles. Benjamand yanked his spectacles off. I do not know how to wield such a weapon. Any advice would be speculation at best.

Despair threatened to overwhelm her, so she switched her line of inquiry, praying for better news. Something she could use to escape indentured servitude to Trinizhi. What about the blood contract? Can you break it?

I regret that I cannot. His tone softened the barest amount. No one can. The end of Cravell is fast approaching. The magic has probably already activated.

He grabbed her hand and inspected her nails. Apparently not finding what he was looking for, he released her. Your fingernails will turn black soon enough, and you’ll either be dead within the week or you’ll turn yourself over and find yourself powerless.

Neva pushed away the image he painted. She’d seen more horrific scenes unfold than he could ever imagine. She wasn’t willing to accept that she was powerless to prevent them from coming true, and she wasn’t willing to accept that she was powerless to void her contract either. She couldn’t kill the donazhi without triggering her own death, thanks to the contract, but there had to be some way out. There was always a way out.

Not if you help me, she insisted.

You’ve stolen enough of my time already.

But—

I do not have the answers you seek, Benjamand said sharply. Unearthing them from the archives, if they exist, could take lifetimes. Cirandrel will declare war any day, and my donazhi demands my attention.

Neva grabbed his hand. Her knuckles whitened as he tried to rip away. She ruled in this space, and he could not leave without her allowing it. Then you must find the answers in the Da’Xana’s archives. The future of Cirandrel depends upon it.

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Chapter Three

After a lengthy discussion in which Neva recounted select visions of dragons invading and Da’Valia falling, Benjamand set off for the Da’Xana’s fortress at Picquereau in reluctant agreement to revisit the restricted section of the archives for her—when he could—and Neva returned to their room.

Mari dropped the book she was reading when Neva reappeared and didn’t even ask how things had gone with the enraged hilan before insisting that Neva bathe. While Neva would have preferred to head out immediately, she also understood Mari’s insistence. Neva wasn’t so accustomed to her stench that she could fully block it out. Between her imprisonment on Lithlorian and her voyage aboard the Dancing Sandpiper, opportunities for a thorough washing had been rare. She accepted the basin of rose water and a washcloth from a tavern wench with thanks.

Mari regaled Neva with stories of her father, aunt, and cousins as Neva scrubbed her skin clean. Aunt Margret had a gentleman courting her. James was doing so well in primary school that his instructors had selected him to attend secondary school. Kendall was following in Shaun’s footsteps, tending bar as it fitted him and staging the occasional waterway robbery.

I hope you told Kendall that he doesn’t need to do that anymore, Neva said. The last thing she wanted was for her cousin to get into trouble with the Order, especially when her family didn’t need to worry about having enough coin ever again.

Would that stop you if you were in his shoes? Mari arched an eyebrow.

Neva’s lips twisted. The Djinn had a point. Thieving was in Neva’s blood just like being Da’Valian was in her blood. She could become the richest person in all of Cirandrel and still get a thrill cutting a purse.

Pa didn’t seem to limp too badly? Neva asked.

His healer is trying a new treatment, Mari said. I saw him unload a sack of sugar myself. And what he did with it was terribly delightful. A cinnamon cordial that goes down like honey.

Mari chattered on about Shaun, giving Neva the sense that Mari liked Neva’s family far more than she liked her own.

You’re welcome to adopt them for your own, Neva joked. She regretted it almost immediately as Mari’s gaze dropped.

If only it were that easy, Mari murmured. She excused herself to fetch the tavern mistress for a fresh basin of water, claiming that the first had become discolored. It had, but Neva sensed that Mari was still struggling with being at odds with her family.

The mistress failed to suppress a sneer of disgust as she delivered a clean pitcher of water, but Neva brushed off the rudeness as the woman scurried back downstairs. The mistress couldn’t know that she was serving two very wealthy people, so Neva could hardly expect her to act accordingly.

Once they were alone again, Neva scraped the last of the grime from under her fingernails and caught Mari’s eyes in the mirror.

I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject, Neva said.

It’s nothing, Mari said. I just miss Nanna and Pedra. They weren’t as bad as Maither and my mother. Not all of them were constantly trying to change me.

You’ll see them again. Neva tried to sound encouraging.

You should hope not, seeing as we’re often together. Mari flopped onto their bed. Stray feathers from the duvet fluttered to the floor. I am kind in comparison.

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Neva closed her eyes and groaned, dropping her fork, licked-clean, onto the wooden plate. She’d scarfed down the salty potatoes and mincemeat pie, and her belly bubbled contentedly. She was getting more than a few stares from the townsfolk in the tavern, but she didn’t care. Quiet conversations sounded from the few groups around the room, but no one had snuck out to fetch the authorities, so they probably didn’t know who she was. Just that she looked different from them.

She loosened the pristine Da’Valian wrap that she’d donned that morning. The opalescent outfit was a gift that Mari had brought from Astiand. A gift that she was trying not to read too much into. Had he chosen the material himself? Had he envisioned her wearing it?

The stray image of