Page 22 of Of Stars and Lightning (Sun and Shadows #1)

Sixteen

MASK OF FURY

THE DAYS WENT by incredibly quickly.

Sol was tossed from meeting to meeting, greeting professors, students, and all the officials in between with forced smiles and laughs.

She wore painfully tight corsets and ridiculous shoes, mostly accompanied by Nina and Sawyer everywhere she went.

Cas was nowhere to be seen, which proved to worry her more than anticipated.

Since the day of the Lineage Trace, no one had seen him. Nina mentioned the last time she saw him was in the throne room and hadn’t heard of him since—but the darkness that flickered through her gaze every time it was brought up made Sol think Cas had not just gone out for a stroll.

Alix swam in occasionally, but was mostly occupied in the libraries, scribe duties ticking with the need for invitations to be distributed to the rest of the continent. Because Rimemere was isolated by the wall, courtiers had to cross it before being able to send the invitation by transport.

The royal dinner approached quickly, and though Sol had initially chosen to ignore her blatant lack of preparedness, the closer it loomed, the more her inexperience stared her right in the face.

She had grown keen at pretending to at least be poised in front of the castle-dwellers but didn’t think she’d have the confidence to keep up such a neat facade with the nobles.

The day of the dinner, Nina finally agreed to let Sol sleep in. She didn’t take it for granted. Sol woke only to shut the curtain to her room once the sun began to bleed in, then buried herself back into the cover of the extravagant quilts and duvets.

The first few nights, Sol mostly spent exploring her assigned quarters.

Never in her life had she seen such a luxurious space.

It was a little unnerving. To a degree, it made her feel guilty she was assigned such a space when Leo and Mina lived in a one-bedroom cottage.

While Lora remained in their cottage—if the Jinn had left it standing.

Aside from the agitating silence and foreign surroundings making it difficult to focus, the fate of her town and family left her restless. There hadn’t been a single night since she left that she wasn’t plagued by nightmares of beady eyes and her Aunt’s expression right as they were torn apart.

Although Lora told Sol to go, to survive, the guilt made it difficult.

Sol watched the ceiling with a lazy gaze when a series of knocks at her door made her flinch.

“Princess Yarrow!” a ragged, but feminine, voice called.

Sol veered sideways and looked at the front door, past her bedroom door and the living area. The wooden frame shook again as more knocks sounded.

“I’m coming in!” the voice declared as the door eased open to reveal a small woman with silvering hair tied in a knot atop her head and beige skin wrinkled with age.

Sol shimmied deeper into the covers, only letting her eyes peek at the stranger.

“Please don’t call me that,” she mumbled. It still sounded foreign.

The woman waddled in, a tray in one hand, and clothes on the other. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard you dislike formalities, Princess.” She set the tray down on the mahogany desk, her brown skirts swaying with each step. “However, you must get used to it, especially as there will be lots of them tonight.”

She swirled toward the bedroom and met Sol’s gaze. Her eyes were brown, kind, and crafted with wisdom. Still, Sol recoiled further into the bed. The woman narrowed her eyes at her and wrinkled her nose. “Are you truly still in bed? It’s almost noon.”

Sol blinked at her. “It’s been a long few days.”

“And the long days are just beginning, Princess.”

Sol angled her head toward the hallway, still only exposing her eyes. She glared at Sawyer. “Nina said I could sleep in today.”

Her cousin leaned against the doorway and shrugged. “Yeah, sleep in. Not sleep all day. You must get ready for the dinner. It’s noon.” Sawyer stepped into her room and sighed. “And it might take the entire time to fix you up.”

Sol had only worn casual gowns since their arrival, and the rest of them kept mostly to their tactical uniforms. However, it seemed even her Court was to dress up tonight.

Sawyer wore a deep red gown, resplendent against her tanned skin and soft curves.

Her toned arms were adorned by carefully embroidered lace sleeves, and she wore her hair in a casual knot around her head.

It was an easy sort of beauty, one Sol couldn’t help but admire. The Fire Wielder frowned. “What?”

“I’ve only seen you in dirty leather suits,” Sol said, sitting up. “Are you all finally to suffer with me and wear ridiculous gowns?”

“Nope, still just you.” Sawyer grabbed an apple from the tray the woman brought in.

The woman swatted her hand away. “Sawyerlyn, I will be sure to get you a more uncomfortable gown if you don’t shoo. I need to get started.”

Waltzing into Sol’s bedroom, the woman yanked her comforter to the floor. Sol only heard Sawyer’s protest and what might have been a mocking, “Good luck.”

THE WOMAN’S NAME was Francis. She introduced herself as she dragged Sol to the washroom, then said she would be her assigned handmaid as she tore her nightgown off.

Sol tried to evade the large, circular mirror that hung across the bathtub, but as Francis practically pushed her into the steaming, oil-infused water, she caught a glimpse of her dusty-blonde hair, pulled into pin curls Nina had hastily pinned before their first meetings.

Her skin was still flushed from the journey in the sun, and even the recent night’s rest hadn’t erased the purple shadows under her eyes.

Her gaze snagged on her abdomen, and she flinched at the thin, raised scar that trailed across it.

She looked away as quickly as she could and sank into the tub.

It was horrifying to have the woman scrub her down. Sol suddenly felt like the goats at Leo’s, who they hosed down and washed once every few weeks to get rid of their grime. The goats would scream relentlessly the whole time, and Sol was a scented lotion away from doing the same herself.

“When was the last time you brushed your hair, child?” Francis pulled the wooden brush through Sol’s hair, the rickety thing nearly snapping in half.

She bit back tears. “I fell asleep before I could work through it.”

Francis scratched her head with her free hand, ultimately deciding to leave the brush in the depths of the mess and grabbed a vial of oil instead. She worked it into the locks. “Some of the more traditional styles are a pain to remove, that’s for sure.”

Finally, her blonde hair began smoothing into its natural waves, the oil making it shimmer with the sunlight that peaked through the windows, opened at Francis’s orders. “Haven’t seen hair so golden in a long, long while. It’d be a shame for it to damage.”

They sat at a vanity near the bed, white and embellished with navy-blue specs. A simple mirror faced them, making it easy for Sol to study her without being too obvious.

Unlike the people who wandered the halls, Francis was simple. Normal, if you will. She didn’t agitate Sol’s nerves. Sol met her gaze through the mirror and gave her a small smile. With a soft shake of her head, she smiled back.

“You look just like your mother, you know.”

It wasn’t what she had expected to hear, and it immediately pulled at her chest. “I’m the exact opposite of her,” Sol said a bit sadly. Even having her mother’s eyes would’ve been a comfort, since at least she could see that small piece of her through reflections.

Francis shook her head slightly, softly parting Sol’s hair down the middle. “Your smile is the same. The way you both despised brushing your hair is the same.”

“You knew her?”

A nod. “I did indeed. I was one of her handmaids.”

Nina flashed through her mind. Her mother had been Irene’s handmaiden too, from what Lora told her, before being sworn into her Royal Court. Sol wondered if Francis knew Clarisse as well.

“How… how was she? My mother?” Sol fidgeted with her nails. She didn’t want to admit to this stranger the topic weighed on her. That she was nervous and alone and homesick and needed words of comfort.

Francis pursed her lips, grabbing a pallet of cosmetics from the desk.

She was silent for a while, long enough that Sol doubted she would answer.

But with a click of her tongue, she said, “Your mother was kind. And fair. She made some harsh decisions, but with her people’s well-being in mind.

She was one of the fiercest women to have ever sat on the stone throne. ”

Francis wove delicate green gemstones into the crown of Sol’s head. “The Wielders are going to tell you one thing. Us without magic will tell you another. At the end of the day, you judge for yourself, child.”

A knot in Sol’s chest loosened ever so slightly. Only for it to immediately tighten again as Francis retrieved a gown from the armoire to the left. Through the mirror, Sol watched as she laid it atop the lilac sheets.

The dress was surely a Northern import. It was a rich, long, and elegant pine green, but with a risqué essence she hadn’t seen in the typical Rimemere fashion.

The satin neckline plunged in a delicate V, and the seams were a laced gold, the same as the trail of gemstones that wrapped around its middle.

The golden flecks spread all the way from the bodice to the skirt, and the sleeves were a delicate beige mesh.

An emerald corset rested beside it with golden strings, all held together by golden strings that would secure down her back.

It reminded Sol of a sunrise over the Yavenharrow forests.

“It was your mother’s,” Francis said, gazing at the dress. She ran a delicate hand over the fabric. “It was the dress she wore for her Awakening.” The woman placed a gentle grip on Sol’s shoulders. “I hope it brings you similar luck today too, Princess.”

Sol released an anxious breath. “I don’t know if I can confidently wear that.”

Francis tapped her shoulder gently in a small gesture of encouragement. “No one knows you don’t know what you’re doing unless you tell them, Princess.”

By the time Sol finished donning the full costume of Heiress, it was fifteen minutes until the dinner was set to begin.

Not only did Francis help her with her appearance, but she also gave her a basic lesson on the Southern territories—the magical version.

Sol knew the ten Isophele territories. Each space had its own coveted export, each unique in culture and custom. She had studied them through Leo’s notes, though to the regular citizens, only nine Isophele territories were known. Rimemere was absent from all records outside of Wielder lands.

Romalia was ruled by two nobles, their bloodline so pure it was said they were somehow related. The territory hugged the southernmost coast, and a thin mountain range bisected it and their neighbor Polimende.

Romalia lands were rich with animals and always had bountiful harvests, courtesy of it mostly housing Earth Callers.

Not many foreigners were allowed in, but the ones who were—and made it out—shared the city was made of pure stone and lion furs.

The nobility was said to live in a cottage by the hill and were often gone for months at a time.

Polimende was the central territory, flanked by five others, making it the most diverse of them all. They got the meats and vegetables from Romalia, the weapons from Melisandre, the exotics from Dianese, and the occult from Niome.

Sol looked over at Francis where she smoothed the sheets of the bed. “What is ‘occult’? Should I be… scared?”

Francis laughed. “Niome is special. Their nobility are one of the only gods-called Wielders left on Erriadin. It makes the whole place rather… otherworldly.”

Sol paced around her room, trying her best not to sweat through her gown or cosmetics the woman had so neatly painted on her.

“I’m never going to remember all this, Francis.”

“Something will stick. Let’s continue.”

Ventry was separated by a strip of the Seas of Leona at the tip of the continent, making harsh weather and storms common there.

Their export was seafood and beauties of the sea, from shells and sands to clothes made of Anglea thread.

Sol never missed a Ventry export in Yavenharrow—their sea mallows were divine in Lora’s stews, though goods from anywhere beyond the Dunes of San’ann were usually scarce.

Now she knew it was likely due to the Rimemere wall.

“Teriopa and Stone Ledge capitalize on travel. They both have some of the largest ports on Erriadin, right next to Yavenharrow.” Francis glanced over at her, as if she had noticed Sol’s heart skip a beat at the mention of her hometown.

The woman smiled kindly, walking over to Sol with a mug of tea.

“We are only going through this, so you are not completely lost out there.”

Sol nodded. “Thank you.”

A soft knock at her door made her jump and nearly drop the cup of tea.

“Sol?”

Her shoulders eased at the sound of Nina’s voice. She hadn’t realized how much she had grown attached to the woman until she began to notice her absence. Sol supposed her entire Court was the one familiar thing in the sea of uncertainty.

Brutally ironic, truly, since they had been the opposite only a few weeks ago.

Nina eased the door open slowly, her face peeking around the edge. A smile instantly bloomed as she took Sol in. “You look stunning, Princess!”

Sol was about to protest at the title, but with a wave of her hand, Nina cut her off. “I get to call you that today, as you truly do look like one.”

The Earth Caller stepped into her room, and like Sawyer, she wore a figure-hugging silk dress. Nina’s was green, a deep emerald, with silver vines around the neckline. She held out her hand.

“Ready?”

Sol shook her head. “No.”

“We will all be with you, Sol.” Alix appeared beside Nina, clad in elegant, all black attire. “You have nothing to fear.”

“Unless Nina gets her hands on the Ventry wine,” Sawyer chimed in from behind them. “Then we have much to fear.” Nina rolled her eyes and made to playfully push her.

The interaction caused Sol’s chest to sigh with a newfound calmness. Sure, she may be in a foreign place, but at least there seemed to be people in her corner.

But as she fell into step between them into the hallway, that empty spot at her back was a worry she couldn’t quite keep concealed.