Page 3 of Of Stars and Lightning (Sun and Shadows #1)

Sol had thought her mother liked Warren the most because he was, objectively, the most handsomely illustrated in the folklore.

As Sol collected the memories and passed the stone deities, she swore Emberdon, god of fire, followed her with his beady, ruthless eyes.

The structure shone in the sunlight, and the wooden doors of the Archives creaked open as a group of students made their way out, arms full of books and faces bright with smiles.

The smell of worn parchment and leather greeted her, prompting a satisfied inhale as she stepped inside.

The only way time passed in the place where it all stood still (the Hound), was with a good, long romance novel.

Another benefit was that she could later trade it with Mina, Leo’s sister, for whatever she managed to find.

Sol traced a finger along the bookshelves, leaving behind a clean trail while dust flew in her wake, when a book title made her pause.

Angling her head, she plucked it from the shelf.

Myths, Tales, and Truths of the Southern Continent: Light Magic and Its History.

Sol smiled.

Erriadin’s Southern Continent, further south than Yavenharrow, was famous for its stories—and its secrets.

Tales of the magic the Southern natives possessed were widely sung around fires and festivals.

The one story told the loudest was the legend of a city with rough, hilly landscapes and crowded streets paved with the densest stone, fiercely loved by its queen and her people.

The stories whispered of the city of Rimemere mostly warned of the Light Magic Wielders who walked among it, taking up residence in a giant castle stark in the middle of the city.

The bedtime stories meant to lull children to sleep sang of the sweet elemental magic they held, while the stories meant to discipline and spook told of the way they despised humans. In fact, they coveted their abilities so much that most of their bloodlines only married known Wielders.

Sol’s mother had told her so many stories that she wondered if somehow she had traveled there herself. But every time Sol asked, Irene would laugh and tuck her into bed.

The memory squeezed at her chest, and by the time she left the Archives, she decided to take one final detour.

She walked through the bustling streets, smiling at the vendors and children as they chased each other around the Old Square. Yavenharrow, though difficult with its weather, was a lovely town.

Anything a person might need, Yavenharrow had it. It was the advantage of living in a port town, one Sol had never taken for granted. What they lacked in finery and luxury, they made up for in culture.

Past the vendors and markets toward the edge of town, the cobblestone funneled into the Yaven Ports. Ships were docked as usual, ready to take sailors on their quests or transport whatever item the Northerners fancied.

This month, to Sol's dismay, it was quilts. The fools had purchased most of the town's supply of wool and fur blankets, leaving the thinner options for them. It wasn’t a huge concern since summer solstice was next, but Sol still liked stocking up while they didn’t cost a whole week’s coins.

She looked around for any and plotted to negotiate for one but settled with free seafood samples instead.

She didn’t only prowl the shops with schemes to snag cozy things, but also to greet the regular vendors who would set up across the docks.

Most of them were regulars at the Hound, so remaining on their friendly side was advantageous.

For tips, and free seafood, of course. Blue crab meat melted on her tongue, and she suppressed a sigh as she plopped a spiced shrimp in after it.

The food almost made her want to stay in Yavenharrow.

Almost.

Exploring Erriadin called to her a little louder.

She swerved toward the beach, passing the sleeping ships, and evading the busy fisherman as they ran around the docks. Past the docks was a thin, rickety ladder that led to the sands, then to a path she could walk in her sleep. Sol made to step onto the sand, eager to feel its familiar warmth.

But she halted.

Her mother’s grave was far enough from the water that the waves never reached it but close enough to the sea, on the small grassland bordering the beach, to always feel the salty breeze.

There had been no point in securing a burial plot at the town pantheon since so little of her mother’s body had remained after the murder.

So she and Lora had burned the remains and buried the ashes at the beach, the place her mother loved the most.

No one except Sol, Lora, and Leo visited. So it was startling to see a figure looming.

The block of stone on the ground served as a memorial and was completely covered by a cloaked individual. Sol saw their hands shifting through the patches of lavender and moss she had planted around it.

A small part of her, the logical side, told her perhaps she should turn back and visit another day. But that pesky, defiant side pulled her forward, hands gripping her books harder in case she had to use them as weapons.

Salty seawater sprayed at her face, blurring her vision so that her steps turned sloppy—and noisy—as she descended the walkway.

The stranger peered over their shoulder. "Who's there?" The voice was firm and foreign, with a slight, deep Southern accent that piqued Sol's interest.

Still, she stopped a healthy distance from them. "I'm afraid that's the question I should ask you." Her voice shook, betraying the nonchalant facade she attempted to play.

A smile pulled at the man's full lips as he stood to face her.

Yavenharrow was filled with people from all edges of Erriadin since it was a town for travelers.

However, most long-term citizens kept to brown eyes, black hair, and carefully sun-kissed skin, all the total opposite of Sol.

It wasn't often she saw features like her own, so when the man removed his hood, she couldn't help but stare.

Pale ringlets fell around his forehead, stopping just above a set of pine-green eyes. Unlike Sol's, his had specs of silver so intense, she could see them from where she stood a few steps away.

He motioned to the tombstone, a small carved stone with her mother's initials. "I'm sorry. I guess this belongs to you?" Sol nodded and clutched her books against her chest.

"I was walking to the docks and saw this lovely bed of lavender, you see." The man held up a stem of lavender, plump and violet, and deliciously fragrant. "Then, after I plucked it, realized it was a grave and—" He ran his fingers through his hair in an obvious nervous tell, making Sol relax.

She cleared her throat and said, "You may take more if you'd like. The animals around here love to steal when they're fresh blooms anyway, so there are always chunks missing."

He knelt beside the bed of lavender and thyme, the impossible agricultural feat finally successful after she had begged Lora to bring back soil from the Driodell forest. The myths surrounding its ability to grow anything proved true.

The herbs had been her mother’s favorite and offered a sort of comfort Sol hadn’t been able to match with anything else.

"I have a journey North and heard lavender helps with seasickness," he remarked, plucking another stem, and easing it into his pocket. "If this doesn't work I'm afraid I'll perish before I reach the Western Stones.”

Cautiously, Sol knelt on the opposite side. "You're better off trying ginger for that. Or Belladonna. Can't throw up if you're asleep."

A roar from the docks interrupted the man's laughter. Fishermen waved and rang their bells, signaling the departure of a ship.

The man sighed. "That's me, I'm afraid." He surveyed her, and Sol instantly regretted dropping her guard.

Yavenharrow men weren't the kind of people to have conversations without planning to take it further, she had learned that the hard way. But the man made no move forward or change of expression. Instead, he stood, brushing the sand off his leather breeches.

"Well, it was nice to meet you." He angled his head. “What’s your name?”

Sol’s breath hitched.

That had been Irene’s only rule. “You never tell anyone your full name, Sunshine. The only ones who can know are people you wholeheartedly trust. Even then, think twice about it.” She didn’t remember the first time her mom told her this but recalled it constantly throughout her life, and had yet to break it.

Sol could only use her first name, the shortened version of it that most people knew her by anyway.

Still, she tried her best to avoid even giving that.

“Stella,” she lied, giving him the name of her favorite of Leo’s goats.

The man nodded. “Stella,” he repeated the name slowly. “Star.” Sol shrugged. “My mother liked the sky.”

Another booming horn vibrated on the beach, prompting the

man to sigh. “Yavenharrow natives are very impatient.” He winked. “See you later, Stella.”

Sol watched him leave, still entranced by his demeanor and cool features. If she had to guess, she would say he was from Niome, or Ventry, somewhere deeper south where their features were common.

The evening had cooled as the clouds continued to darken, so much so that Sol could barely see through the haze and rain. She looked down to her mother’s herb garden, spotting the bare spec where the man had plucked the stems.

Shielding herself from the oncoming rain with her satchel, she quickly scooped up some dirt and stray leaves to cover it, saving the soil from becoming unsavory for when she planted a fresh batch.

Just as she dug her fingers into the ground, hot pain sliced through them.

“What the—” Sol cursed as she yanked her hand against her chest, sure she had hit some sort of thorn.

She inched closer.

No, not a thorn.

Sol pulled at the metal chain, freeing it from beneath the sand and dirt. It was a curious necklace, loud and resplendent despite the gray air. A pendant in its center sparkled as she held it to her face, the shape of a six-pointed star made of delicate golden strips.

It reminded her of the birthmark on her back, the one she had shared with her mother and the women before her.

Another booming horn made her flinch. She clutched the thing and swirled to the ports.

As the rain began to pour, Sol swore the mysterious man lingered over the edge of the now-sailing ship. With an uneasy feeling, she realized he hadn’t told her his name.