Page 32 of Of Stars and Lightning (Sun and Shadows #1)

Twenty Four

THE THING ABOUT SITTING STILL

THE NOTE DIDN’T say where the feast was to take place, but Sol had no trouble finding everyone else. She spotted a cluster of prospects on their way, obvious by the red envelopes in their hands. She recognized Felice and Lucas Mintz, siblings from the Romalian Nobility.

As Sol trailed behind them, she wondered what the ‘Vows’ actually were.

From what she had gathered, they were tests of some sort, and Finigan had mentioned something about possible sabotage amongst prospects.

Were they allowed to just grab her and slit her throat, or were there certain times slaughter was allowed?

Perhaps she was being paranoid, but the promise of bloodshed was the one thing that seemed definite. Not that she was excited for it, she wasn't. But the lack of it made her more nervous for when it began, as if it would start all at once then never stop.

It would be fine.

It had to be.

She just had to avoid being killed.

The dining room was grand, as was everything in Rimemere.

A sparkling, cascading chandelier lit with firelight winked against the golden wallpaper, and extravagant, silky red curtains hung over paintings of mountains and catacombs.

In the center was an oblong table covered with foods even more foreign than the ones from the castle feast.

The savory scent of meat made her mouth water and her stomach clench, reminding her the last time she’d eaten was the day before. Steam danced from the pots of soups and cremes, and bowls of fruits glimmered with beckoning sweetness.

The prospects filtered into the chairs and a few immediately reached for the food not caring to serve themselves.

Others simply looked around, scouting for danger or the most logical person to sit beside.

Sol categorized herself with the latter crowd, though she truly had the feral desire to behave like the former.

She spotted Cas toward the end of the table, alone and leaning back in his chair with a bored expression.

Sensing her, he glanced over and winked, to which Sol responded with an eye roll and a sharp turn in the direction away from him. She didn’t want to sit with these strangers and had half a mind to pluck a slab of meat and bolt back to her room, but a small hand tugged at her own.

Phil sniffed toward the table. “It smells amazing in here,” he breathed, feeling for the chairs. Beside him, his brother pulled one back for him.

“Don’t eat too quickly, Phil,” Jonah said. Before Phil could sit, the boy stopped and turned to Sol.

“I—something is strange.”

The people behind them continued feasting, but Sol felt it then. More than felt, smelled. She inched closer to the food, instinctively gliding in front of Phil. His brother did the same.

When Sol was young, Lora had taught her basic healing.

Her aunt hoped to inspire a passion for it, but Sol was stubborn, distracted by the colorful flowers, petals, and earthy smells.

The one lesson she never forgot, however, was the one on poisons.

Primarily due to the fact she couldn't even touch those plants, so she had spent the entire lesson sulking.

Secondly, due to the rancid smell. The entire cottage reeked of ammonia for days, a smell Sol grew to associate with the back alleys of the Yavenharrow taverns.

Here, though, it was only a small whiff that lingered. But it was enough.

Sol glanced at Cas who watched her with a small smile. He glanced from her to the food in silent question.

“Poison Savit,” she whispered. “It’s native to the Driodell forest.”

Phil sneezed and grabbed his brother’s hand. “The smell…”

Sol roved over the prospects. Most had caught on. But two, to be precise, had not.

Felice slowed her chewing, dropping the piece of meat she had in her hands. She looked to her left, to her brother, with an expression of pure terror.

At the end of the table, Cattya smiled. She turned to Cas, who sat to her right. “Here I thought the Romalian lands would know most poisons.”

Cas didn’t respond, but his silence might as well have been a slap to the face. He had known, and let the siblings eat anyway.

Returning to herself, Sol shook her head. “The food is poisoned.” The prospects turned to her. She kept her attention on Felice and Lucas, who instantly turned ashen. “It smells like Savit.”

“The Princess has some knowledge, after all.” Cattya tossed her hair over her shoulder. “How very lovely.”

“I—the trials don’t start until the second day,” Felice stammered, her chair screeching as she pushed away from the table. “We—we should have received a warning.”

Sol’s hands shook as she retreated a step. Her instincts told her to run, paranoia squeezing at her as Phil grabbed her hand.

“What’s happening, Jonah?” the boy whispered.

Jonah clenched his jaw but said nothing.

“While we wait for the Savit to kill these fools, I will ask the questions we all wonder.” Cattya glared at Sol.

Felice and Lucas fell to their knees, interlocked in an embrace. Taking a moment to breathe, Sol looked away, willing the tightening in her chest to loosen. She couldn’t bear she was the reason they were here, that now a whole continent was looking so closely at her, and she had no clue what to do.

She closed her hands into fist and clenched her jaw before meeting Cattya’s challenging gaze. “What is your problem?”

With a smirk, Cattya braced her chin atop her hands. “I only think it’s fair, Princess. We are all forced to be here for your hand in marriage, yet your little show of defiance screwed that up completely.”

“Being here is a privilege, Cattyiana,” a prospect warned, standing from his seat. He wore his auburn hair in a low bun and gripped the edge of the table as he inched toward her. “You should be grateful for the opportunity.”

“Grateful?” Cattya spat. “Fuck you, Cade. Grateful we were all shipped away from our lives to kill ourselves so we could rule with someone who clearly has no idea what she is doing?”

Sol bit the inside of her cheek to keep from yelling and fought to keep composure as she replied, “I am new at this. Of course, I can't be excellent at it.”

From the edge of her vision, she saw Cas angle his head toward her.

“Tell us, Princess, what have you been doing all these years? And your mother? There’s so many rumors.” The woman neared her.

“Careful, Cattya,” Cas warned.

“And you, Xanthos? How do you feel about being in this mess, after your father went through the exact same—”

Cattya was fast in her defense. But Cas was faster.

He stood and slammed his arm over the woman's chest so quickly that Sol blinked, and Cattya was against the table, food and silverware clattering to the ground. Everyone stepped back.

“I said careful.”

Sol leaned their way, but the horrid sound of bubbling goo made her stop cold.

Her breath hitched in her throat as Felice toppled over onto the sea foam carpet.

Lucas wailed, a scream of pain as he followed.

From their mouths spilled yellow and white foam.

They jerked and seized, clawed and screamed as the Savit took hold.

In that moment, Sol didn’t see enemies or people in her way of success.

She saw people who were dying a horrible death.

No one moved.

But Sol did.

Slowly, she made her way to them, then faster, as their consciousness began to fade. Savit wouldn’t be poisonous after digestion, but Sol was still careful to avoid the fluids as she knelt beside them.

“Please—” Felice croaked, reaching for her. Her baby-blue eyes welled with tears. “Please.”

“I’m sorry.” Sol clasped the woman’s hand and held it over her lap as she reached and placed her other hand on the man’s chest. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered again.

Jonah knelt beside her silently, giving her a small nod of support. Felice looked up at the ceiling, her tears streaming down her cheeks. Sol vaguely heard voices around her, but her attention was on those she held.

“In my hometown, we have a prayer we say,” Sol said softly, “when someone passes.”

For a second, Felice seemed to regain a glimmer of awareness as she looked at Sol. “Tell me.”

Gently, Sol recited the parting prayers she would watch at the Yavenharrow sermons, mostly from afar, with Leo as a shoulder to lean on when the atmosphere grew heavy.

As she spoke, Lucas’s breathing slowed and slowed until it came to a stop as she finished the broken prayer. When Sol looked down, Felice had also stilled, and a small sense of relief fluttered through her at the fact the woman at least looked peaceful.

Sol trembled slightly, suddenly feeling the heaviest weight on her shoulders.

She could almost physically sense the girl from Yavenharrow slip away the moment she looked at Felice.

Mourned her, even. Phil stood behind his brother, and though he couldn't see, his small face was solemn, too painfully aware of what happened.

The mourning for her leftover innocence transformed into anger as everything slammed into her all at once.

These people were here to die.

And by placing herself in the Vows, it might all be in vain. All because she was too stubborn to marry someone she didn’t love, eager to defy a tradition she didn’t agree with.

Cas’s chastise replayed in her mind.

No.

Sol wouldn’t let his cynical ideas grab her. She was here with a purpose: to dissolve a tradition that was poison to not only Rimemere but all of the Southern continent.

“Princess…”

Sol wiped her face with her sleeve and turned to Jonah. Wordlessly, the living prospects filed out of the dining room, but Cattya stopped before her, her shirt wrinkled and hair unruly from Cas's threat.

She glared at Sol, but this time Sol glared right back. “Ask your questions, then,” Sol said.

Cattya looked from her to the bodies around her, then turned to Cas. The Prince of Eswin watched her with eyes like daggers, his fingers thrumming on the table.

“I believe I have my answers,” Cattya said, stepping over the bodies before stomping out of the room with the prospects following suit.

Sol was left with Jonah and Phil, and she assumed Cas, as she could see his Shadows around them. Stroking Felice’s hair, Sol whispered “This is wrong. People shouldn’t die because of me.”

“If not for you, it would’ve been for another Southern noble,” Jonah offered.

Sol shook her head. “It’s barbaric.”

“It’s our normal,” Phil said softly. “But it’s an honor to be fighting for you.”

Sol met the boy’s eyes. “How old are you, Phil?”

Phil tugged at the sleeves of his blouse. “Ten summers.”

Determination spilled into her like scalding steel at the revelation. “I will figure out how to end this. I will not stand here and let all of you die without at least trying.”

“Princess—”

Sol cut Jonah off, “That’s a promise. And I don’t break those.”