Page 40 of Of Stars and Lightning (Sun and Shadows #1)

Thirty

SAWYER

AFTER NINA TENDED to Sawyer’s physical wounds , in that way that made her emotional wounds flare with neglect, she just stayed in her rooms.

Letters came, and sentries knocked for her assistance with training or strategies to better protect their borders. She didn't care. In all the years she had taken her father’s beatings, this last time was perhaps the worst.

Not the pain; she was used to that. But maybe because she was gone for so long with her friends, finally experiencing a semblance of normalcy and happiness, having him remind her the illusion was dead and gone tore through her body more severely than any slash of his whip.

After two days of sleeping, picking at roasted potatoes and carrots that appeared at her door, and showering with scalding water, Sawyer got the fuck up and headed to the stables. Fey was in the middle of indulging herself with a stack of hay when Sawyer got there.

“The run will do you good,” she told the mare, scratching the back of her ear before mounting her.

The guards knew better than to ask questions when she approached and signaled for them to let her through the gates. They only gave her a bleak nod and a respectful salute as she dug her heel into Fey’s side and was off into the evergreen land.

She decided to avoid the human sections and the outskirts of the city, opting to gallop straight into the forests. It was half an hour on horseback to Emberdon’s Temple, which would be empty by the time she arrived, save for maybe a few stray acolytes.

She and Fey moved in unison with lethal precision, the mare already knowing when to evade trees or jump over fallen branches without much direction from Sawyer.

And she was thankful.

It meant she could focus on the wind and how it played in her hair and kissed her skin.

The sky had taken on the most beautiful orange and pink hues as the sun set on the horizon to the left.

She took in the freedom with all her senses, wishing with everything she had that it could be forever. That they had never returned.

Sawyer enjoyed being the Royal General. She cared for her legions, thrived under pressure, and excelled at producing valuable statistical plays during battles.

But she was tired.

Her father had drained her. The desire to burn Samara and the kingsmen to a crisp had exhausted her. The outlets to relieve the piling frustrations were limited to training, riding, or distracting herself with whatever she could find—and none of her usual guilty pleasures did the trick anymore.

Twilight approached as she dismounted Fey and took in the sight before her.

Indeed, the temple was utterly empty. Not many of the new students came to pay their offerings regularly anymore, unless it was during the Awakening or a ceremonial ritual.

Throughout the generations, devotion to the gods had become more of a chore for the students.

They were more preoccupied with the strength of their magic, training for hours, or reading as much history as possible so they could learn from it.

What they didn't realize was that the strength of their magic was directly connected to how much their god favored them.

And the gods only favored those who gave regular offerings.

Fools.

Sawyer gave Fey an affectionate pat and left her with a few apples before striding into the stone and marble chapel.

It was similar to the material the castle was made of, but it also had obsidian interwoven into its walls.

The whole interior radiated as the setting sun bounced off the polished stones, sending multicolored rays all across the black floor.

The room was open to the elements, only large archways holding up the roof and ever-lit torches.

Pews lined both sides of the space, then a simple square table at the end of the rows with a chalice on top.

The chalice was carved into the stone table itself to not risk it being lost or stolen. It had apparently happened before.

Sawyer walked to it, leaves crunching beneath her boots.

Her god stared down at her as she reached the offering stand.

He, too, was carved of obsidian and depicted as a large, chiseled man with flowing hair and soul-piercing green eyes.

Next to him, carved into the walls and glowing a fiery red, were the surnames of the most famous and ancient Fire Wielder bloodlines.

Sawyer climbed up to the dais and ran a hand across them.

Jestaller, Kolden, Viotto, and Semmena.

She paused over her own surname.

The union between her parents had been arranged.

Her mother, Mel Yarrow, was the younger sister of the Rimemere Queen and a Wardress of the infamous Yarrow line.

Her father, Arnold Semmena, was Lord of Melisandre and Fire Wielder of the third most feared bloodline, behind Kolder and Viotto.

Originally, her father had been a prospect in Irene’s Coronation Vows—but for whatever reason she let him live, along with Draven, who became her betrothed.

A few weeks later, Arnold was engaged to Mel.

Either way, the union was celebrated, despite her father bringing in an older daughter from a previous affair with a Water Wielder, Rebekah Semmena.

Sawyer was not particularly close with her half-sister, as she was an absolute bitch and currently ruled over Melisandre. She sighed, cursing the day for taking such a solemn turn.

In the distance, beyond the mess of trees and shrubs, was the northern guard post. It was a small, square building with Royal green flags swaying atop its roof.

It was one of the only posts near the coast, and although it was also the one closest to the Jinn Gate, it actually had minimal activity.

She knew her third legion would be within, readying for the day’s end to begin night patrols.

As she carefully sliced a small cut on her forearm with her Wielder ring, she could almost hear her men in the guard post singing and laughing the way they always had while they changed shifts so many years ago.

Sawyer let her blood drip into the stone chalice and watched as it immediately evaporated into a crimson mist. She narrowed her eyes and looked back at the building.

It was completely silent.

Something along her neck prickled, like an invisible hand begging her to pay attention. She shook off the excess blood from her hand and unsheathed her sword.

Beyond the post were only hills and the ocean. The waves roared as they crashed into them as Sawyer approached, stepping off the temple grounds and into the lingering tree line.

When she arrived, she pushed the doors to the post open, only to be greeted by an empty, swollen silence within.

That wasn’t good.

Sawyer released a long breath as she stepped onto the tiled floor and gave the area an attentive assessment. There wasn’t much furniture for entertainment within the fort. Only couches and the occasional cot, and sometimes Sawyer would sneak in the castle blankets and leftover food.

A movement to her right had her sword and hands up in flames as she shifted toward it.

Sawyer would have recognized the Mind Slayer anywhere. Unlike the others, this one was a deep blue, and was absent of decrepit, rotting holes. Its face was slightly more humanoid than the rest, slightly more… sentient. It had no hair, no clothes, no grin.

Only its flashing, white eyes. Watching her.

Sawyer's sword shook in her hand. “You.”

From where it sat in the center of the room, it clicked its talons on the floor. “It’s been a long time, Sawyerlyn. You’ve grown into quite a woman.”

“What the fuck do you want?” Sawyer spat. “Where is my third legion?”

The creature shrugged. “Place was empty when I got here.”

Somehow, that revelation made Sawyer even more uneasy than seeing the Jinn.

She sheathed her sword. “How did you get into Rimemere land?”

“How did it take you all so long to figure out I was here?” The thing was just as annoying as Sawyer remembered.

Morna, the name the Mind Slayer goes by, had been the only reason Sawyer made it out of Melisandre alive the night her mother died. Sawyer had been in their backyard, dragging back a pitcher of water from their well when it happened.

Her mother stepped into the window of their room, dressed in a white nightgown and with an expression utterly empty, visible even from the distance. Sawyer didn’t have time to scream before she jumped.

She didn't let herself recall the rest of the memory, knowing herself enough to save it for when she could break down and spiral alone.

Morna stood, the full length of her almost twice the size of a typical human. “Still raw, is it?”

“Why don’t you things wear clothes?” Sawyer turned to the wall. “Or at least keep a skin regime.”

“I have a warning for you, Fire Wielder.” It inched closer. “It requires your immediate attention.”

Sawyer told the thing during their meeting in Melisandre never to approach her again—and to never blab to anyone she had taken help from a Jinn.

With a calculated step back, she motioned for it to continue. “I believe I told you last time I would not let you leave alive again.”

The Jinn laughed, the sound jarring enough to make Sawyer flinch. “Afraid to say a threat from a small, seven-year-old with anger issues was not very scary, Sawyerlyn.”

“What do you want?” Sawyer clenched her jaw. “I want to forget about this meeting as quickly as possible.”

“Someone within your castle is lying.” Morna’s eyes flashed white. “They pose a threat to us.”

“So? I don't care about your kind.”

“Us as in those on the Yarrow’s side.” Morna scraped the walls with her talons, getting closer. “So rude.” Sawyer scoffed.

The Jinn had told her the same thing in Melisandre—that Sawyer’s survival was vital for the Yarrow destiny. Sawyer knew not to believe words from a Mind Slayer, especially kind ones. They were usually tactics to manipulate the victim later.

Still, a youthful, stupid side of her thought perhaps it meant she was special, that she would Settle as a Warden like the rest of her maternal line.

Then she hadn't, and she had been angry ever since.

“I don't believe anything you say for a single second, Thing.” Sawyer let a wave of fire ripple over her arms. “So, if that’s all you have to say, I guess we can fight now.”

“I saved your life, is that not enough to trust me?”

“Fuck no.”

From beyond the stone walls, the wind howled.

“Fine. I will provide you with a peace offering, Fire Wielder.” Morna continued forward, and it took everything within Sawyer to remain in place. The creature may be docile compared to other Mind Slayers, but the reek remained the same.

“Aren't you curious to know how to get the Yarrow heiress and the Prince of Shadows out of their predicament?” Morna angled her head, a motion more animal than human. “I hear they’ve gotten themselves into quite a problem over at the Gods’ Villa.”

Sawyer crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes. “They’ll get to the end, and he will yield—not really a predicament.”

Morna’s pupilless eyes flashed. “Do you truly think it’ll be that easy?” She waved a hand. “Well, alright then.”

“Wait.” Sawyer pursed her lips. “Why wouldn't it be?”

“Have you ever known anything to be that easy, Fire Wielder?”

Morna was right. In theory, it was a simple solution for Sol and Cas. Which made it all that much more unlikely to work out, especially if her father had any say. “What about Sol and Cas?”

“Go into your father’s study,” Morna said. “Their way out will be there. The trip may also prove of other value.”

“Well, that’s vague.”

Morna shrugged, her lanky limbs making the motion awkward. “You want more details, it will cost you—nothing is free, Fire Wielder. Especially from us.”

Sawyer rolled her eyes and turned on her heel, toward the open door. “Beat it. I am in no mood to kill you tonight.”

“Sawyerlyn, you must remember your castle has traitors,” Morna called after her. “Nothing we do will matter if they succeed.”

She peered over her shoulder. “Who?”

Morna smirked, that trademark Jinn grin that made a shiver skitter through her. “That sort of information will cost you your soul, Fire Wielder.”