Page 66 of Of Stars and Lightning (Sun and Shadows #1)

Forty Nine

SECRETS FOR THE WIND

THANKFULLY, THERE WEREN’T many spectators. Sol had expected a courtyard full of nobles, adding to the nausea she felt as she descended the castle steps. But when she finally looked up to examine what awaited, it was pleasantly empty.

To the right, situated over rows of simple rosewood chairs, was the Stone Ledge Nobility.

Cattya’s mother—obvious by their identical scowl and blue eyes—glared at her as she passed.

Another woman sat beside her, clad in a scarlet gown and a silken curtain of straight black hair. She did not meet Sol’s gaze.

Behind the Stone Ledge nobility, the Ladies of Niome greeted her with kind smiles, melting some of the icy atmosphere. The women emitted a calming, collective aura Sol appreciated as she continued cataloging the guests.

On the left side, also sitting on a pair of chairs, was a couple Sol didn’t recognize.

They were elegant, but not in the obnoxious manner the other Southerners exuded.

The woman wore a casual coat and trousers, her plump figure mirroring that of her partner beside her.

They watched Sol and her Court silently as they made their way down the bare middle of the yard.

With the way the chairs flanked them, Sol felt like she was walking down an aisle.

Sawyer seemed to feel similarly, as she whispered, “Never thought I’d be walking down an aisle with my father at the end of it.”

Indeed, King Semmena and his Court stood beneath the cover of a massive, full tree, its leaves dancing to the ground with the wind.

Samara, Gina, and Gaven stood silently behind their King Regent, Jeriyah seemingly absent from the meeting. Besides a row of kingsmen posted by the gate a few ways away, that was it.

The Yarrow Court, the Semmena Court, and a couple of nobles who seemed ready to hang Sol by her throat.

She supposed it could have been worse.

“I’ll admit, the unpredictability of your Vows made them quite entertaining, Niece.” Semmena wore a thick, fur-lined cloak over his white tunic, his crown solid atop his head as he watched their every move, up until Sol and her Court was also beneath the shade of the tree.

As Alix came to a low bow in front of him, the rest of her Court dispersed to the sideline.

“Majesty,” Alix said. “You must excuse me–High Scribe Jeriyah has requested me in the libraries.”

Semmena waved him away. “Go on, Bennet.”

Feeling incredibly vulnerable, Sol messed with her fingernails as she clasped her hands behind her back. To the King, she held her chest high—to everyone behind her, she showed her nerves.

And that’s how it would have to be for now.

She donned the calmest mask she could muster and smiled. “I like the new gardens.”

Semmena eyed the gardens behind them, full of lilies and roses that bled their sweet fragrance into the air.

“Your Royal Hand planted them,” said Samara, tossing her twin braids over her shoulders. She looked over to Nina, who stood off to Sol’s left. “I would have much preferred tulips.”

Sol glanced sidelong at Nina, who didn't so much as falter in her carefully crafted stoicism. “Fortunately, they weren’t planted for you, Lady Samara,” Nina said. A subtle shine glinted in her green eyes. “But I will keep your preferences dutifully in mind.”

Samara’s jaw twitched with annoyance as she cut her gaze back to Sol.

“Casimir, step forward.” Arnold Semmena rolled his eyes, utterly uninterested in anything anyone else had to say other than himself.

Cas obeyed, albeit hesitantly. He separated from Nina’s side, Sawyer furrowing her brows after him as he stepped beside Sol. They locked eyes for a moment, sharing the confusion.

“Here is the thing,” the King continued, pacing along the base of the tree.

“There was meant to be only one survivor. One plea granted.” He looked between them both, toying with his Wielder ring.

“Sol, if you were the sole survivor, the tradition of the Vows would be expunged. Casimir, during the final duel, I promised you pardon if you were the survivor instead.”

Semmena crossed his arms over his chest, stopping his pacing beside Gina. The Noble hand wore a navy-blue dress reminiscent of the one Sol had worn during the Royal Dinner what seemed like ages ago. Her lilac eyes were fixed on Sol, a scowl strung to her lips.

Sol swallowed a lump in her throat.

I have a bad feeling about this.

“But you are both here before me,” Semmena said. “And I can only grant one of the pleas.”

Sol met Sawyer’s eyes. Her cousin looked away.

“So, since you refused the fight to announce a dutiful winner, you will do it here. Now.” Gina finished, retrieving a box from a chair on the front row.

She opened it, revealing a worn, ancient parchment rolled and secured by a crimson thread.

Beside it was a stunning crown, black enough to be carved by the night sky itself.

Violet jewels were strung through the peaks, silver vines rolling over them with elegant twists.

Purple, black, and silver.

A shaky breath escaped her lips as she looked back at Cas.

His chest steadily rose and fell with calculated breaths, silver eyes dazzling like the heart of a flame as he met her gaze.

She could see it then—the same glint of longing he had let slip in the colosseum, the yearning of being unable to return to his people.

And although he gave her a chance to end things before she used Lora’s magic, Sol couldn’t guess what would have happened had she not done so.

Even after the tenderness at the healer’s quarter—she would always be second to Eswin.

I don’t think the amount of time you spend in a place is indicative of how much you’re allowed to miss it.

The words he spoke when they had been in the tunnels at the Gods’ Villa echoed.

Although Sol had only been in Rimemere for weeks, it filled a hole within her, a rightness nothing else had been able to before.

Even with the absolute horror of the Vows and the despicable Semmena court, Sol knew the kingdom was a piece of…

Home.

The way Cas looked away from her in that moment solidified the suspicion he felt the same for Eswin.

"We don't have all day," Samara drawled with a sigh. "Either the Vows are dissolved, or Casimir is Prince of Eswin again. Someone choose—unless you’d rather draw blades."

The nobility around them was silent. Sol wanted to look over at Sawyer or Nina for comfort, for guidance. But she didn’t dare tear her gaze from the man before her.

Her attention remained on the Prince of Shadows.

"Cas," she breathed, taking a step forward as the wind whispered a caress through her hair, the same breeze cutting straight between them with a tendril of leaves.

His eyes dulled with resolve. "There is no choice, Majesty. The victory is hers."

The King grinned. "Excellent."

Before Sol could speak, Cas turned away and walked back to the Castle doors, leaving her with the thought that although the Vows hadn't ended in a marriage, something told her they chained her to something else entirely worse.

SAWYER

IN THAT MOMENT, Sawyer didn’t know what Cas would say. When her father had announced his scheme in the colosseum, a similar feeling had gripped her—one of total loss.

She knew Cas. She knew his duty to Rimemere, although forced initially, was genuine. She knew he loved them, knew his gentility beneath the rough exterior. They’d grown together, bled together, cried, and cursed the King together.

Surely, he would let Sol win.

But like with any sentient being, emotions are volatile. Sawyer knew it to her core. Something that might have been a priority one second could perish in a plume of indifference the next.

She bragged she would kill her father given the chance. But would she?

Cas’s connection to Eswin withered when his mother and sister, Maya, vanished. But did it?

Sawyer didn’t have to see Cas’s face to know that dissonance was exposed. From where she stood, she could see it in Sol’s delicate features. Her lips were pressed into a tight line, brows and eyes pulled close as she watched him, waiting for his answer.

Her cousin stepped forward, stopped by a gust of wind so sudden it was as if Winderlyn himself blew Sol back. “Cas—”

"There is no choice, Majesty. The victory is hers."

As soon as Cas turned away and made his way to the castle, Sawyer went after him.

Shadows spilled from his footsteps, leaving sparks of violet in their wake. She ducked around servants heading to assist the Semmena court, shouldering past the students who had gathered by the courtyards to watch the commotion.

As Cas took the final step into the foyer, Sawyer slammed a hand to his shoulder, whirling him around to face her. “Hey, what was…”

His eyes were bleak. Lifeless. She knew the amount of times he’d been forced to choose between Eswin and Rimemere—between Eswin and the Yarrows—weighed on him. She also knew her father did it on purpose, the horrible, Jinn-loving asshole.

She dropped her hand. “You look troubled.”

“I’m not in the mood, Sawyer.”

“I have things to tell you, so get in the mood and follow me.”

Sawyer didn’t wait to see if he complied, only smiled in relief as footsteps and Shadows followed her up to the third floor.

She hurried past the libraries and the lingering courtiers, all surely eyeing how Casimir Xanthos and Sawyerlynn Yarrow entered her rooms just after he returned from Sol Yarrow’s vows.

Scandalous.

Giving the remaining audience a charged glare, she shouldered the door open and pulled Cas inside.

She regretted not cleaning, but she didn’t do it for herself, and she had no visitors. So, Cas would have to find a spot in the sea of orange peels, blades, and ashes to sit before she spoke.

Because he had to be sitting for it.

Her oldest friend ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the band that tied it back to let it loose. “I want to go give an offering to Warren, Sawyer.”

“The god of Souls can wait, Cas.” She signaled to her bed, which was an unmade mess but at least had no residue of burnt paper or clothes. When he arched a brow at her, she sighed. “Just sit. I will stand.”

When he finally did, Sawyer told him everything.

Telling Nina in the pantheon had been a solace she hadn't realized she needed, and now that the truth about her survival in Melisandre was in one of her friend’s memories, the others needed to have it too—especially the one who had been plummeted with Dark Magic.

Sawyer recalled the encounter at the third legion’s base, introduced him to Morna, then had to go back to the beginning when he looked at her like she had gone mad.

As her story progressed, his eyes softened, and by the time she finished telling him about her father and Lorkin, he was standing directly in front of her.

A beat of silence passed through them as she chewed on her nails.

“Does Nina know?” Cas asked.

Sawyer nodded.

“Does Alix?”

“I haven’t had the chance to tell him. He’s been dealing with Jeriyah. The High Scribe has been draining.”

Cas hummed, thrumming his fingers at his chin. “Well, Sawyer, it’s your turn to sit down.”

Sawyer expected Cas to tell her about the Vows.

He did—but, to her horror, they had not been the worst thing he and Sol faced at the Gods’ Villa.

She had a sense he skipped through a lot of it, but when he got to Aquarene’s Trial, he went into quieter detail.

As if it was a fragile memory, one he didn’t want to rouse.

By the end of his story, Sawyer had accidentally burned a hole in her duvet. “Okay, but Sol told you a Jinn told her how to save you from copper poisoning?”

He nodded, kicking aside a clean spot on the floor to sit on. He sank into her orange carpet.

“Is it possible my sweet, fragile cousin was in a state of shock? Or that the key wasn’t copper, since the only proven cure for it is a total blood replacement?”

There was just no way. Nothing on this dimensional plane could purify Wielder blood tainted by copper. The metal clung to the magic in the blood, eating and eroding it until the Wielder quite literally died.

“No, Sawyer. To both of your questions.”

She blinked at him. “What was the antidote, then?”

“It’s best not to say.”

“Oh, you and Sol have secrets now?”

Cas sighed and shut his eyes, obviously emotionally and physically spent. A pang of guilt punched her in the stomach—he deserved some grace.

“How are your wounds? How do you feel? How’s your—” Cold alarm flared in her chest as she cut her gaze to his arm, the one that held his tattoo. It had been almost three weeks since she’d filled it in the cell.

Sawyer stood, knocking over mugs of ale in her haste as she crawled to him. “Your tattoo, it must be—” She grabbed his arm, pulling up the sleeve of his suit, readying her wielder ring against her forearm at the same time. She stopped, glancing up at him.

“It’s full.”

Cas looked past her. “It is, yes.”

“What the fuck happened between you and Sol out there, Casimir?”

Sawyer gaped at him as he stood, bringing down his sleeve as he walked to her door. “A whole lot I want to forget. I’ll be at Warren’s Temple.”

He placed his hand on the knob, turning it as Sawyer stood.

“Cas,” she said, still unsure of what to make of their meeting. “For the love of all the gods, please don’t fall in love with Sol.”