Page 26 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

“You’re really into this stuff, huh?” he says, nodding toward the pouch of herbs and berries in my hand.

My cheeks flush, and I duck my head, letting my hair shield me, suddenly embarrassed by my fascination with Selva’s creations.

“Someone I was close to growing up was a botanist. She taught Deacon and me everything we know. That the land provides—if you know where to look.”

Just as he opens his mouth to respond, a guttural scream rips through the quiet. Then a thud. Silence.

We freeze. Eyes wide.

“Elijah,” I whisper.

He drops the deer from his shoulders, and we run, no longer careful, trampling the forest floor as we go.

Then we see it: a deep pit partially covered with scattered leaves. Stone throws an arm out to stop me.

“Let me look first—”

“No. I need to see.”

We creep forward, his hand still clutching my wrist, the silence deafening as we peer over the edge.

I suck in a breath.

At the bottom of the pit lies Elijah. His body twisted, neck at an unnatural angle, eyes wide and lifeless.

I stagger back a step, the world blurring for a heartbeat.

“Fuck,” Stone mutters beside me, low and guttural.

Sam, Brynn, and Deacon crash through the trees, skidding to a stop next to us and look into the cavernous trench. Brynn drops to his knees, his hands clutching his hair.

“I didn’t even see him leave,” he says hoarsely. “Shit, I was meant to watch him. ”

His guilt cuts me like a blade—because it isn’t just on him.

It’s on me, too.

“No,” I say sharply, crouching down next to him. “This isn’t your fault, Brynn. It’s a terrible accident.”

I force my shaking hands to still as I rise to my feet. Deacon catches my eye; his sadness is unmistakable, and I know he sees it reflected in me. But he doesn’t move to comfort me. Not yet. He knows I need to be strong. To look strong.

We’ve just lost our second teammate.

At least Jorren got to go home.

Elijah’s family will receive a letter and a satchel of his belongings.

We can’t even retrieve his body; the thirty-foot drop is too dangerous.

I press my palms against my eyes, trying to block it out for just a second, but the image of him, twisted and broken, flares behind my lids. I snap them open fast.

Wordless, I lead the way back to camp, my steps firmer than I expect them to be.

After a meal of deer meat and some root vegetables Deacon foraged, no one speaks. We lie in silence around the fire, each of us lost in our mourning.

Brynn’s quiet sobs break through the stillness, and I roll over again and again, my stomach churning with guilt.

Elijah died on my watch.

Is this the kind of leader I am?

Negligent?

To my left, Stone shifts closer. His arm falls open, his head beckoning me toward him in a silent invitation.

I hesitate, for just a second, I consider shaking my head in refusal before my need for comfort wins.

Just for a few minutes, I will allow myself to be soft, to be held. Just for a few minutes .

I slide toward him, resting my head in the curve of his bicep.

He tugs me closer until my cheek rests against his chest, and I melt into him as he runs a finger up and down my back in a slow, soothing rhythm.

We lie like that for a while, breathing in sync, watching the stars through a break in the canopy above.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice barely louder than the breaths of our sleeping teammates, “there’s a story that Odio created the stars just for Admira. That instead of gifting her a necklace or rings, he gave her a sky full of twinkling jewels that would shine for eternity.”

“Imagine being gifted stars,” I whisper, dreamy and faraway.

“I’ll pull the moon out of the sky for you if you ask me to.” His words are whispered against the top of my head, light and teasing.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright, smooth talker.” I laugh softly, prodding him with my finger.

He doesn’t reply. Just keeps tracing those slow, hypnotic patterns over the fabric of my vest, each stroke steady and lulling.

I let the rhythm of his heart and the safety of his arms carry me into a blissfully dreamless sleep. And just before it takes me, I swear I feel the brush of his lips against my scalp, feather light and tender.

The sound of the fire being stoked wakes me. My face is still pressed against Stone’s chest, the slow rise and fall beneath my cheek telling me he’s still asleep.

I glance toward the dying flames and spot Deacon already awake, crouched by the fire. He looks up, catches sight of us, and promptly wiggles his eyebrows with a smirk.

I flip him the bird without a word, then slowly, achingly, extract myself from Stone’s hold, careful not to wake him, and sit upright.

Rubbing my eyes, the memories of yesterday crash back in a wave, and nausea churns in my stomach.

Deacon walks over, handing me a canteen filled with brewed desperto bulb water, then drops down beside me. He sits close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body seep into mine.

I take a sip. The drink has a strong, earthy taste. Usually, it would be mixed with honey to make it more palatable. But beggars can’t be choosers.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, keeping his voice low so the others don’t stir.

“No,” I answer honestly.

He wraps an arm around me, offering the comfort I know he was desperate to give yesterday.

“Stay alive, Deacs,” I whisper.

“I intend to.” He squeezes my shoulder reassuringly, kisses the top of my head, then releases me and takes the canteen from my hands, drinking deeply, grimacing at the taste.

The soft shuffle of movement draws our attention.

Junie stirs first, blinking against the light as she slowly sits up, her hair tousled and her face still pale but a little less pinched with pain.

Sam is beside her in an instant, helping her up gently, murmuring something low that makes her smile faintly and nod.

Trent yawns, stretching like a cat, and mutters a halfhearted complaint about his back before his expression sobers as he seemingly remembers where we are and what happened yesterday.

Brynn emerges from the makeshift shelter, his eyes red-rimmed, but there’s a steadiness in his step that wasn’t there last night.

He doesn’t speak, just walks to the fire, crouches down beside Deacon, and begins tending to the flame with practised movements.

It roars instantly, flames dancing and reaching for the canopy above, and the warmth seeps into my bones, offering comfort.

Stone wakes last. His eyes open slowly, and when they land on me, still seated beside Deacon, there’s a flicker of something unreadable, but then he pushes himself upright with a quiet grunt and joins us by the fire without a word.

No one speaks at first. The silence is not awkward; we’re all allowing each other a moment to grieve.

Then Trent clears his throat. “We need to eat,” he says softly, “and figure out what’s next.”

I nod, my voice still hoarse from sleep. “We’ll eat. Then we’ll head north again.”

Brynn begins carving strips of venison from last night’s kill while Junie helps prepare the desperto bulbs I gathered.

Deacon works nearby, grinding herbs and plants into pastes, remedies and medicines that I hope we won’t need with the pestle and mortar, but know we might.

The rest of us fall into a quiet rhythm, our grief folded neatly into the steady tasks of survival.

Just before we set off, bags slung over shoulders and eyes steeled against the weight of what lies ahead, I catch Stone’s arm and pull him gently to the side. He turns to me, his dark brow slightly raised.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “For last night.”

His eyes drop briefly to my lips, then lift again. He gives a small nod in acknowledgement—once, firm—before we turn and follow the others into the trees.

The morning mist clings low to the forest floor as we move north, boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. The mood is solemn but focused. No one dares to complain, not even Colton, who’s now paired with Brynn.

Hours pass in silence, broken only by the occasional birdcall or the rustling of foliage as we push through the undergrowth. Along the way, we find a clear brook and fill our canteens. Just as the sun begins to break through the thinning trees, the forest opens up on our left, and something glints.

A steel table, completely out of place in the wild, stands in the clearing. On top, various items are laid out .

Deacon raises a hand, signalling for us to halt. He and Trent now lead, with Junie and Sam covering the rear. Deacon moves closer to the table, his steps cautious, alert for traps.

After a long moment, he glances over the items and then calls back, “It’s safe. Three tests, by the looks of it.”

We gather around to see.

To the left sits a row of six glasses, each filled with different coloured liquids, resting atop delicate pressure plates. A note is stuck down underneath. I read it aloud:

“Of these you see, one holds no ill—

The others thirst to strike and kill.

Drink one draught, you must be wise,

And you shall earn the victor’s prize.”

“I vote not it!” Colton raises his spade hand immediately. I roll my eyes. He’s been absolutely zero help so far, and I wasn’t expecting him to start now.

In the middle of the table lies a sliding tile puzzle, with small squares jumbled out of order, needing to be rearranged to complete a picture. A second note is tucked beneath it:

“A golden eye waits to rise anew,

But scattered pieces hide the view.

Align the light before time’s turn,

Too slow, you will risk the burn.”

Stone reads it aloud, then nods toward a glowing hourglass positioned behind the puzzle.

“It’s timed,” he says. “Whoever does this one only has a minute.”

The final test on the right is a locked chest. A note lies just below it:

“When twin moons turned and skeletons crept,

The skies fell silent, the heavens wept.

Mark the day the graveyards cracked—

And enter thus, or entice attack. ”

“We need to enter a code,” Junie says, crouching low to inspect the small chest.

Whilst everyone stares silently at the tests, deep in thought, I walk toward the first one and eye the glasses. Within seconds, I already know which drink is safe.

Without a word, I pick up the cup filled with deep red liquid and down it in one shot, the flavour sickeningly sweet.

A chorus of shouts erupts around me. Stone lunges forward to knock it away, but he’s too late. Only Deacon doesn’t move.

I set the empty glass back onto its pressure plate. A sharp click sounds as the others shift slightly downward. A hidden compartment swings open beneath the table, and I kneel to retrieve its contents.

When I turn back to face them, I’m holding a sack of food rations—rice, beans, strips of dried meat.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Stone snaps, taking a step toward me. His voice is tight, his eyes still wide with alarm.

I wave him off casually. “Deacon and I have been playing this game since we were ten.”

Stone drags a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath.

“Not gonna lie, that was fucking hot,” Junie says, fanning herself with exaggerated flair. “Girls with brains have always been my thing.”

I smile, relieved to catch a glimpse of the Junie we all know and love resurfacing.

“Do we even want to know what would’ve happened if you drank the wrong glass?” Trent asks, eyeing the remaining cups warily.

“No,” Deacon and I say in perfect unison.

“I can do the next one,” Sam says, raising his hand. “We need to make a sun from the pieces, and I can already see the moves I need to make.”

I wave him forward with nothing but trust .

If Sam says he can do something, he can.

He steps up to the table, flips the timer, and begins. His large fingers move with surprising agility over the small, delicate puzzle.

I watch the falling sand, ready to call out if time runs short, but he doesn’t need it.

He finishes swiftly, locking the final piece into place.

As he sets the completed puzzle back into the table’s groove, it shifts, clicking into position, and begins to turn.

A hidden panel opens beneath it, revealing a small cloth bag.

Sam lifts it out and opens it. “A key,” he mutters, turning to show us.

Colton scoffs. “That’s the prize? A fucking key?”

“Keep it safe,” I tell Sam.

We all step closer to the final chest, considering the riddle, but before any of us can even start to work it out, Stone’s voice cuts through the air.

“8.11.395.”

“Huh?” Deacon spins to face him, confusion plastered on his face.

“It’s the date the Malus were created,” Stone says with absolute certainty, already moving toward the chest.

He inputs the code without hesitation.

The chest clicks open with a soft noise, and inside is a tightly rolled scroll. Stone plucks it out and hands it to me, not even bothering to look.

I unroll it between my fingers; the edges are torn and brittle, but it’s clear enough.

“It’s a map. To a clearing with a camp.” Relief and apprehension coil together inside me.

The tests so far had been too easy. Too simple.

A sinking feeling twists in my gut. The real test is still ahead.

And I can’t help but wonder—are we being led to safety… or straight into a trap?