Page 6 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

A fter lunch, we’re summoned back to the conference hall to collect our uniforms. All of us stand in silence, eyes fixed on the long table at the front of the room.

Neatly folded stacks of black fabric. Belts gleaming with polished buckles. Sheaths, plenty of them, stitched and strapped in all the right places to house our weapons.

Rickard stands behind the table, clipboard once again clutched between his fingers, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Step forward when your name is called,” he says, voice dull and uninterested.

“Darlington!”

Names come quickly after that, the crowd thinning with each call.

“Banks!”

I step forward, meeting Rickard’s eyes with a brief nod as he hands over the bundle.

The t-shirt is plain and jet black—fitted, made from a breathable, stretchy fabric, and stitched over the heart in gold thread is a sun emblem.

There are no additional markings above the sun, just the clean emblem, the uniform of a first-year. Second years earn a horizontal golden line above and beyond that, various ranks and badges from the military .

The trousers, black to match, are built for movement: sturdy, with deep pockets. Twin sheaths are sewn along the outer thighs, perfectly positioned for daggers. Another sheath crosses the lower back, which is easy to reach with either hand.

The dark coloured uniform is a stark contrast to the golden and pastel tones of our kingdom.

I brush my fingers over the gilded sun just once, then turn and make my way toward the building where I’ll be sleeping for the next few months.

* * *

The barracks are a separate building from the castle, located in the southeast corner of the grounds.

They consist of six floors—one for each squad—and each floor is divided into rooms housing six beds and two bathrooms, one for girls and one for boys.

These barracks are designated for first-year recruits.

As depressing as it sounds, in a few months, it’s expected that a third of us will have quit, been honourably discharged, or be dead. After that, we’ll be moved into private rooms in the castle. Until then, the barracks are the only place big enough to accommodate us all.

Thankfully, I’m in the same room as Junie, so I’ll have a bit of girl company and only have to share a bathroom with her.

Unfortunately, we’re also sharing the room with Deacon, Sam, Trent, and Stone. Deacon—who’ll sleep with any girl that bats her eyelashes at him—and Stone, who I’m still seething at for being a condescending prick. Trent and Sam, I reckon I can tolerate.

Gods, I’m going to miss the comfort of my private room in the castle. One more reason to resent Carter for making me enlist.

Deacon flops down onto my narrow metal bed, which creaks under his weight, and throws an arm over his eyes to block the sunlight streaming through the large arched window.

“Get your boots off my blankets,” I scold, swatting at his feet. He swings them to the floor, and I sit where they had just been. The mattress springs beneath me, lumpy and unforgiving, an indication of backaches for the next few months.

We’re the only ones in the room. The others, except Sam, are on a castle tour. After living here our entire lives, Deacon and I don’t need it. We probably know more about this place than the tour guide does, secret tunnels and all.

“I already miss my bed,” Deacon groans, shifting around on top of my pale blue sheets, the top half of his body on the mattress, the bottom half sliding off.

“You didn’t have to follow me here, Deacs,” I say softly.

“Where you go, I go.” He pulls his arm away from his face, looking at me seriously. “I don’t know why you’d even question that.”

“I know.” I sigh, resigned. “I just don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you in this war.” My voice wavers. It’s the first time we’ve been alone since I found out he enlisted, and the emotions from this morning resurface.

“Look.” He sits up, scooting his body and leaning back against the metal bed frame with a grimace of discomfort.

“I know I’m not ‘The Fox’ or anything.” He air-quotes the nickname, and I scoff, rolling my eyes.

“I don’t sneak out at night to single-handedly defeat Malus while normal people are sleeping or getting laid.

But I’m a fighter, Elina. It’s in my blood.

I’ve trained beside you since we were kids.

Being at your side is where I belong.” He pats my knee as if reassuring a child.

I take a deep breath, trying to rid my body of some of the anxiety.

“Alright,” I say, knowing it’s pointless to argue once Deacon’s made up his mind.

“I’m heading to the kitchens to see Mum. Apparently, there’s a new server with a gorgeous set of—”

I slap his chest before he can finish. He laughs and grabs my hand, pulling me into a hug. My head rests against his chest, lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I’ll be fine, Lina. Now go shower—you stink.”

I lift my arm, sniff my armpit, and wrinkle my nose. He’s right. Leather and Aladrian sun don’t mix. Using my hand on his chest for leverage, I push myself up, boots slapping the tiled floor.

“Say hi to Dalia for me,” I call over my shoulder as I head to the bathroom.

“Will do,” he replies just before the door shuts behind me.

The girls’ bathroom is a hidden sliver of paradise. A waterfall shower and deep, sunken square bath fill the space. Worn teal tiles line the walls and catch the light like sea glass. High windows stand cracked open, inviting in the salted breeze from the southern cliffs below.

If I listen closely, I can just make out the rhythmic crash of waves against the pale rock far beneath us.

A vase of sol flowers rests on the windowsill above the sink, their soft yellow and pink petals open wide to the afternoon sun. Their sweet, honeyed scent lingers in the warm air.

I twist the tap and step beneath the gentle cascade, stripping off the day along with my clothes.

The water runs warm over my skin, and I tip my head back, letting the soap that’s infused with the same sol-flower perfume, lather and rinse away the grit of training.

My right collarbone twinges beneath the stream, and I knead the muscle around it, fingers working the ache that never quite left, not after the third time it broke.

When the warmth fades, I shut off the water and step out into the steam, cocooning myself in a plush navy towel. The mirror is fogged. I wipe a circle clean and frown at the new freckles blooming across my nose and cheeks, a faint sunburn just beginning to rise beneath them.

The air outside calls to me, so I pull on a loose white tunic and matching trousers, the fabric light and breathable in the heat, and with my thoughts still tangled, I decide on a walk to clear my head.

My trousers flutter around my ankles, and the soft grass tickles my feet where my gold sandals leave my skin exposed. A sea breeze ruffles my damp hair as the sun begins to dip.

The garden fountain is one of my favourite places. Quiet. Still. Somewhere to breathe.

In its centre stands a statue of Admira, the Goddess of Love and Light. Her stone figure is carved so delicately that it looks like the cloth draped around her might shift if the wind were strong enough. A crown of sol flowers rests atop her flowing golden hair.

They say Admira was the first soul. That without love and light, there would be nothing.

With her first breath, she created the sun, and she bathed in it, radiant at all hours. Then, out of the love in her heart, she shaped mankind just so she could watch people love each other.

Since Aladria is the Kingdom of the Sun, she’s the one we worship. Our goddess.

But Admira’s story isn’t all warmth and joy.

There was heartbreak, too. Darkness. Betrayal.

That’s what the statue shows if you look closely. Not just her beauty, but her sorrow. Eyes lowered, lips parted as though she’s mid-confession. There’s weight in the curve of her shoulders. The kind that only comes when something once whole has been broken.

And somehow… she still stands.

Water trickles, dips, and dives down a rockery of glistening, pearlescent stones from her feet into a wide basin tiled in gold. The endless cycle of water always calms me .

Behind me, soft footsteps interrupt my reverie.

“You okay?” Sam asks, still and solid as the statue I’ve been staring at. He’s been a constant pillar of strength in my life since he arrived at the castle.

“How is he?” I ask, ignoring the question.

“Much the same,” he says, resigned.

I hum softly in response, still staring at the water.

“I just need to get through these next few assessments, Sam. Then I’ll go see him,” I whisper, guilt curling in my stomach.

“I wasn’t judging you, Elina,” he replies gently, and I know he means it. “You’ll go when you’re ready.”

His words soothe some of my guilt.

“Come on, there’s a get-together on the training field, and if I’ve got to suffer through a social engagement, you have too.”

I glance one last time at Admira before letting him lead me toward the sound of voices and music.

The training field looks softer in the evening light. Or maybe it’s just that the blood doesn’t show up as well when the sky darkens.

Someone’s dragged out a bat and ball from storage, and there’s some sort of game going on while the rest of us lounge on the grass with food and drinks. All around, small groups are scattered across the field, talking, laughing, getting to know one another.

I have no idea what the game is. Something about hitting the ball and running.

But I laugh as Trent leaps into the air, catches the ball with one hand, and crashes to the ground in a dramatic heap.

He thrusts it upward triumphantly, indicating that someone’s out.

Another recruit from a different squad dives onto him, and they tumble across the grass in a tangle of limbs, play-fighting, drunk and wheezing with laughter.