The Order of the Eternal Sun

by Jessica Leake

  But it’s the pages within that make me gasp with surprised pleasure. In vibrant colors and gold are elaborate designs and illustrations like that of a medieval tome. The first page is of a small unicorn, its legs curled beneath it, surrounded by curling vines with riotous flowers. The vines continue down the page, creating a border for the text.

  I only wish I could read it! I can pick out a rune here or there, but not enough to understand the story.

  Astrid must sense my confusion for she comes and peers over my shoulder. “You’ve found your mother’s favorite,” she says, her tone just a touch sad.

  “I’m afraid I can’t read the runes,” I admit.

  “You’re in luck, then. Run your finger over the lines of text.”

  I give her a curious look but do as she asks. Instantly, the runes shimmer and blur before turning into English before my eyes. I laugh in delight. “The Dragon and the Unicorn,” I read.

  She nods. “It’s the story of a dragon prince falling in love with a unicorn maiden. It was once a children’s tale, but this particular version is more about forbidden love.”

  “Mama always was terribly romantic,” I say, though of course I don’t know this from my own interactions with her—just from stories Papa and my siblings have told me. Is that how the Sylvani see love between mortals and their own people?

  I turn to the next page with more beautiful illustrations—this time of a dragon hatchling—but before I can examine the drawings or the text, a firm knock comes at my outer door.

  Grandmother enters, dressed impeccably in an ensemble similar to mine—only with tall leather boots. She grins at me, the look almost girlish with delight. “I trust you slept well?”

  I smile back just as warmly. “I did, of course. I’m sorry to have slept nearly the entire time I’ve been here. It’s shameful when you think about it.”

  She shakes her head, the soft lighting glinting off her sunset hair. “No indeed. Your body needed time to adjust. It’s exhausting work, traveling between worlds.” Her eyes shift to the book in my hands. “I see you’ve found your mother’s books. I’m sure that one practically screamed for you to pick it up.”

  I look down at the book and then back at her in surprise. “It did, actually. I wanted to find a book that was one of her favorites, and this one seemed to call out to me.”

  “Our books tend to do that here. They have minds of their own.”

  I start to laugh but then realize she’s serious. “Heavens,” I say.

  She turns and gestures toward the tray of food—what’s left of it, anyway. “Did you find our food to your liking?”

  “Oh, yes,” I say eagerly. “In fact, I fear I will very much miss it when I return.”

  “Then we will have to send some along with you. I hope you’ve eaten your fill because there is much to attend to today. In fact, I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our tour of the castle, if you don’t mind—though I tried to contain the news of your arrival, I couldn’t prevent it reaching the ears of some of our kinsmen, and they are eager to meet you.”

  I stare at her agape. “I have other family members here?” Even as I say it, though, I realize that of course I must. The Sylvani are immortal.

  She grins again. “You’ve already met one of your cousins.”

  Astrid smiles at me, and my eyes widen. “Distant cousin,” she says.

  “I’m so sorry, Astrid, I didn’t know—” My face flames.

  Astrid waves away my apology and laughs softly—good-naturedly. “I can see you’re embarrassed, but you shouldn’t be. How could you have known?”

  But now that she’s said that, I can see the family resemblance—willowy frame, big eyes.

  Grandmother holds out her hand to me. “Come, now. No harm done. And anyway, you’ll want to prepare yourself. Not everyone will be as charming as Astrid and I.”

  She ushers me out of the room and takes the lead once we’re in the hallway. Serafino flies above, having waited for Grandmother just outside my room, and Rowen pads silently behind us. We pass a multitude of lovely things—fragile porcelain figures and crystal vases and abundant flowers, and everywhere, paintings.

  Grandmother comes to an abrupt halt before an enormous painting of a girl of sixteen or so, waves of blond hair down her back and her hand outstretched toward a pure white unicorn. “Your mother’s first encounter with a unicorn,” she says, her eyes soft. “It’s a rite of passage for the young girls here.”

  I’m so caught up in the vibrant painting that it takes me a moment to form a coherent response. “So there truly are unicorns?”

  “As there were once unicorns in your world until they were nearly hunted to extinction,” she replies bitterly. “Those who survived crossed over to our realm, and we Sylvani did our best to erase them from the mortal world’s memory. We have one in attendance today, in fact, and you will have the chance to meet him.”

  Confusion flits across my face as I picture a horned white horse in the middle of the castle, but before I can question her, Grandmother strides on again.

  We go down a spiraling staircase, which seems to be in an altogether different place from the one we used yesterday, and after a few more turns arrive in front of a set of massive double doors. Sentinels stand with their wolves on either side. The moment Grandmother inclines her head, they each pull door handles as tall as them and the doors groan open.

  “Oh, heavens,” I murmur, both because of the room itself and its occupants. The room appears to be a sunroom of sorts, with elegant sofas and chairs grouped in such a way to enjoy the views and converse. Wall-to-ceiling glass, the windows are so clear and sparkling they’re almost nonexistent. Beyond, the sun is setting radiantly, streaking the sky with reds and oranges, pinks and purples. A garden waits just outside the glass, mimicking the colors in the sky before ending just before a waterfall.

  A crowd of people awaits us, at least thirty, and their conversations die off the moment they lay eyes on us. Curiously absent, though, are their spirit animals. The weight of so many eyes falls upon me, and I resist the urge to wring my hands. My heart beats like a tiny frightened bird. There are just so many! And all so beautiful and otherworldly—their long hair tumbling down their backs in waves, their heavily embroidered clothing catching the light, gold and silver and jewels winking back at me. Many of the women are dressed similarly to Grandmother and me, but there are some dressed more simply in long tunics and leggings as Astrid wears. The men wear either adorned leather armor and breeches or long tunics not unlike those found in the east. They all appear to be the same age. No one, in fact, looks much older than thirty.

  They are mostly here to satisfy their curiosity, Rowen says soothingly. Save the man in the front with dark hair. He is your uncle on your grandfather’s side. Take care in what you say to him.

  What do you mean? I demand, my heart beating all the louder, but the fox remains silent.

  The people execute respectful bows toward my grandmother—arms crossed over their chests and heads inclined—and she dips her head in acknowledgment.

  “How good it is to see all of you, and on a much happier occasion than last we met,” Grandmother says. “As you now know, I’ve been successful in reaching out to the High Princess Isidora’s children.”

  “In spite of King Brannor’s wishes,” a dark-haired man says. His eyes are dark as onyx as he meets my grandmother’s gaze unflinchingly. He is the one Rowen warned me of—the one who is apparently my uncle.

  Grandmother merely stares at him, almost wearily, as though this is an argument she has heard many times. She holds out her hand to me, and I step forward on shaky legs. “Princess Lucy, High Princess Isidora’s daughter and my granddaughter, has come to learn more about her Sylvan heritage and to strengthen her arcana. She is your kin and your princess, and I hope that you will all welcome her as such.” She scans the room with narrowed eyes. “Despite the king’s opinion on the matter, there has never been a law banning the half-Sylvani from this realm.”


  “The King of Sentor has issued such a law,” the man says, his whole bearing one of challenge. “He believes there are halflings who have joined forces with that ridiculous brotherhood.”

  “If they’re so ridiculous,” I find myself saying, “then why should you care?”

  His expression darkens, and I try to channel my belligerent sister to calm my quivering insides. “Because they believe that a halfling is the same as a full-blooded Sylvani; they dare to think they could do the same to us, but of course, we would destroy them before they ever had the chance.”

  “Enough, Lord Titus,” Grandmother says, quiet voice thrumming with warning. “An attack against a mortal is not only dishonorable, it’s forbidden.”

  His stony face cracks into a smirk. “Is that why you’re holding a being from that realm prisoner in your dungeon—because he’s a halfling and not a full mortal?”

  I can feel the tension between them mounting, but Grandmother only answers in a calm voice. “Imprisoned, yes. As I would imprison anyone who would threaten the princess.” She meets his steely gaze with one of her own. “No harm has come to him.” Before he can continue, her gaze turns away from him and onto the others. “The princess and I have much to do today. Anyone who would like to come and speak with her may do so for a short time. Otherwise, you will have your chance at the ball.”

  A ball? I think, and a little spark of excitement races through me. If even the trees here enchant me, then I cannot imagine how grand and wonderful a formal ball will be.

  “I am not your kin, but I would dearly love to meet the princess,” a male voice calls out, interrupting my inner reverie. I turn to see a figure of light step forward from the back of the room. My artist’s mind immediately paints him. He is full of fascinating contradictions: he is pale and slight, yet radiates power as the crowd parts for him. His hair is long and blindingly white, though his face and body are young.

  “Well met, my lord,” Grandmother says with a warm smile, her shoulders relaxing marginally as though the man has brought a sense of peace with him.

  As soon as my gaze meets his, I let out a breath as though I’ve been holding it all the while. And perhaps I have. A simple introduction to this man seems strangely inappropriate, and I have to fight the urge to drop into a curtsy.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Princess Lucy,” the gentleman says with a respectful bow of his head. This causes many in the crowd to whisper in excited tones, but of course I’m quite ignorant as to the reason. “I am Silvanus.”

  “Prince Silvanus,” Grandmother adds. “He is prince of the unicorns.”

  Grandmother’s words in the hallway return to me, and my eyes widen. Surely this isn’t the unicorn she mentioned? Yet even as I think it, the image of the otherworldly man before me shifts in my mind … in his place is a pure white unicorn, its horn twisted and silver.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Prince Silvanus,” I say, even as my mind screams for pencil and paper with which to draw this stunning creature.

  You have your mother’s radiant soul, a clear, sparkling voice tells me in my mind, and Prince Silvanus smiles. Aloud he says, “Your mother and I were once dear friends, and I would like to extend the same courtesy to you.”

  The murmurs of the crowd seem to die down until everyone is once again staring at me. Even Grandmother looks rather stunned, and though I don’t understand the significance of his words, I can see from their reactions that it must be important—or at least surprising.

  “I’d like that very much,” I say sincerely.

  His smile widens, and a feeling of peace washes over me, like being bathed in the warmth of the sun. He turns and walks away, leaving the scent of a forest just after heavy rain.

  The others swarm me after that. They introduce themselves and make polite conversation with me, and some even invite me to visit their estates. The whole thing is so similar to what takes place in every ballroom in London that it actually takes the edge off my nerves. I smile and nod and try to remember the names—so ancient and beautiful!—and thank heavens I had a governess and an upper-crust finishing school to prepare me. Though, of course, neither had anticipated I’d need polished manners to fit in with the nobility of another realm.

  Lord Titus and a small group of other glowering kinsmen stand apart from the rest, watching me with serious, flinty eyes. Apparently the unicorn prince’s approval doesn’t change their opinion of me. I try to view this objectively—to perhaps try and understand the politics of it—but I’m afraid I’m too emotional of a creature not to take it personally. A halfling he’d called me, and I feel the prickling heat of embarrassment and anger spread through me.

  I lift my chin and meet his gaze. He will not make me feel ashamed of my mother or my father.

  Better a halfling than a creature with a heart twisted by malice and prejudice.

  A hush falls upon the crowd. Every man and woman stares at me with surprised eyes or mouths agape, and Lord Titus turns on his heel and strides out of the room.

  What just happened? I think desperately.

  Rowen glances up at me, his thoughts pushing into mine. You projected your thoughts onto us all.

  I erupt into flames as the embarrassment spreads like wildfire through my body. But it’s tempered by one thought:

  I regret that everyone heard, but I certainly don’t regret what I said.

  ALEXANDER stirs and comes to his feet. He shakes his head groggily. He isn’t sure what woke him—other than the unforgiving stone floor or the lack of blanket. Still, he’d been so exhausted he could no longer resist the siren call of sleep. He glances around the bare cell now, searching for any changes.

  Then he feels it: a thrum of power. He has just a moment to step back before the doorway traced in bright white light appears in the wall behind him. His body tenses. It’s almost shameful how badly he wants to see Lucy walk through that door. The words he has been rehearsing in his mind since he was thrown into the cell crowd his tongue.

  But it’s a man who stands before him—a man dressed in an oriental-style tunic and pants, his hair worn long down his back. His eyes are so dark Alexander cannot make out the pupils. Every instinct warns him that this man is dangerous, more so than the fiery queen or her sentinels. It’s the same instinct that has whispered to him about Lord Wallace and in back alleys of Bombay late at night.

  “So this is a member of the greatly feared Order of the Eternal Sun?” the man says with a mocking smile that heats Alexander’s blood. “How quaint. And what is your dubious skill, I wonder? You are not one of the arcana drainers.”

  “I find it best not to lay all one’s cards on the table. I’m already at the mercy of my captors; I should like to keep some air of mystery about me.”

  Instead of the fury Alexander expected, the man laughs. “Your courage does you credit. You may rest easy knowing I am not your enemy. On the contrary, you and your organization do a lot of good in the world.” He smiles, though the gesture doesn’t reach his eyes. “I am Lord Titus, brother to the late king.”

  Alexander suddenly feels as though he is a blind man set loose in an unfamiliar room. He can only fall back on his usual tricks: bluffing and wit. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Are you?” Titus responds with a smirk. “I suppose you are. After all, you are trapped in a room with someone who could kill you as easily as he breathes. But before you do anything that may change my mind,” he says when Alexander prepares his body for a fight—balanced on the balls of his feet, arms loose at his sides, ready to evade until he’s successfully measured his opponent, “I only came to thank you.”

  “For what?” Alexander asks, still wary.

  “As I said before, your organization does a lot of good. You track down and eliminate halflings, who should have never existed in the first place. They are abominations, bringing shame to the true Sylvani. My people have become lax, allowing such beings to come into existence.”

  Ice water trickles down Ale
xander’s spine. He doesn’t quite understand the man’s words, but something is trying to fall into place, something that has been chipping away at his mind ever since Nadi’s death. “Halflings?”

  “Half mortal, half Sylvani.” He lets out a cold laugh. “You didn’t think your Order was capable of taking on a full-blooded Sylvani, did you? No, you’ve been murdering the weak, pathetic half-human aberrations for centuries now.”

  Alexander feels the color drain from his face and his stomach drops like a stone. His mind replays that one word over and over: half-human. His rebuttal is on the tip of his tongue—that murder is an exaggeration, that the brotherhood only siphoned away the dangerous arcana from the volatile Sylvani—and up until a year ago, that would be true. But his eyes have been opened, and he knows now that his knowledge of the brotherhood was merely scratching the surface.

  The human part, though, this is something new. The words hammer at the glass house of Alexander’s beliefs until they crack: that the Sylvani are evil, that they walk among mortals to bring harm and bedevilment, that there are humans with spiritual power who were chosen to stand against them. If the Sylvani the brotherhood hunted are truly half-human, then what did that make him?

  “I can see from your expression that you believe I’m here to seek retribution for your brotherhood’s actions,” the man says, “but I assure you, that is the queen’s business, not mine. No, what I seek is information. You were hunting the princess; therefore, you must have some sense of her abilities. Tell me, and I can guarantee your escape.”

  The man’s face is deadly serious, but as Alexander stares into his pitch-black eyes, he sees what lies beneath. If Alexander were to draw him, it would be of a shadow form filled with writhing snakes. There is no escape for Alexander—at least, not through this man. And though Lucy will no doubt forsake him, he would no sooner taint her by giving this creature before him any knowledge he may have on her.

  But first, he will see what the man might reveal.

  “What does it matter what her abilities are? She is one of these halflings you’ve mentioned, yes? Then what threat could she pose against a man of your stature?”