The Order of the Eternal Sun

by Jessica Leake

  A comforting warmth presses against my leg, and I look down to see Rowen gazing up at me in concern.

  “There’s no need to panic,” Grandmother says. “The fact that you can still feel a connection to him when you reach out means he was successful in crossing over.”

  “Perhaps he has forgotten how to draw the proper rune. Should I follow through and help him?”

  “You cannot,” Grandmother says firmly. “It doesn’t work that way. Once a connection has been established, you cannot simply follow through to the mortal realm. The portal would collapse. You must remain here so that he may find his way back.”

  Just then, the connection between us thrums, as though a cord has been struck. Bright light fills the room, blinding in its intensity, and when I can see again, Alexander stands in our midst.

  “Alexander!” I cry and then race toward him before I even know what I’m doing. I come to an awkward stop just in time to keep from throwing myself in his arms. I’m so relieved to see him, so relieved I was able to send him through to the other side in one piece, so relieved that something didn’t go horribly wrong. And then I flush with embarrassment at the strength of my reaction. “Why were you gone so long?” I ask, and my tone is sharp to make up for my enthusiastic greeting. “It was horrible of you to make us worry so.”

  Grandmother makes a face that clearly says she was never worried at all, but Alexander apologizes to us both nonetheless. “I do appreciate your concern, though,” he says, and his eyes shine with a vulnerable hopefulness that makes me have to suddenly look away. “I was away so long because your brother and sister were filling me in on what has transpired since you left, and of course, I had to pass some rigorous interrogations.” He smiles to show he’s joking, but I can see that there may be more to it than his light tone implies.

  “And what have I missed since I’ve been gone?”

  Something flickers across his face, and I find myself tensing for a blow.

  “Lady Rose had taken ill,” he says, “but she is recovering well.”

  I suck in my breath. “Oh, poor Rose! It’s her lungs again, I suppose. And I had hoped Bath would be so good for her!” I glance at him sharply. “But she’s recovering?” I think of the shadow I’ve seen hovering near her, waiting to prey on her weakness. “She’s not …” Dying? I think but cannot will myself to say. I am a coward and don’t want to hear the answer.

  “She was recovering well when I left. They had the very best doctors attending her, and your own sister hasn’t left her side.”

  There’s something about his tone, something that makes me carefully scan his features to see if anything is amiss, but his expression is as it has been lately—guarded.

  “I also passed on your message to Lady Katherine about your niece,” he continues. “I think she was rather relieved to hear it.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I say. “Thank you.”

  “Well, now that you’ve returned safe and sound,” Grandmother says, “we should have a late luncheon, for I’m sure you’re both famished, and then we can work on some of the runes you might need—but not for terribly long. The ball is tonight, and I suggest you both train early so you can rest, for the dancing will go on all through the night.”

  “That sounds like a dream come true,” I say. “I do love to dance.”

  “And when will we infiltrate Lord Tyrell’s estate?” Alexander asks.

  “Tomorrow morning—when you will have the cover of darkness in the mortal world.”

  “So soon!” I say, my heart galloping about in my chest. “Are you sure I’m ready?”

  Grandmother smiles at me, the gesture so like Mama’s when she was particularly proud of us. “My dearest one, you’ve always been ready. I only had to show you the way.”

  EARLY in the evening, Alexander walks over to the onyx-framed mirror in his room and stares at the formal clothes the manservant brought for him. Used to the rather monotonous black and white for evening attire—at least in England—he cannot help but admire the colors of the garment he now wears. The long, heavily embroidered coat is like a sherwani worn in India, the color a blue he’s never seen before—like the deep blue of sapphire but darker, like it’s being viewed only in shadow. Gold paisley covers the fabric, shining when it catches the light. Underneath he wears a shirt made of an impossibly soft material—like silk, but of a heavier weight. His pants are the same midnight sapphire color and somehow tailored perfectly to fit him. Soft, buttery leather shoes complete the ensemble.

  His thoughts stray to Lucy again, and he unnecessarily straightens the standing collar of his coat. He lied to her about Rose. It had been a split-second decision the moment he came back and found her overjoyed to see him.

  She cannot know how close Rose hovers near death, he had thought at the time, for she will abandon all our goals and return to Bath straight away.

  He told himself he was just thinking about the success of their shared objective—not that her response to his return hadn’t given him a selfish burst of hope, one that he was loath to abandon. Leaving this enchanted world seems like a death sentence to the possibility she may forgive him.

  He scrubs his face with his hand as his conscience peers back at him in the mirror. He should have never been dishonest with her—not when her trust in him was already so fragile.

  I’ll tell her the truth tonight, he thinks.

  A knock at the door shakes Alexander free of his thoughts. “Yes?” he calls, inwardly chastising himself for being so lost in his own mind that he didn’t hear someone outside the door. Being aware of one’s surroundings is one of his most sacred rules he lives by.

  “Lord Alexander?” the manservant who helped him dress says through the door. “I’ve been sent to bring you to the ball.”

  Alexander strides to the door and opens it. The servant, dressed in an ivory tunic and pants much like Alexander was wearing earlier that day, waits politely in the hall. But Alexander barely spares him a glance—not when Lucy stands only a few feet away.

  “I thought we could go together,” she says with a shy smile that makes Alexander want to gather her into his arms. She is hauntingly beautiful, dressed in a gown fit for a queen. The skirt is so long it drags behind her, and the color is like her eyes at sunset—a deep, mesmerizing blue. Clear gemstones glitter across the swirling embroidery, and Alexander suspects they are diamonds. The bodice hugs her breasts in a way that makes it difficult for him to look away. But it’s the look in her eyes that has him captivated: a flare of interest hidden in their depths, hesitant, but still there.

  “I’d be honored to escort you,” Alexander says, his mouth suddenly dry. “I’ve never seen a woman more beautiful.”

  Her cheeks flush, and Alexander’s mind immediately fills with other reasons that might bring a rush of color to her cheeks. A hunger stirs within him. “I thank you for your compliment,” she says with a pretty smile. “You look dangerously handsome tonight.”

  He offers his arm to distract himself from the almost overwhelming need to kiss her. It will be his goal tonight—to find a moment to steal a kiss—before he has to tell her the truth about Lady Rose. Doing so will almost certainly break the spell.

  She takes his arm, perfuming the air around her with the delicate scent of jasmine. The white fox stays close to her side, watching Alexander with its intelligent turquoise-colored eyes.

  “Do you know where we are to go?” he asks.

  Lucy shakes her head, long diamond earrings catching the light. “All I know is the ballroom is located outside.” She glances down at the fox. “I was trusting Rowen to lead me there.”

  “An outdoor ballroom? How curious,” Alexander says, though in truth, he’s relieved. There’s nothing so stifling and claustrophobic as a ballroom, and he suspects this sensation may be even worse for him after being locked away in the Sylvan dungeon.

  The fox trots a little ahead of them, and they follow down the corridors of the castle with its enormous paintings and flo
ating lights.

  Lucy looks up at him with a blinding smile. “I should think you would enjoy an outdoor ballroom—it was on a balcony that we first met, after all.”

  “You were so beautiful that night, and always,” he says, but he didn’t mean to voice his inner thoughts. “Like a moon goddess, all dressed in white.” And like the tide, he’d been pulled toward her. He’d felt her spiritual power, known this was the woman he sought, but all he felt at the time was a deep and abiding need to talk to her, dance with her, know her.

  “Heavens, how can I respond to that?” Lucy demands with a teasing smile as they arrive at an outer door. “I’ve been compared to the sun before, but never a goddess.”

  He grins, pleased she remembered their conversation from so long ago. “In some cultures, the sun is a god, so I daresay I wasn’t far off the mark.”

  Lucy blushes prettily and glances away. “I have enough difficulty accepting I’m a princess here—a goddess is much too far out of the realm of possibility.”

  Alexander holds open the door for her, and together they emerge into one of the outer gardens. With the moon high above them, and the heavy scent of exotic flowers lending a sweet perfume to the air, Alexander pauses and turns to Lucy. She gazes up at him with an open expression, more so than he’s seen yet since the horrible night she spoke to him in the dungeon. And before he can stop himself, the thoughts that have been crowding together inside his mind burst free.

  “It was kismet that we should meet, Lucy. You helped open my eyes to the truth around me, to the truth about my heritage. I was wandering a dark path before we met, and you came with your beauty and gentleness and light and showed me the right way—the way my mother would have wanted me to travel. Our destinies are intertwined, but I want to travel the same path as you.” He takes a ragged breath. “You have every right to spurn my words, but I wanted you to know how I felt. I’ve tried not to fall in love with you—for your sake—but I cannot control it, just as I can hardly stop myself from relating to you the depth of my feelings.”

  Lucy’s expression rapidly changes—from stunned stillness, to surprised hope, to something that Alexander cannot even begin to describe.

  Her eyes soften, her lips just barely part, and Alexander can resist the urge no longer.

  He leans down to touch his lips to hers—lightly at first, slowly gauging her reaction. When she takes a tentative step toward him, her body so close he can feel the warmth of her skin, Alexander wraps his arms around her and pulls her flush against him. Her response is instantaneous: her lips parting and her body melting into his. His first taste of her is like the sweetest wine.

  He knows the manservant is looking on—the fox, too—but he cannot help himself. He touches her silken hair, which tumbles down her shoulders in wild abandon, with only a small silver diadem to pull it back from her lovely face. Her breathy sighs fan the flames, and he feels desire surge within him.

  It’s several minutes before he can come to his senses, to realize he is kissing the queen’s granddaughter shamelessly—the very same queen who had only days ago locked him in a dungeon. With reluctance, he slows his sensual assault on her, pressing gentle kisses on her swan-like throat, her regal cheekbones, her smooth forehead. He dare not kiss lower, though her curvaceous décolletage is tantalizingly close.

  She smiles at him beatifically, and Alexander realizes right then in that very moment:

  There is nothing he won’t do to make her his.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  MY knees quiver as I meet Alexander’s heated gaze. This kiss is nothing like the one shared with James—the moment our lips touch, I lose track of time, my surroundings, my propriety, everything but the feel of Alexander holding me close. But as I melt into him, images flash in my mind, as vivid and real as though I am seeing them with open eyes: Alexander cradling a baby with dark hair and wide eyes the color of the sky—the color and shape of mine. A boy, I think and know, and the baby smiles at me, his mouth a perfect cupid’s bow like Alexander’s.

  I take a step back, my heart hammering away. I think of Mama’s excitement after meeting Papa, of her immediate acceptance of the future she glimpsed, but I feel as though I’m torn down the center of me. How can I marry a member of the Order, no matter how reformed? I can’t imagine my family ever agreeing to it once they know the truth—and as I think of the disappointed anger in Wren’s eyes, I find myself forcibly pushing the image away.

  I don’t see visions of the future, I tell myself, but then I think of the sweet, plump baby and his blissful smile, and I want to weep.

  Alexander watches all of these emotions flit across my face with growing concern on his. “I’ve upset you,” he says quietly. “Forgive me for taking such liberties.”

  “No—I only realized we’ve been here for quite some time, and I don’t want to be late.”

  “Of course,” he says with a forced smile. “I’m afraid my skills as an escort leave much to be desired.”

  I take his proffered arm again with a terrible, sinking feeling in my stomach. I can see that I’ve hurt him, but now I don’t know how to make it right. Rowen leads us to where the servant waits beside a path through the hedges, and my face flames when I think of all he must have witnessed. I don’t know enough about the mores of Sylvan society to know if we had made as potentially disastrous mistake as what would have been in London—kissing brazenly in plain sight of whomever should walk by will generally result in either ruin or marriage.

  Have I done something scandalous? I think to Rowen, and he twitches his tail to show he heard me.

  You are not the first Sylvan noble to be found kissing amongst the hedges, he thinks with what I sense is a wry grin.

  So Grandmother will not mind?

  Not in the way you’re implying. You will not be reprimanded. I know such a thing is frowned upon in your world, but here, it’s simply a part of life.

  His words erase some of the tension from my muscles, though I dare not think of the true scope of the freedom that implies.

  Silence descends upon us as we walk in the soft glow of moonlight, and it suddenly occurs to me that we should hear the sounds of music and dancing by now. All I can hear is the roar of waterfalls and a silver stream at our side.

  We enter a clearing, and before us is a wide lake, still and quiet. The moon hangs in the very center, floating effortlessly and surrounded by dancing stars. As we draw closer, a little jolt of awareness goes through me: the moon and stars in the water are not celestial beings at all, but lights. Golden light surges up from somewhere below, illuminating the water around it.

  But before I can ask after its source, the servant continues on to a covered doorway built into the side of the lake. I glance up at Alexander, but he looks as curious as I do. The servant holds open the heavy metal door for us, and when I peer down, I see a spiral staircase lit by the same golden light. Laughter and many voices drift up to us.

  “Does this lead beneath the lake?” I ask in awe.

  The servant smiles. “It does, my princess. The ballroom is below, the lake above.”

  “How enchanting,” I say with a smile up at Alexander, and he returns it. Even my unease over my vision has faded in light of this amazing development. For some reason, a ballroom hidden beneath a lake seems more fantastical to me than a unicorn prince.

  The staircase is narrow, so Alexander goes first, and I follow, holding my skirts aloft carefully so I don’t trip. The steps lead to a narrow hallway, but the ceiling is higher than I would have expected—at least a head taller than Alexander.

  The voices and music grow louder and louder, until finally, we arrive at an arched doorway. The servant slides past us to open the door, and golden light spills out.

  Alexander smiles back at me just before walking through—his face lit up in excitement and wonder—and I follow.

  “Oh,” I say in a breath—the most inadequate thing I’ve ever said.

  The ceiling soars above us, made almost entirely out of glass
, and through it, the clear water of the lake is illuminated. Fish in a dazzling array of colors pass by, swimming languidly, decoration unto themselves. The light is created by at least a hundred floating orbs, at the center of which is an enormous crystal chandelier that glitters like diamonds—considering my gown, they may well be diamonds. It’s suspended from nothing, hanging in the air impossibly, yet no one pays it the slightest bit of attention.

  A full orchestra provides the music, and dancers turn effortlessly on a floor of creamy marble with a golden mosaic sun inlaid in the very center. The people are every bit as fascinating as the stunning ballroom and nothing like what I was used to in a typical London setting. Most notable is the diversity of fashion, as though many come from different parts of the Sylvan world: velvet trimmed in snow white fur, satin in impossibly bright colors, even a full mantle of swan-like feathers. Their features, too, suggest they are all from different cultures—they run the gamut from delicate, almost porcelain-like, to beautifully dark. The only thing that unites them is the fact that no matter the differences in fashion, their frocks are clearly ones of the very rich—with gemstones and gold and silver embellishments.

  Though the news that Alexander has been freed from the dungeon must have spread by now, we are not greeted with whispered asides or outward stares—only welcoming smiles. It seems Grandmother is respected enough not to be questioned.

  Grandmother comes to my side the moment she sees me. Serafino flies nearby and settles on a branch of a golden tree wrought from metal. Rowen goes to join him, wrapping his tail around his haunches neatly as he sits. A cursory glance around the cavernous room shows that only Grandmother and I have spirit animals in attendance, which I find disappointing. I should have liked to see what creatures these exotic and beautiful people have as their spirit animals.