The Order of the Eternal Sun

by Jessica Leake

  Alexander wraps me in his arms, and I allow myself to be held for a moment. When I’m able to compose myself again, I take a step back. “Shall we have a walk?” he asks, his expression and tone still soft. “The moon is so bright we haven’t any need for a lantern.”

  He offers me his arm, and I take it. “Thank you—you’ve been so kind to me, even when I was rather waspish toward you.”

  He snorts. “Waspish? Your reaction was just—you had every right to be angry.”

  I did have every right, but now … now everything has changed. My instincts when I first met Alexander were that he was someone like me, someone with the same interests and maybe even some of the same struggles—he had secrets to keep as did I, though of course I had no way of knowing what his were. Now that I know, though, I realize I have already forgiven him. He was a lonely and grieving child who had just lost his mother—his only loving parent—when Lord Tyrell swooped down on him. What would I have done if I was all alone without my father and siblings after losing Mama? His only real crime was not realizing sooner that the brotherhood was hurting people—killing them, actually. And now that he knows, look what he’s agreed to: to fight against the man who raised him. Surely not even Wren and Colin will be able to argue against such selflessness.

  “I hope I have not reminded you of your anger toward me,” Alexander says after I’ve been silent for a few minutes. The lake glimmers softly under the light of the moon, golden light at the center of it.

  “No, indeed—quite the opposite. I was thinking of how quickly my anger disappeared—if it was ever truly there at all.”

  He comes to a halt, and I turn to face him. “I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear it. I care so much for you that I would never want you to believe I was capable of betraying you.”

  I take a deep breath. “Alexander, that vision … I was shocked at first, but now … now I think I very much want it to come true.”

  He smiles down at me and tucks a wayward strand of hair back behind my ear. I shiver at his touch as his fingers brush the sensitive skin of my neck. When I meet his eyes again, it’s like I’m seeing two Alexanders: the one before me with an intense longing on his face, and another only slightly older Alexander with love in his eyes as he gazes back at me. The sensation is disorienting, but not frightening. Was this how it was for Mama? Did she see my father’s future love for her, his undying devotion to her, the moment they first touched?

  And then Alexander closes the distance between us and takes me in his arms, and I can no longer think of anything but the feel of his lips on mine, the way the mingling of our tongues unravels something within me. The proper English Lucy separates from the Sylvan Lucy, and I clutch him desperately as his hands plunge into my hair, then skim lower, tracing my curves through my slim gown.

  The moonlight reflects off his dark hair, and a soft breeze makes the tall grass at our feet undulate like waves. His mouth moves down my neck, each kiss making me tighten a little more, wanting something I don’t dare voice. And yet, in this enchanted place, it’s easy to believe we exist outside of time—outside of reality. All of my objections blow away like sand in the wind—I cannot grasp a single one in my mind.

  So I give into my instincts and ignore everything I’ve ever been taught about the way a lady should behave.

  I pull him down to the soft grass beneath us. The smell of cardamom and clove is intoxicating, and the warmth emanating from his body makes me want to pull him still closer. He stares down at me in silent question, but before he can voice any objection and break the spell, I kiss him until neither of us can speak.

  ALEXANDER tries to get himself under control—never before has he given into his body’s wants and desires so completely—but he cannot stop himself. Lucy has made it clear that she doesn’t wish him to, and he tries to berate himself, to tell himself that he should be the one to stop this before it goes too far, but then she writhes beneath him again, her breath coming in little pants, and God help him, he cannot resist.

  He reaches out to touch her again, and her bodice slips low enough to bare more of her décolletage. Her hands clutch at him, and he pulls back for a moment to remove his jacket and shirt. When her gaze sweeps over his naked chest, that appreciative artist’s look entering her eyes, it’s nearly his undoing.

  “Lucy, my darling,” he says raggedly, “you must know how desperately I love you, but we don’t have to do this here and now.” He takes one of her slim hands and puts it over his rapidly beating heart. “I want to marry you if you’ll have me. I want to spend every day of my life drawing and painting with you, enjoying the beauty of this world, and atoning for my involvement with an organization that has brought you such pain.”

  She’s quiet for so long that Alexander’s stomach drops in anticipation of the worst. “And the vision? What of children?” she finally asks, her expression turning intensely serious.

  “Do you think ten children would be too many?” he asks in turn, and she dissolves into relieved laughter as he grins back at her.

  She tentatively moves her hand to his upper arm and gives him a gentle tug. When he acquiesces to her unspoken request and lowers himself to her, his chest mere inches away from her tantalizingly soft breasts, he locks his gaze on hers.

  “I love you, Alexander. And of course I will have you,” she says, pulling him ever closer. “You and your ten children.”

  And then they succumb to the enchantment of the Sylvan world, of the freedom of being together without chaperone, of the exquisite discovery of each other’s bodies.

  My wife, Alexander thinks. She will be my wife.

  TWENTY-SIX

  LUCY, a voice calls, pulling me from sleep.

  Lucy, it’s time.

  I open my eyes to find Rowen’s turquoise ones staring down at me. As I shift in bed to sit up, I find I am rather sore in unaccustomed places, and my cheeks flame as I remember everything that brought that about. The beauty of Alexander’s body in the moonlight, the intoxicating feel of his touch, the contrasting hardness of his muscles and the softness of his lips—his lips that left no part of my body unexplored.

  But most importantly: his proposal and my acceptance.

  In the light of day, my actions seem rash, even shameful. Not only did I act wantonly, I accepted a proposal without giving it a moment’s thought. I hide my burning face in my hands. What possessed me to do such a thing?

  Whispers of the vision I saw last night sneak to the forefront of my mind, but I push them away. Mama had seen a vision of children, too, but I’m sure she didn’t lose her virginity the first chance she could! I touch my flat stomach gingerly. The vision never said when I’d become pregnant—what if life already bloomed inside me?

  I peek through my fingers to find Rowen still watching me. With a groan, I flop back against my bed. “How could I be so foolish?”

  Foolish? Rowen tilts his head.

  “Never mind. Has Grandmother sent for me?”

  Rowen jumps down from the head of the bed to the floor. Yes, and Astrid waits to help you dress.

  Still blushing, for I’m certain both Rowen and Grandmother had anticipated such a thing happening between Alexander and me, I gingerly get out of bed. My embarrassment and discomfort does well to mask the nervousness that buzzes in the background of my mind, but the moment Astrid strides in purposefully, her hands full of a pale blue gown, the buzz turns into a dull roar.

  “Good morning, my princess,” she says. “I’ve brought you tea and something you can eat quickly, for I’m afraid the queen has requested your presence in her art studio right away.”

  I nod. “Of course. I’m sorry if I overslept.”

  “No one blames you, at all—it’s to be expected with such a busy evening.” I quickly look away as she laces me into my bodice, willing my cheeks to stop blushing. “The Lake Ball always lasts until dawn,” she adds, and I find myself relaxing.

  And what did you think she was referring to? I ask myself reproachfully.


  After she dresses me quickly and efficiently in the open-skirted gown with leather leggings that I will miss terribly when I return to England, she pulls my hair into a knot at the base of my neck.

  “I thought you might like it out of your way,” she says when I reach back to feel it neatly bound.

  “That was thoughtful of you,” I say with a smile. “Thank you.”

  She leaves the room for a moment and returns with a steaming cup of tea contained in a cylindrical container with a lid and a handheld pastry of some sort. “So you have time to eat.” She hands both to me, and I smile gratefully. “Lord Alexander is awaiting you outside this room—he will escort you to where your Grandmother waits.”

  The thought of seeing Alexander again after our night spent together so distracts me that I take a few steps forward in a daze. But before I leave, I turn back to Astrid. “I want to thank you for helping me during my stay here. It’s been so wonderful to know you.”

  She smiles softly and reaches out to touch her hand to my arm. “I’m glad to have helped you. May arcana favor you this day.”

  I return the gesture as Rowen joins me at my side. At the door, I hesitate for a moment with my hand on the latch. A jittery fear jolts through me as I imagine seeing him for the first time since our night spent together—is he having the same fears as I? Do I want him to feel ashamed? But when I open the door, and he smiles warmly at me in welcome, reaching toward me for an embrace, which I return gingerly.

  “You look beautiful,” he says, and he kisses me on the cheek, lingering there for a moment. He touches the knot at the base of my neck. “Though I think I’ll miss being able to run my fingers through your hair.”

  I force a smile and try to ignore my own embarrassment. We haven’t the time to discuss what happened last night. “It’s strange, but wearing it up feels odd to me now. Truly, though, that’s the least of what I’ll miss.”

  He offers me his arm, and we walk down the hallway in the direction of Grandmother’s art studio. “There is something about this world that makes you feel as though it’s a part of you—like arriving home after a long journey. Though I think we will be seeing much more of it in the future—” he glances down at me, and I feel pinpricks of emotional tears “—if our shared vision is any indication.” He stops, watching me more closely. “Is something wrong? You seem … distant this morning.”

  “Just worried about what lies ahead.” In more ways than one. “I want to feel like my family is safe again.”

  “Destroying the Order should go a long way toward that end.”

  “I hope that isn’t your only reason for going through with this,” I say, starting down the hall once again.

  “I am doing this because I believe it is right.” He offers me his arm again as we walk. “Everything else is secondary to that.”

  We fall into a thoughtful silence after that, but the closer we get to Grandmother’s art studio, the more anxious I become. What if I cannot create a proper portal? Or worse, what if something goes terribly wrong once I do? As I steal a glance at Alexander’s handsome profile, I feel a twist of unease low in my stomach. I’m generally an optimistic person, but still I fear something terrible will befall him before this is done.

  The door to her studio stands open, and we walk through, my heart beating so loudly I fear everyone must hear it.

  Grandmother comes and presses a kiss to my cheek. “I have everything ready for you, dearest one.” She turns and places a graceful hand on Alexander’s shoulder. “Is there anything you need, Alexander, to make ready?”

  “Only a warning: Lord Titus has sought me out twice now, and it’s clear he is in league with Tyrell—or desires to be.”

  I shoot Alexander a surprised look, though I suppose I shouldn’t be. Titus made it clear from the very beginning he was no ally. Grandmother’s reaction, however, is much milder.

  “It is true,” she says with a glance at Serafino. “He will try to join forces with Centerius, but it does not change our goal here today: to stop him.”

  All the pieces click together. Titus’s clear hatred for all half-Sylvani, his flagrant disrespect for Grandmother’s authority, his eerie interest in me at the ball.

  With a step back, Grandmother gestures toward the blank canvas. “What I thought would make this easier on you, Lucy, would be if I simply showed you Alexander’s memories of the place Centerius is most likely to be.”

  “His library,” Alexander says decisively. “If it will be late evening when I travel through the portal, then he will be found there.”

  “Very well. His library, then.” She holds out her hand to Alexander. “If you would be so kind …”

  He acquiesces, moving closer to her so that she may touch her hand to his temple. Instantly, images are projected before us of a cavernous library filled with countless books tucked safely away in mahogany bookshelves.

  “Draw what you see, dearest one,” Grandmother says, and I retrieve a pencil to do just that.

  As the images move to give us the full view of the room, I pick the best entry point for Alexander: the corner farthest from the door and steeped in shadow. My pencil moves over the canvas, and I infuse arcana in it as I go, paying particular attention to the details that make the room unique: the fireplace with the carved sun on the mantle, the leather furniture—two wing-backed chairs and a sofa from this vantage point, and the strange decorations—like the skeletal remains of some large sea creature mounted just to the left of the window.

  I concentrate so hard on each stroke of the pencil that my knuckles turn white and a fine sheen of sweat covers my body. When at last I’ve filled every centimeter of paper, when even the spines of many of the books have tiny titles, and each bone of the skeletal creature has been faithfully recreated, I take a step back to compare my drawing to the images suspended before me.

  “A perfect rendition,” Alexander says with so much awe in his tone I blush.

  Grandmother nods, and lets the images fade away. “I quite agree. As accurate as a photograph.”

  Relieved by their good opinions, I look over the drawing critically and pray it’s detailed enough.

  Now for the runes.

  I approach the canvas, the shakiness of my limbs spreading throughout my body until I’m a mass of jittery nerves. Beside me, Alexander is the eerie calm just before a storm—tension seems to swirl just beneath the surface of his skin, and yet outwardly, he seems almost peaceful.

  I pick up the paintbrush and dip it in golden paint. Before I can touch it to the canvas though, I turn to him. “I’m afraid to send you through. After everything we … after last night …” I trail off, unable to finish. How can I send this man I love, one I want to spend the rest of my life with, into such danger?

  He takes the paintbrush from my hand gently and sets it down. And then, before Grandmother and Rowen and Serafino, he gathers me in his arms. I stiffen at first, expecting an immediate rebuke, but a sneaked glance at Grandmother shows she’s turned away. “I love you, and I will come back,” he says into my hair. “You said yourself my arcana lends itself to my fighting abilities. Let me do this for you, Lucy. Let me atone for my mistakes.”

  I nod into his chest, fighting tears. This reminds me too much of being forced to stay behind while Katherine sacrificed herself to keep me safe. And the memory is too much. I may not be able to sort out my feelings toward him right now, but I won’t stand by this time, not when I can help. “No,” I say and take a step back. “You won’t go alone.”

  “Lucy,” Grandmother says, taking a step toward me, “I cannot allow you to risk your safety against Centerius. Alexander must go, and you must stay to keep the portal open.”

  “My body must stay, but I can and will transport my spirit.”

  I look at Alexander, fully expecting an argument from him, but to my surprise, he remains silent. He nods, as though in approval, pride shining in his eyes.

  “I will concede that is an option,” Grandmother says. “Though it�
�s not without its own dangers—the strain on you will be great.”

  “But can I withstand it?” When she nods, I press on. “Will I be able to draw runes in my spirit form?”

  She looks momentarily taken aback at that—glancing at Serafino for a moment as if conferring. “I think that you will be able to, yes. Spiritual arcana is fueled by the spirit.”

  A relieved sort of determination washes over me. “Then it’s settled. We will go—together.”

  “I couldn’t ask for a better partner,” he says, and I feel a new flood of confidence.

  He picks up the paint brush and hands it back to me, and I stand in front of the canvas once again. I take a deep breath, reach for Rowen’s store of arcana, and draw the rune with bold strokes. A burst of shimmering light fills the room, and the painting looms larger and larger before us. It has a hazy quality to it, like we’re viewing it from underwater—the leather chairs and bookshelves and fireplace nearly transparent. When every element in the room is life-sized, the portal stabilizes, standing open with golden light.

  Alexander glances back at me just once and then steps through. Immediately, the painting shrinks back to size until it is only paint on canvas once again. I move to make another rune, the one that will allow me to transport my spirit, but Grandmother reaches out to me.

  “Do you remember that first time I showed you the power of drawing runes?” she asks. “When I called forth the lightning?”

  I nod warily. “It’s a difficult thing to forget.”

  “And do you know the rune for lightning?”

  “I do.”

  She reaches out and touches my cheek. “Do not hesitate to use it, if it should come to that. Centerius is one of us, and by law he has the right to a trial by a council of his peers, but I don’t want that to be at the cost of your safety. Or even, in light of recent events,” she says pointedly, and I blush, “at the cost of Alexander’s safety.”