Page 17 of Of Stars and Lightning
“Sawyer is my cousin?” Sol said slowly, more to herself.
Family.
More family.
Despite the inner battle, Sol glanced back to the Hound as well.
“I traveled with Axel to Rimemere, despite me not believing it even existed to begin with,” Lora continued, chuckling softly. “And the rest…well, you know the rest.”
Sol turned back to face her. “And did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Heal her.”
Lora peered over her shoulder as she guided Sol forward, the moonlight outlining her aged features in silver. Her eyes saddened slightly. “Only for a little while.”
They neared their cottage now, its familiar outline a spot of comfort in the sudden sea of unknown. The sound of their steps resounded in the night, and a wind rustled Sol’s unbound hair. As they reached the pathway into their home, still achingly cold with her mother gone, Sol paused.
She blinked a few times and asked, “Why did that man call me Princess? I may not know him, but he doesn’t seem like the type to be sweet.”
“Who? Cas?”
Sol shrugged. “I think.”
Lora laughed, the sound easing the knots in Sol’s stomach ever so slightly. “No, that boy is quite the opposite of his father.”
Her aunt’s smile faded as she grasped Sol’s hands. Sol studied the amber specs within her eyes as Lora said, “He said what he did because your mother wasn’tjustfrom Rimemere. She was their queen.”
Five
THE LAND OF LIGHT MAGIC
LORA MADE SOLsit in the center of their living room with nothing but the cold floor beneath her. After Sol had nothing but her nails to mess with, her aunt spoke.
And Sol listened.
Lora told tales of her past and everything in between, and Sol simply…listened. She was engaged in the stories at first, but about halfway through and an hour in, she just focused instead on a spot on the wall, tracing the delicate cracks and peeling wallpaper with her gaze as the stories swam in and out of focus.
Rimemere was the primary domain of the Wielders, as it held the temples of the Original Creators, the gods who granted them their magic.
The Rimemere natives mostly lived in the center of the kingdom, students of the royal houses within a castle made of stone and marble, while the ones not affiliated with nobility, or those without magic, staggered around the hilly outskirts of the territory. The Rimemere Wielders trained from childhood to master their gifts, tutored by experienced militia or top apprentices of their element. There were only a handful of Wielder bloodlines left, the Yarrows being the oldest recorded.
Others who had competed closely were wiped out by war or enemies. Ivet Yarrow had been the matron of her bloodline, establishing order and law during the land’s infancy. From her, all her direct descendants had been gifted the magic ofWarding—creating ripples in time to shield themselves or others. Sol’s mother had mastered the blessing so immensely she had been one of the most respected and feared queens to ever rule.
Sol stopped listening after that. She tried to regain focus multiple times, but jumped into an unbelievable sentence, then another even wilder one. She refused to register it. Refused to let this new identity sink its claws into her.
Because then it made the madness real.
Still, a small part betrayed her. The part of her that whispered of all the wonders her mother told—recounted—and begged her to accept the possibility it might all be real. Despite the magic she had seen that night, Sol still couldn't quite believe it.
The final straw had been when Lora said, “And you are the direct heir to the throne.”
White noise danced in her head. Static clouded her vision.
Sol had never so much as led a shift at the Hound. The idea of leading a kingdom seemed impossibly foreign. Not to mention, she had no magic. What would they say of her, especially if her own mother had been such a force to be reckoned with?
Her mother.
