Page 53 of Of Stars and Lightning
Francis scratched her head with her free hand, ultimately deciding to leave the brush in the depths of the mess and grabbed a vial of oil instead. She worked it into the locks. “Some of the more traditional styles are a pain to remove, that’s for sure.”
Finally, her blonde hair began smoothing into its natural waves, the oil making it shimmer with the sunlight that peaked through the windows, opened at Francis’s orders. “Haven’t seen hair so golden in a long, long while. It’d be a shame for it to damage.”
They sat at a vanity near the bed, white and embellished with navy-blue specs. A simple mirror faced them, making it easy for Sol to study her without being too obvious.
Unlike the people who wandered the halls, Francis was simple. Normal, if you will. She didn’t agitate Sol’s nerves. Sol met her gaze through the mirror and gave her a small smile. With a soft shake of her head, she smiled back.
“You look just like your mother, you know.”
It wasn’t what she had expected to hear, and it immediately pulled at her chest. “I’m the exact opposite of her,” Sol said a bitsadly. Even having her mother’s eyes would’ve been a comfort, since at least she could see that small piece of her through reflections.
Francis shook her head slightly, softly parting Sol’s hair down the middle. “Your smile is the same. The way you both despised brushing your hair is the same.”
“You knew her?”
A nod. “I did indeed. I was one of her handmaids.”
Nina flashed through her mind. Her mother had been Irene’s handmaiden too, from what Lora told her, before being sworn into her Royal Court. Sol wondered if Francis knew Clarisse as well.
“How… how was she? My mother?” Sol fidgeted with her nails. She didn’t want to admit to this stranger the topic weighed on her. That she was nervous and alone and homesick and needed words of comfort.
Francis pursed her lips, grabbing a pallet of cosmetics from the desk. She was silent for a while, long enough that Sol doubted she would answer. But with a click of her tongue, she said, “Your mother was kind. And fair. She made some harsh decisions, but with her people’s well-being in mind. She was one of the fiercest women to have ever sat on the stone throne.”
Francis wove delicate green gemstones into the crown of Sol’s head. “The Wielders are going to tell you one thing. Us without magic will tell you another. At the end of the day, you judge for yourself, child.”
A knot in Sol’s chest loosened ever so slightly. Only for it to immediately tighten again as Francis retrieved a gown from the armoire to the left. Through the mirror, Sol watched as she laid it atop the lilac sheets.
The dress was surely a Northern import. It was a rich, long, and elegant pine green, but with a risqué essence she hadn’t seen in the typical Rimemere fashion. The satin neckline plunged in a delicate V, and the seams were a laced gold, the same as the trail of gemstones that wrapped around its middle. The golden flecks spread all the way from the bodice to the skirt, and the sleeves were a delicate beige mesh. An emerald corset rested beside it with golden strings,all held together by golden strings that would secure down her back.
It reminded Sol of a sunrise over the Yavenharrow forests.
“It was your mother’s,” Francis said, gazing at the dress. She ran a delicate hand over the fabric. “It was the dress she wore for her Awakening.” The woman placed a gentle grip on Sol’s shoulders. “I hope it brings you similar luck today too, Princess.”
Sol released an anxious breath. “I don’t know if I can confidently wear that.”
Francis tapped her shoulder gently in a small gesture of encouragement. “No one knows you don’t know what you’re doing unless you tell them, Princess.”
By the time Sol finished donning the full costume of Heiress, it was fifteen minutes until the dinner was set to begin.
Not only did Francis help her with her appearance, but she also gave her a basic lesson on the Southern territories—the magical version.
Sol knew the ten Isophele territories. Each space had its own coveted export, each unique in culture and custom. She had studied them through Leo’s notes, though to the regular citizens, only nine Isophele territories were known. Rimemere was absent from all records outside of Wielder lands.
Romalia was ruled by two nobles, their bloodline so pure it was said they were somehow related. The territory hugged the southernmost coast, and a thin mountain range bisected it and their neighbor Polimende.
Romalia lands were rich with animals and always had bountiful harvests, courtesy of it mostly housing Earth Callers. Not many foreigners were allowed in, but the ones who were—and made it out—shared the city was made of pure stone and lion furs. The nobility was said to live in a cottage by the hill and were often gone for months at a time.
Polimende was the central territory, flanked by five others, making it the most diverse of them all. They got the meats and vegetables from Romalia, the weapons from Melisandre, the exotics from Dianese, and the occult from Niome.
Sol looked over at Francis where she smoothed the sheets of the bed. “What is ‘occult’? Should I be… scared?”
Francis laughed. “Niome is special. Their nobility are one of the only gods-called Wielders left on Erriadin. It makes the whole place rather… otherworldly.”
Sol paced around her room, trying her best not to sweat through her gown or cosmetics the woman had so neatly painted on her.
“I’m never going to remember all this, Francis.”
“Something will stick. Let’s continue.”
