Page 2 of Heir Of Sun And Moon
“Then you shall rule here among them,” I say, wrapping my hand around hers. The darkness of my skin was in such contrast with the lighter complexion of hers—though both glowed brilliantly under this planet’s sun.
“I will rule over the mages and show them how to wield their new-found magic.” She speaks the words with a grim finality as she turns to look back out over the thickly connected trees. “But we will let the other kingdoms find rulers of their own.”
“So it shall be,” I respond with a smile. A few quiet moments pass, just the sound of the waves and chattering of birds in the distance. A beautiful world indeed. “I cannot stay in this form on this planet. My body has grown too weak,” I say finally, watching her face to gauge her reaction.
Though she knew this was a possibility, she is unable to hide her sadness fully.
Solana’s lips tip up slightly, her grin tight as she asks, “Will I still be able to talk with you?”
I nod, sitting back on my heels. That burning sensation intensifies in my body as I accumulate the last of my remaining magic to prepare for my final act. “Use your magic, and you can meet me in a space between this world and Eternity.” I pause, closing my eyes and taking in the sounds of this planet for the last time. “Name this world Olymazi for it means—”
“All together,” she interjects with a pleased look on her face. “Yes, I think that fits rather well.” Her chin dips for a moment before she takes a deep breath, her eyes red-rimmed when they meet mine again. “I will miss you, even with the ability to speak to you.” A single tear rolls down her cheek, her love for me reflected in her glassy gaze. “Thank you, Father. For everything you have done, both on this world and beyond. I love you.”
My eyes shut briefly as I let her words settle into me, easing the weight of my final moments.
“I love you too, Solana. May you always be happy and loved here.” With a final squeeze, our hands separate for the last time. I pour my magic into the land, merging my body with the continent before my consciousness joins with the Aethers. My final breath is a plea of forgiveness to my youngest daughter and wife back on my home world.
“Forgive me, my loves. Until we meet again.”
Chapter One: Rhea
Myeyesshootopenas I sit up, gasping for air and swiping the hair away from my sweaty forehead. The silvery light of the moon reflects off the wood floor around me, illuminating the loft and beyond as my heart pumps wildly in my chest. It was just a nightmare.
“He’s not here,” I whisper as I force the memories down, my shaking hands gripping the blankets tightly.He’s not here.
A whimper sounds to my left, coming from the bunched up comforter at my waist. Peeling the bedding back, I look down at Bella, my eyes meeting her big round golden ones. She inches out from under the warmth of the blanket to rest her head on my thigh, my fingers rustling the fluffy fur of her back as I take a deep breath. I don’t usually remember my dreams, like my own subconscious doesn’t want me to grasp them, but Ialwaysremember my nightmares. As if living them wasn’t bad enough, the memories haunt me while I’m asleep as well.
Shivering at the thought, I shake my head slightly and look down into the living area below. From the loft space where my bed is, I have a partial view of the tower, excluding the library beneath me. The gray stone walls that surround me suck in any of the light offered by the moon, leaving eerie dark shadows in their wake. Sighing, I flip my pillow over—the coolness of the fabric seeping into my neck—as I lay back down and I close my eyes.
The tightness in my chest persists, tears forming despite my willing them to stop. Frustrated, I turn on my side and gaze out the window to my right. The floor-to-ceiling glass gives me a perfect view of the sparkling silver stars in the pitch black night sky and their reflection on the calm waters of the lake below. When I was a little girl, I used to pretend that each flickering light was waving hello to me, their presence offering comfort when I often felt so alone. Even now, though I’m an adult, I still imagine it.
The bed shifts as Bella moves around my feet to come lay in front of me, her body nearly as long as mine. I bring an arm around her as she nuzzles into my chest, her pointed ears partially blocking my view of the sky. The white of her fur glows from the moonlight streaming in through the window, so stark against the otherwise dark room. Despite the anxiety coiling inside me, my tired eyes crinkle as my cheeks lift into a smile. Bella’s presence alone calms me enough to abate some of my terror. But I know that sleep won’t come for me again tonight.
After her breaths turn even and a soft snore fills the otherwise-quiet room, I gently slide off the bed. Grabbing a long match out of the glass jar on my night table, I strike it and light the candle nestled in its bronze holder. My hair is a tangled, sweaty mess, but I find a ribbon on my white vanity long enough to tie it back away from my face. I’m in desperate need of a haircut again, but Alexi—my guard and only mortal contact besides the king—was so nervous the handful of times he did it in the past that he wasn’t eager to try again. No matter how much I told him the trims always looked fine.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, the taper candle just barely casting enough light to see the normally bright green of my eyes. Tonight, they hold fear in them, the dark circles beneath reminding me that this is the third night in a row of losing sleep. My complexion looks somewhat paler than normal, and even my heart-shaped lips lack their normal fullness, looking more dehydrated and dull. I sigh, but it isn’t like I have to worry about anyone seeing me like this.
Reaching for the candle holder, I move down the wide metal spiraling staircase to the bottom level. My thin white night dress sticks to me as a breeze from a small window near the balcony cools my sweaty skin, goosebumps breaking out across my body.
Alexi would tell me optimistically to call this place my home, as if saying it enough would convince myself that it’s true. I suppose to a degree it is. What is a home, if not the place you dwell all day and night? But something feels wrong calling this confinement a word as comforting as that. My books describe a home as warm and inviting. Filled with love and happiness, friends and family. Looking around, I can’t imagine a colder, more lonely place.
The lower level houses the living area with a sink in the corner. A small black couch is pushed up against the outer wall. The couch faces another wall—the library on the other side—that goes up about ten feet before turning into a black metal railing that frames the loft. A worn white tea table is set in front of the couch, and the green armchair Alexi prefers is off to the side near the glass doors that lead out to a white stone balcony. The entirety of the tower, all the way up to the pointed roof, is made of the same large gray circular stones. The only exception are the floors, both on the lower level and the loft upstairs, which are a light wood.
As a teenager, I begged Alexi to bring me plants and flowers whenever he could. I needed more color—morelife—in this tower than just Bella and I. The monotony of all those gray stones nearly drove me insane. He was able to bring in a few arastera plants that I now have potted in the corner near the balcony. Their large bright green leaves shaped like wide stars provide that break against the gray. When he can, he’ll bring me fresh drangyeas from the castle gardens—the tiny blue and purple petals of my favorite flower brightening up my bedroom and freshening the sometimes-stale air.
When I reach the bottom of the steps, I turn left and enter under an arched door frame into the library. The red and gold of a formerly plush runner guides my steps into the room, my familiarity with the space allowing me to move as though my eyes were closed. There was a time when I thought I would never—ever—get close to reading all the books here. The sheer magnitude of having nearly an entire room lined with them overwhelmed me. Now I’m starting to wonder how many years of reading I have left before I’ve consumed them all. It can’t be many more.
Do books count as friends? If so, then I have hundreds—no, more than a thousand—of those. Snorting to myself at the thought, I continue into the room that still takes my breath away after all these years. Almost every wall of the crescent-shaped library is lined with books and tomes, the finely-crafted dark brown shelves reaching far over my head. A window seat, inset into the stone beneath an arched window, is the only one in the tower that allows me to see a little bit of the main castle and the capital city of Vitour that lies beyond it.
The little flame of my candle dances with the slight breeze reaching into the room as I walk, casting a moving shadow on the furthest wall. I drag my fingers across the many colored leather spines gracing the shelves, knowing them like the back of my hand. Even in pure darkness, I could find exactly what I’m looking for. The worn down wood flooring creaks with each step I take, reminding me of the age of this room.
This tower.
Thisexistence.
There.My fingers, stiff from the night air, pull out the book I want. I could close the window letting the chill in, but the truth is just having that small space open to the outside makes the inside of the tower feel less suffocating. Setting the candle down on the stone edge of the window sill, I crawl onto the cushion of the bench seat. The velvet is teal in color and lined with pillows on either side in dark green, yellow, and blue. Spreading a cream-colored blanket over my legs, I lay the book down on top. My fingers trace over the foiled title, the combination of the subtle moonlight and the small candle flame reflecting off the gold embossing.The Little Sun. A small smile tilts my lips, nostalgia washing over me as I begin to read.
Once upon a time, there was a little sun who was sad and lonely.
