The Order of the Eternal Sun

by Jessica Leake

  “Oh, but surely I don’t resemble her as much as Katherine does, though of course I take it as a great compliment that you should think so.”

  “I can’t tell you how thankful I am that you agreed to meet with me. It’s been far too long since I was able to gaze upon the faces of my grandchildren.”

  This captures my attention. “You’ve seen us before?”

  She smiles. “Your mother found ways around her exile. Though all portals were closed to her, they were not closed to her children. She’d bring the three of you, and I’d get a few blessed moments to see that you were all well.” Her face darkens. “That was, until your grandfather felt your mother’s presence through the portal, and your mother decided it would be better not to risk it—she feared he would realize how much our realm is in need of a new generation and forcibly bring the three of you over.”

  Apprehension settles uncomfortably in the pit of my stomach, and I cannot help a wary look over my shoulder. “Does he know I’m here now?”

  “Before I answer, perhaps I should explain how much things have changed.” She holds up her hands, and I flinch, remembering what Katherine said of her power. Regret flits across her somber expression. “I would never hurt you, dearest one. Will you allow me to show you some of my memories?”

  “Of course,” I say, chastened.

  She closes her eyes, and the air before her shimmers. Instead of the breathtaking scene before us, images appear, as though she painted them on the wind itself. Battle lines appear before me, with soldiers in gleaming armor and swords astride creatures that are like enormous elk. Mixed among the soldiers are as many animals, all predatory: wolves, eagles, lions, bears. The animals are as unusual as the soldiers’ mounts—much larger and in varying shades of white and silver. The sight of them is like nothing I’ve ever seen, certainly like no wild animal I’ve ever learned of, nor seen in a zoo. They seem as ready and willing for battle as the soldiers, with patient anticipation. Spirit animals.

  The scene shifts to one of frenzied battle: animals tearing into one another, soldiers cutting each other down from their lofty mounts. It’s so chaotic, it’s difficult to make out who’s fighting who. Then, from the midst of the battle, strides a man clad entirely in gold. He does not ride, but he is accompanied by a great white bear who roars a deafening challenge as he steps onto the battlefield.

  The soldiers and animals pause in their attempts to kill one another, their expressions wary.

  The man in golden armor raises his hands, and a wave of power ripples through the soldiers and animals with such force, they are left utterly decimated. Cold fear paralyzes my limbs as I take in the carnage, done with ruthless efficiency. I let out a little whimper of horror, and the scene shifts, showing a great white tomb.

  “Your grandfather stopped Lord Elric, the man you saw destroying both armies on the battlefield, but it was at the cost of your grandfather’s life.”

  I’d never known the man, but I felt the sorrow circling my grandmother like a dark cloud, and I couldn’t help but be empathetic to it. She waves her hands, and the transparent image disappears.

  “How awful,” I whisper. “I’m terribly sorry.” I frown at my inadequate response—saying sorry doesn’t nearly convey the horror I feel at such a loss.

  “The battles were pointless—merely a power struggle between Lord Elric and your grandfather. Cascadia remains under our family’s control—my control—but our population has dwindled to less than half.” She steps forward, and after a moment’s hesitation, takes my hands in hers. “I can’t tell you how overjoyed I was to feel your presence, Lucy. I’d missed my chance when your sister so briefly touched our realm, you see. It was a relief to sense you not just once, but several times, and I knew then it would be safe to reach out to you.”

  “I’m so glad you did, Grandmother,” I say, my throat tight. “I have dreamed of meeting you ever since I was a child, but I never dared hope it would be possible.”

  She smiles and squeezes my hands gently before releasing them. “In time, I hope to meet you all. I’ve sensed the presence of others—perhaps your brother and sister?”

  My brows furrow as I puzzle out her words. “Sensed at the same time as me? Oh, but it must have been Izzie,” I say almost to myself. “So she is sharing in my visions. Izzie is Katherine’s daughter,” I add.

  A bird’s cry interrupts us and draws our attention skyward. I’m sorry to say my mouth falls open like a commoner, and I’m struck dumb for the second time since arriving. The bird—if it can be called such an ordinary name—is larger than an eagle and like a blaze of fire in the sky. Its plumage is the color of a sunset—reds, oranges, pinks, gold. Its tail feathers cascade down beneath it as it descends; bigger than a peacock’s. A name for this bird is tingling on my tongue, but it’s one I’ve only read about in fairytales.

  It lands on a low-hanging branch and dips its head daintily. Forgive my interruption, the deep, obviously male, voice says in our minds, but Lord Titus has requested an audience with you.

  Irritation followed swiftly by a resigned sort of look flits across my grandmother’s face. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Thank you for coming to fetch me, then,” she says fondly. She turns to me, one hand toward the stunning phoenix. “This is my spirit animal, Serafino.”

  Its golden eyes smile down at me from the branch above us. And you are Lucy. Arria was correct in saying you look just like your mother. His attention shifts to the fox, who has patiently sat through my meeting with my grandmother. Does it pain you to see her, Rowen?

  “You have a name?” I burst out in surprise.

  The little fox tilts its head. You didn’t ask.

  My face flames, and I look down in embarrassment. In truth, I hadn’t even considered the fox might be called by a name, but by the way my grandmother addressed her own spirit animal, I realize my blunder was great indeed.

  She doesn’t know us well enough to tease in such a way, Serafino says, his voice mildly scolding. Don’t mind Rowen, his humor has always been as dry as ash.

  “My dear Lucy, I’m afraid I’ve called you here as a bit of a test,” my grandmother says. She reaches out and touches my shoulder. “Though you see Sylvania before you, where we are now is the In Between—between your realm and mine. The ability to travel here is something all Sylvans learn when we are young, and I cannot tell you how impressed I am that you figured it out all on your own, but I’m also greatly concerned. You see, here, our spirit animals keep us grounded. They keep our bodies safe on the other side. You, on the other hand, have no spirit animal. Without a means of keeping your physical form grounded in your realm, your spirit—your mind—can become trapped within the In Between forever.”

  I think of all the times I’ve carelessly entered my drawings and feel my stomach drop in horror. “I had no idea—none at all. Am I in danger now?”

  Grandmother shakes her head. “We will not stay long enough. The danger comes in the great strain your physical body must endure when you use arcana enough to transport your conscious mind.”

  “I’ve certainly experienced that before. Most recently, I entered a drawing without even meaning to, and then I couldn’t find my way out. It wasn’t until my niece called for me that I was even able to return.”

  Grandmother shares a look with Serafino. “I must ask you, then, not to attempt it again. It sounds as though little Izzie has an ability, similar to a spirit animal, to ground you. Even so, the risk is too great. Rowen will still be able to reach you through your drawings—he can safely travel to the In Between without you risking yourself.” She reaches out to touch me, and though her hand doesn’t actually connect with my shoulder, I can still feel her warmth. “There is more. I’m sure you knew your mother was capable of seeing the future, or at least, many different versions of it.”

  “Yes, though I only recently learned of it. She left behind a journal for Katherine.”

  Grandmother smiles and glances at Rowen. “I’m not surprised. S
he was always terribly brilliant.” She returns her attention to me, her expression becoming more serious. “This ability was inherited from my lineage, and I come from a long line of Sylvans capable of foreseeing certain events, though it has its limitations. I can only see what my visions choose to show me, for one—I cannot forcefully scry into the future. I say all this to tell you that I have seen events pertaining to you, which is why I have had Rowen reach out to you. Darkness shadows you, Lucy, and though I cannot see how it will manifest, I am certain of one thing: you are in danger.”

  Fear turns my body cold, and I struggle to form a response. “But we’ve been so careful. What is it you see?”

  “It’s more what I sense. And what I sense is fear; fear and danger for not only yourself, but someone else you care about. Determination, too, as though you are prepared to do battle.”

  Now the fear turns to nausea. “Battle? Oh, but surely …” I think of James’s preparations, then. Will I have need for self-defense? To defend myself and one of the many people I care about?

  “I only wish I knew more. Send word to Rowen any time you have need—with anyone you find suspicious. We have ways of seeking more information on them.” She glances at Serafino. “There is so much more we should talk of, but time runs short. I dare not keep you much longer.”

  And Titus awaits, Serafino adds.

  “Yes, well, I’m afraid I will have to try his patience a little longer,” Grandmother says with a tone so much like Wren’s I smile. She reaches out for my hand again, and I can almost feel the touch through time and space. “Stay safe, dearest one. We are here if you need us.”

  She turns away, the scent of honeysuckle hanging in the air behind her. “Wait, Grandmother! Is it possible for me to cross over entirely, so that we may have more time together?”

  Her eyebrows arch, and she shoots a sharp glance at Rowen. “I see you’ve been sharing secrets, little fox.” Her tone doesn’t sound angry, only cautious. “It’s possible, but more preparation will be needed. Promise you won’t attempt it without my guidance, Lucy. It can be dangerous if not done properly.”

  I nod somberly. “I promise. I am so glad to have met you, Grandmother.”

  Her smile is so warm and kind, it instantly reminds me of Mama’s. Tears prick my eyes. “None of that now,” she says, with a gentle near-touch to my cheek. “We’ll see each other again soon. I can guarantee that. Rowen, will you help her return?”

  Yes, Lady Queen. He gets quietly to his feet and trots away.

  After one last glance at my grandmother, I follow, my heart so full it feels like a balloon within my chest. The longing to stay is strong; I am sorely tempted to ignore my grandmother’s warning and explore, consequences be damned. But one look at Rowen’s frequent glances over his shoulder tells me he would never allow it. So, reluctantly, I take note of all the fascinating flora and fauna we pass: the purple and silver trees, a pure white deer with sapphire blue eyes watching us with a silver fawn at her side, and birds of exotic color combinations only seen in the tropics.

  As the path draws us deeper into the forest, I see movement flitting amongst the leaves—movement I initially attribute to birds. Until one appears directly in my path: a pixie the size of a hummingbird with a dress of silver leaves.

  It’s time, Lucy, Rowen says beside me.

  I take one last long look at the beauty around me, trying to memorize every detail before returning to the mortal realm. Trying not to think about her dire warning.

  How could I bring danger upon my family again?

  ALEXANDER’S pen skitters across the paper, leaving a trail of black ink. He feels it again—that pull of spiritual power like a cold douse of water over his skin. Goosebumps rise on his arms, and he lets his eyelids fall closed. The energy is stronger this time. As the minutes tick by, the doused-in-cold-water feeling remains.

  He yanks open the drawer of his desk and pulls out a thick stack of drawing papers. Pencil in hand, he sketches the images that rise in his mind: ancient trees with wide, pale trunks; a white city atop cascading waterfalls; a fox who gazes out at him from the page with bold intelligence.

  There is something about these images, and Alexander pauses as he takes them in, the end of the pencil between his teeth. A genuineness, he decides, despite the fantastical details. These were not things Lucy had drawn out of her imagination; these were things she had seen. The words feel right as he thinks them. He nods his head and leans back in his chair.

  But at the same time, a feeling of profound disappointment washes over him. These drawings seem to suggest something far greater than spiritual power, and when Alexander considers the consequences—thinks of what they could mean for Lucy—he is taken aback by the vehemence of his body’s reaction. He is almost sickened by the danger she may soon find herself in.

  Still, he is committed to his cause. He swore long ago he would never let someone else go through the same pain he suffered as a child, and he won’t falter now.

  ELEVEN

  THE next day, shortly after breakfast, the servants begin the process of sending trunks of our things to Bath. They will travel ahead of us today, and we will make the journey tomorrow morning by train.

  I walk slowly down the stairs, hardly energetic enough to hold my skirt clear of my boots. This fatigue is bone-deep, despite my having slept all the way past noon. Grandmother had said traveling to the In Between would cause strain on my physical self, but I think I still hadn’t anticipated the depth of my weariness—even after resting. Luckily Rose and I have plans to do a bit of shopping to take advantage of the sunshine and her continued good health.

  I wander into the study, where Emily has agreed to bring me my tea and something light to eat. Light streams in through the windows, and the sweet mustiness of the leather-bound books mixed with the light fragrance from bouquets of yellow roses perfumes the air. It isn’t until I’ve collapsed onto the nearest sofa that I see Papa watching from a wingback chair, book in hand.

  “You look exhausted, my dear,” he says, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Did another headache keep you awake?”

  He refers to my tendency to succumb to rather debilitating headaches—a condition I’ve suffered since I was a child. “No, merely a late night spent drawing.” And worrying over Grandmother’s dire tidings.

  A footman enters with a tray of tea and scones, and I let out a happy sigh. Tea makes everything better.

  “Is there anything else you’ll be wanting, Miss Lucy?”

  “No, I’m quite content now, thank you.” I pour a cup of tea, the rich scent adding to the already relaxing smell of the old books in the study.

  Papa watches as I take a sip. “I think it’s a bit more than that,” he says with a pointed look at my shaking hands. When I frown down at my cup in answer, he adds, “You’ll find I’m a good listener.”

  I meet his warm, familiar gaze and know that I won’t be able to keep anything from him. I’ve always been a terrible liar, for one, and for another … perhaps he of all people would like to hear about my mother’s world. “I spoke to my grandmother last night.” Before he makes the wrong assumption, I say, “My Sylvan grandmother.”

  Whatever he expected, it isn’t this. His book slides out of his hand with a soft thump on the plush rug, but he doesn’t spare it another glance. He almost stands out of his chair, but ends up sitting forward. “Here? In London?”

  I laugh at the thought of my ethereal grandmother strolling the streets of London. “She was in Sylvania. I have this ability, you see, of entering my drawings with the help of runes.” And sometimes without them.

  His frown is so deep, every wrinkle on his face is shadowed. “Does your sister know? I must say, Lucy, this doesn’t sound safe. Far be it for me to lecture you on the subject, but arcana does have its consequences, as both Katherine and your mother experienced.”

  “Of course I don’t want to worry you, Papa. Katherine knows, and I must beg of you to think of the benefits to us! We’ve been without
guidance regarding our Sylvan heritage, and now we finally have access to our family and the realm. Think what this can mean for us.”

  “Yes, but why now? Where has your grandmother been all this time?”

  The series of battle images my grandmother revealed fill my mind, sending residual chills of apprehension through me. I decide to give my father the edited version. “Because my grandfather is no longer alive, and she felt it would now be safe to approach us.”

  His dark eyebrows rise. “They are immortal. How did he die?”

  I glance down at my cup, cursing my father’s good sense. “The result of a battle, I believe. I’m unsure of the particulars,” I hedge.

  “So now you’re entering a war-torn realm?” he asks sharply. “Lucy, you cannot—”

  “No, it wasn’t at all,” I say vehemently, thinking of the peaceful white city, the sentient forest. “The battle happened in the past—I’m not sure how long ago.”

  He sighs and leans back against his chair. “Well, I don’t like this, but I can’t pretend to know a thing about your mother’s realm. But don’t think I won’t discuss this with your sister.”

  “Please do,” I say wearily. “Only, if you could manage to do so without alerting Colin, I would be much obliged.”

  He smiles. “I shall try.”

  Our conversation thus concluded, I take a big bite of the buttery scone and wash it down with another sip of tea.

  The door opens and Mr. Hale, Colin’s butler, walks through. “Miss Lucy,” he says, interrupting me as I take another bite of scone. “There is a Lord Devonshire here to see you. He says he was expected?”

  My surprise is so complete that I do nothing but chew on my scone like a cow chewing cud. “Oh!” I say when I realize poor Mr. Hale is waiting on my reply. “Yes, you may send him in.”

  Papa eyes me knowingly while Mr. Hale leaves.

  “My mouth was full,” I mutter, but Papa’s grin only widens.

  Soon, we hear shoes echo dully across the marble floors, and I straighten my spine. Instead of Hale and Lord Devonshire, though, Colin strides in from the other entrance to the library, his eyes on the paper in his hand. He glances up to find us watching him, the air thrumming with anticipation.