The Order of the Eternal Sun

by Jessica Leake

  Tyrell stops his pursuit, staring Alexander down. “I did tell you the truth, you know. It was a Sylvani who killed her.” His smile widens, and the blood pounds in Alexander’s ears. He already knows what he will say. “It was me.”

  When Alexander thinks of all he has trusted Tyrell with, how he’s looked up to him, joined his brotherhood, believed him to be a father-figure—this man who is actually his mother’s murderer—it snaps something inside of him, something that must have been holding him back. He feels a surge of renewed energy, fueled by hatred and vengeance.

  I’m so sorry, Lucy, Alexander thinks. He removes the letter opener he pocketed. If he cannot complete his mission to bring back Centerius alive, then he will kill him and end his terrible crusade against the mortal Sylvani.

  But before Alexander can make that first move that will most likely be Tyrell’s last, a bright light blinds them. Both men freeze in place, and though Alexander doesn’t dare to hope the light is a sign of reinforcements, he is also terrified it will be Lucy returning. Instead, the light solidifies into a figure of a man, and as the man’s features become recognizable, Alexander’s stomach drops.

  Lord Titus.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  SEEING Alexander still alive in the library brings such profound relief that if I were in my physical form, I think I may embarrass myself by sinking to my knees. As it is, I feel boneless with thanksgiving as his eyes meet mine across the room, though with both Titus and Centerius here, we are by no means out of danger. I pray that Alexander will intuit my plan—that he will recognize the gift of Titus arriving here, without his spirit animal, still unused to the lack of arcana in this world. He will be at his weakest, while Centerius will be thoroughly distracted.

  Titus sweeps into a bow. “My lord Centerius, I had to stage a coup to get here, but I assure you, if you agree to take me on as your partner, then it will be worth it for us both.”

  Centerius says nothing for a moment, his attention focused entirely on Titus just as I hoped, and Alexander moves by small increments out of his range. “I’m flattered that you’ve heard of me,” he says, his expression still unreadable, though a faint thrum of tension still hovers in the air, “and though I can clearly see what benefits our partnership would provide for you, I’m afraid I can’t see how it would be helpful to me.”

  Lord Titus smiles wolfishly. “I can see from the dangerous scene I’ve arrived upon that you will soon be in need of another Sylvani with tracking abilities. This boy with tainted blood has abilities that are nothing compared to mine.”

  “How kind of you to offer such arcana to the service of the Order. I wonder, though, why you’ve decided to do such a thing.”

  Hovering here like a ghost, I can see the players in this room from a completely different perspective. I see Lord Titus sneering like he knows he has Centerius convinced. I see the tension that has never left Centerius, that seems to be growing exponentially. And, most importantly, I see Alexander slowly moving into a position that will hopefully prove fatal to one or both of them.

  Titus’s eyes glitter with malice. “Because I want to erase all the impurities from our bloodlines; I want to wipe the mortal Sylvani from the face of their earth.”

  Centerius smiles, and if I had my body here, the hair on the back of my neck would rise—there is no joy in that gesture, only the smile of a predator who has decided on its prey. “As noble as such a cause may be, I’m afraid I must disagree. You see, if you were to wipe out all the mortal Sylvani as you so elegantly put it, then I would no longer have a source for harvesting the massive amounts of arcana I need to keep me immortal. So in threatening them, you threaten me.”

  Before Titus can respond or backpedal, or do anything that may stop the fall of the axe, Centerius lunges forward and grasps hold of his neck. With his mouth yawning open, he seems to call the arcana from Titus’s very depths, and it answers, streaming from his own mouth and into Centerius like golden smoke.

  Alexander leaps forward at the same time, his movements sure and graceful as a tiger’s. I watch the sharp end of a letter opener plunge into Centerius’s side. Even so, Centerius releases one hand from around Titus’s neck and wraps it around Alexander’s instead.

  Everything slows down until it’s just image after horrible image:

  Titus’s body crashing to the thick, crimson rug—

  —his face the color of ash—

  —Centerius with both hands now wrapped around Alexander’s neck—

  —Alexander mouthing, Run.

  I lift my hand. I will do what I failed to do before. I draw the runes faster than I ever have—lightning and a sword to guide it with. A bright light fills the room, as the sword of pure, raw electricity manifests into my ghostly hand.

  His heart, I think, and the sword obeys.

  Spitting and glittering and filling the room with the smell of a thunderstorm, the lightning plunges into Centerius, my hand at its hilt.

  Alexander falls to the floor as Centerius’s grip on him releases. I try to catch Alexander, but my hands can no longer grip anything but the phantom sword’s hilt.

  Centerius convulses so violently I hear numerous cracks as his bones give way under the assault. When at last he is still, lightning still gently moving through his body in bright blue waves, his mouth gaping and his eyes rolled back into his head, I make the rune that will take Alexander back to Sylvania.

  Later, I will examine this and remember the horror, the fear, the terrible, soul-bruising knowledge that I took another’s life. But for now, in this moment, I feel only relief.

  TWENTY-NINE

  THE moment I return to myself in Grandmother’s now-familiar art studio, I rush to Alexander’s side. He lies prostrate on the floor, completely unconscious.

  He is nearly drained of arcana, Rowen says, materializing by his side.

  Grandmother and Serafino join us, with no sign of the sentinels who had tried to aid Titus in his coup, though her own guardsmen are here—dressed in their silver uniforms, wolves at their sides. “He will never recover here,” she says brusquely. “Every moment spent in this realm will only drain his depleted supply. We must go, but before we do—Rowen? If you would be so kind as to transfer arcana to Alexander. It needn’t be much—just enough to stabilize him for our journey between realms. Lucy, too, could use a touch.”

  Rowen moves toward Alexander and presses his soft fur against his side. Afterward, he moves to me, and my body fills with the warmth of the sun.

  It is done, he says after a moment.

  “You have my undying gratitude for all your help,” Grandmother tells him.

  It’s only then that I really look at what she’s wearing: a very modern traveling gown in a deep emerald green. “I don’t understand—are you coming with us?” She only smiles at my incredulous tone and makes a little wave of her hand. Instantly, Astrid appears from the doorway, my dress in hand.

  “We thought you’d be needing to return in a hurry,” Astrid says with a sad smile.

  “I’m thankful someone is thinking,” I say with another anxious glance at Alexander, “for I’m afraid I feel as though my mind has been siphoned away.”

  With a gesture from Grandmother, the sentinels turn away, and Astrid strips me down right there in the art studio. I help her as best I can with shaky hands and eyes searching Alexander’s chest, terrified it will stop rising at any moment.

  “Astrid, I cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done for me,” I say when she’s dressed me in record time. “It’s been such a pleasure to know you.”

  Grandmother laughs. “She sounds as if she’ll never return when we both know that’s quite far from the truth.”

  “Truly?” I ask, thinking of the visions I saw of future children, ones who played in the mortal realm and this one.

  “I’ll miss you, my princess,” Astrid says, touching me gently on the shoulder.

  Grandmother takes my hand and leads me to Alexander. “Stand beside him, dearest one, and we
shall return as quick as we can.”

  And good-bye to you, Rowen, I think as Grandmother draws the rune that will return us to the mortal realm. I can’t think how I shall sleep at night without you standing guard over me.

  We’ll see each other again sooner than you think, Rowen says. And don’t fear for your Alexander. His body is strong, and his love for you even stronger.

  I smile as Grandmother’s powerful rune transports us body and soul to another realm.

  With Alexander safely hidden in the shadows of the Roman Baths, his chest rising and falling much more easily, I take my first deep breath of English air. I’d become so used to the heaviness of arcana in the air in Sylvania—like the oppressive feel of humidity or fog. Now that I’m home again, my lungs revel in the freedom of taking an easy breath—well, as easy as can be expected now that I’m wearing a corset again. Lucky for us, it is full dark here, not a soul to be seen, only the gentle sound of the water lapping at the sides of the pool.

  Grandmother stands tall as she ever did—none the worse for the wear, even in a foreign realm. “I will go and seek out your sister to help us with Alexander,” she says, “but before I go, there is something I must say to you.” Her eyes seem to well with emotion, and she surprises me by embracing me tightly. “Lucy, my dearest one, it was a terribly noble and clever and foolish thing you did. I could see Titus’s intent for a coup, and I even saw that he would be defeated, but I failed to see who would stop him. Had I known, I’m not sure I could have borne risking you. It could have ended so very badly. I must ask you, though,” she says as I pull back to look at her, “if Titus and Centerius still live, or if Alexander was able to complete his mission.”

  Still tired and a bit dazed from all that conspired, I have difficulty following her question. “Was not Alexander’s mission, per se, to bring Centerius back here to be imprisoned?”

  She shakes her head. “I only said that, I’m afraid, because it would be illegal of me to suggest otherwise. But I knew what the outcome would be when I sent Alexander.”

  “Centerius killed Titus the moment he suggested taking away his sources of arcana. But it wasn’t Alexander who killed Centerius. I did.” Confessing it for the first time makes the whole thing so very real, and my body shakes as though I am in the middle of a snowstorm. “He was going to kill Alexander—he had already drained Titus—and I knew I had the power to stop him.”

  “You’ve done both our worlds a tremendous favor,” Grandmother says and touches my cheek. “There is no shame in defending someone you love—even to the death.”

  Even still, it does something to the soul to take another’s life—no matter how evil that someone is. For me, now that I think about it, it feels as though a terrible weight has been chained to me.

  “I will go to fetch your sister now,” Grandmother says as I wrestle with my internal thoughts. “Will you tell me the way?”

  After I give her detailed directions, I turn back to Alexander. Thoughts of how Colin and James will react to the sight of him—badly, violently—swirl in my mind, but I push them away. I’ll have to face them both soon enough. Better not to fret over it now—it’ll only result in my being reduced to a jittery basket of nerves.

  I sit down beside Alexander and circle my knees with my arms. His warmth is comforting, his deep, peaceful breaths even more so. I have seen a body recover from a massive loss of arcana once before, and I myself have experienced a bit of it. Thus, I’m not nearly so frightened to see him still unconscious.

  “They will love you,” I promise him. “Perhaps not right away, but you will win them over as you did me.”

  Besides, I think to myself as the vision of a beautiful baby fills my mind, they may not have a choice in the matter.

  The moment Wren arrives, Rob striding just behind her, I can read all over her face that something has gone wrong. I run to her and hug her tightly, and she lets out a weary sigh into my hair. Rob puts his arm around my shoulder, his expression tired.

  “We’re so relieved you’re home,” Wren says, taking a step back. She looks over at Grandmother. “And the fact that you brought our grandmother along with you is more than we could have anticipated. We’re so terribly sorry not to have received you properly, Grandmother.”

  She shakes her head. “Seeing the three of you is all the reception I need.”

  “Will you help me with Alexander?” I ask Rob, anxious to get him to a comfortable bed instead of the hard floor of the Roman Baths.

  Rob strides over to take stock of Alexander’s injuries. “Is he safe to manhandle a bit? I think I can carry him easier over my shoulder.”

  “If you’re terribly careful,” I say, wringing my hands. “He’s not injured physically—only weak and drained. He needs sunlight, really, but as it’s the middle of the night, I don’t expect we can do anything about that.”

  “That’s the thing, Lucy,” Wren says with a pointed look. “How did he get injured? Grandmother was terribly vague.”

  Rob joins her in staring me down until I shift uncomfortably, a blush creeping up my neck. “I’ll explain as soon as we get home.”

  “Yes,” Wren says, “you will.”

  Rob stoops down and grabs hold of one of Alexander’s arms. When he stands, he pulls Alexander neatly over one shoulder. “Something you learn in military school,” he says at my impressed look.

  He heads outside with his heavy, unconscious burden, and Wren, Grandmother, and I follow.

  “One of the maids will have a room prepared for you when we return,” Wren says to Grandmother, and as we enter the light of a street lamp, I see how terribly shadowed her eyes are. “I hope you’ll find it to your liking.”

  Grandmother smiles. “Don’t worry about me, dearest. Not when there are so many others to concern yourself with tonight.”

  “Wren, you must tell me what’s wrong. I can’t bear it another moment.”

  She opens the car door for Rob to help Alexander in before turning to me. “I’m so sorry, Luce, but it’s Rose. In spite of Alexander’s treatments, which helped her at least regain consciousness to say her good-byes, she is very near the end now.”

  In spite of Alexander warning me of such an outcome and sensing such a thing myself, it still hits me like a physical blow, forcing tears out of my tightly clenched eyelids. Wren rubs my back comfortingly, but it only makes the lump in my throat grow. I take a deep breath and swallow my sob—there will be plenty time for that later, and I’d rather not go to Rose’s bedside weeping openly. “So her father is here?” I ask after a moment when I’m sure my words won’t end in a sob.

  “He is—he’s been here for a little over a day now,” Wren says, ushering me into the car. I move to where Alexander is awkwardly laid out on one seat. I gently lift his head and place it in my lap as I sit beside him. Grandmother, Wren, and Rob squeeze together across from us. Rob raises his eyebrows at me but doesn’t say a word.

  “We owe much to your Alexander,” Wren says softly as the motorcar jolts forward. “The night Rose’s father was due to arrive, we were afraid he’d never make it, but then Alexander came and worked up some potions and pastes and did something rather amazing with arcana and her breathing came much easier. Later, when her father arrived, she was able to wake up and speak to him.”

  I glance down at Alexander with awe mingling with deep gratitude. He used abilities in front of virtual strangers to him, alone in a house without me there as a mediator, and he did it all without demanding even the briefest thanks from me. I cannot help myself and lean down and press a kiss to his cheek.

  “James will be thrilled to see this,” Rob mutters, but of course I hear him in the close confines of the motor.

  “You owe more to Alexander than you think,” I say, struggling not to snap at him. Since when had James lay claim to me? We had entered no formal agreement. “So much has happened …” I stop, unable to put everything into words: learning the truth about Alexander, dancing at the ball, the powerful vision, our night spe
nt together, and of course, defeating two evil men who had been bent on destroying everything I love.

  Grandmother leans forward and takes my hand. “Later, Lucy. I may not have much arcana here in this realm, but I have enough to show them what they have missed.”

  I nod slowly, eyes wide. The thought turns my stomach into knots, and at the same time, brings a profound sense of relief. Seeing everything play out for themselves may make all the difference in the world when they learn the hardest truth about Alexander, though I think he has more than redeemed himself.

  That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

  Rob is kind enough to give Alexander his room so that he may have a bed to lie in right away, though when Rob and his valet carried him up the stairs, he was beginning to stir. After Alexander is comfortably settled, I go to Rose, my heart pounding in my throat, joining the lump that has already taken up residence.

  The moment I see her, I freeze in the doorway. Fragile before, she is skeletal now. Every bone protrudes from her nightgown, and I can hear her audibly gasping for breath. The room smells pleasantly of an herbal mixture, but underneath it is that unmistakable smell of sweat and death. Sir Thornby rests his head on Rose’s hand, the one he clutches so tightly. I almost back away, then, to give his grief privacy, but then I realize I won’t get another moment to say my good-byes.

  I take another step into the room, and Sir Thornby glances up, his eyes haunted. “My dear Lucy,” he says, the depth of despair so clearly audible in his tone that tears immediately prick my eyes. Shared grief erases any awkwardness I may feel, and I walk forward and put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m so glad you are here,” he says after a moment. “So glad you could return from … where did you say you had been?”

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s far more important that you were here, my dear Sir Thornby, but I am relieved to be here now, with you both.”

  “She would be very glad to know you’re here, I think,” he says, and guilt stabs low in my heart that I hadn’t been here when she was lucid.