The Order of the Eternal Sun

by Jessica Leake

  “I want to marry you, Lucy Sinclair,” he says, his gaze swallowing mine. “If you’ll still have me.”

  I don’t need a vision to tell me that I’m madly in love with Alexander, that perhaps I have been since the moment we first spoke on the balcony together. A glimpse into the future only solidifies that knowledge in my mind. I chose to be with him the moment I gave myself to him in Sylvania, and despite my initial fears, I know it was right for us both. “There is no one I’d rather spend my life with,” I say firmly. “Who else would spend hours painting and discussing art with me?”

  He laughs and gathers me into his arms again. “I love you as you are right now in my arms,” he says, his words warm in my ear, “and I love you as I saw you in the future, with our children surrounding you.”

  A baby with dark hair and blue eyes, I think as his mouth descends on mine, as I give into the heady sensation of being kissed by the man I love … the man I first saw in my own drawing.

  The man I must convince my family is the best for me … no matter his previous ties.

  THIRTY-TWO

  ROSE was buried, two days after her death, in a small church just outside of London. She was laid beside her mother in the church in which both of them were baptized. The sky, contrary to our mourning clothes and tears streaming down our faces, was a bright blue with plentiful sunshine. I think Rose would have much preferred it to a gloomy thunderstorm, though.

  I sent for the most exotic hothouse flowers for her in deference to her love for faraway places, and so I was able to throw a large bouquet of orchids, hibiscus, and birds of paradise on her casket beside all the roses and peonies.

  Alexander came and was well-received by Rose’s father, who thanked him profusely for intervening and helping her to survive until he could say a proper good-bye.

  “She had a beautiful aura,” Alexander had told me as I tried unsuccessfully not to weep all over his beautiful black suit. “Nearly as bright as yours. I have no doubt her soul is free now, no longer tortured by the pain of a dying body.”

  “You can see auras?” I’d asked, intrigued despite my grief.

  “I believe it’s part of my ability to sense a person’s prana, for the aura has much to do with that, both of them being an aspect of one’s spiritual form.”

  I’d tried to maintain a respectable distance from him, but I craved his closeness and couldn’t resist looping my arm through his, though James narrowed his eyes at us from afar. “Will you come speak to them tonight?”

  “Tomorrow,” he had promised.

  So now we are all assembled in the library, a party of seven with Izzie gone to take her afternoon nap. Only Rob and Grandmother seem at ease; everyone else is tense as we await Alexander’s arrival.

  “Darling,” Wren says as she joins me on the couch, her voice barely above a whisper, “would it not be better for only Papa to be in here when first Alexander comes? Surely we shouldn’t all be lying in wait for him.” Her gaze shifts to Colin and James, who wear matching scowls as they lean against the bookshelves ominously.

  No doubt Wren has guessed the true purpose of Alexander’s visit, but I still shake my head obstinately. Better to have Grandmother reveal the full truth to us all, rather than having to repeat it to each individual person. It will be like tearing off one giant bandage at once.

  I can only hope I don’t hemorrhage.

  A sound comes at the door, and Wren and I jump. Hale enters with Alexander on his heels. “Lord Alexander Devonshire,” he announces.

  I stand to greet him, and he comes over and takes my hand. “Lucy,” he says in greeting, his warm eyes instantly relaxing my tense shoulders.

  After a brief exchange of pleasantries with everyone else—though his exchanges with Colin and James could hardly be called pleasant—he sits down on one of the leather chairs adjacent to the sofa.

  Grandmother takes that as her cue and moves to the front of the room. Seeing her dressed with her sunset hair pulled up and outfitted in a modern frock with a full skirt is something I think I’ll never get used to, though she looks every inch a queen. “I know Lucy and I have mostly kept you in the dark about what you can expect from me today, and that’s because it’s far better to show you than to attempt to explain. However, if you will give me permission, my dearest Katherine, I would like to provide a demonstration.”

  Wren glances at me, but I shake my head. I’m not sure where Grandmother is going with this either.

  “Of course,” Wren says, joining Grandmother by the fireplace.

  “Thank you, my dearest. Now, if you will recall one of your fondest memories for us—perhaps your wedding day, or the moment you held Izzie in your arms for the first time—something you wouldn’t mind sharing with us all.”

  Now I know what she has in mind, and with a shared glance at Alexander, I think I agree with her methods. My family will need a way to know that what Grandmother shows them is the absolute truth—that there is no possibility that Alexander somehow deceived us all.

  Wren smiles at Grandmother curiously as she takes her hand, and then the smile rapidly fades into a look of pure surprise and awe when her memories flicker before us in moving images.

  A gorgeous Wren dressed in an ivory satin wedding gown gazes up at Colin adoringly. A much younger me stands to one side, dressed in a beautiful violet satin gown with lace trim, and James stands beside Colin as his best man. The bishop pronounces them man and wife, and then Wren and Colin are kissing far too passionately for church.

  The images fade immediately after that, and Wren stares at Grandmother in a stunned sort of silence.

  “That was incredible!” Rob says. “I have a memory for us all to enjoy.”

  “Heavens, no,” I say. “I doubt very much whatever you want to show us is appropriate for one thing, and for another, our grandmother isn’t here to entertain.”

  “Does it mean we can see memories of Mama?” Wren asks, her eyes shining with hope.

  “I’d be happy to show you Isidora,” Grandmother says. “I’m afraid, though, that I have a finite amount of arcana stored within me, and it may require a brief trip back to Sylvania to replenish my supplies. I want to be sure I have enough to show what has been asked of me. Later, I can show you any memories you so desire. For now, though, let us start at the beginning.”

  Grandmother draws a golden rune in the air, and it shimmers and fades into a bright white light. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t for Centerius to suddenly appear, dressed in what I’ve come to recognize as Sylvan clothing—an elaborate embroidered long jacket and fitted trousers. Grandmother reveals enough of the surroundings as to leave no doubt he is Sylvania, and then we are subject to image after image of him draining other Sylvani.

  I reach for Wren’s hand, and she grips it tightly, both of us flinching as we think of the terrible sensation of having arcana drained away against our wills. Colin comes and puts a hand on his wife’s shoulder comfortingly, though his own face is grim. A glance at Alexander shows his jaw tight and his face pale. He knows what Grandmother will show next.

  After the terrible battle with Centerius and his resulting exile, the images change abruptly to a young Alexander crying on a stone bench of a cemetery. Dressed all in black, he holds a picture of his mother, and my own heart twists. But when Centerius appears, dressed now in modern attire, a ripple of tension moves through the room.

  We watch him take the boy in, offer him the one thing he’s always craved: a father. We watch him convince the boy the Sylvani are evil, that they are responsible for the death of his mother—a fact we will later learn is true, but not the way he always portrayed it.

  I flinch at the cruelty Alexander endures—from other children at school, from his own father and stepmother, from grown men and women. Chee chee they call him, and worse names still.

  And though I know it’s coming, it still twists my stomach in painful knots to watch him be inducted into the hateful Order, to use his arcana to find others like h
im—like us—and hand them over willingly to Centerius.

  “You can’t be serious,” James says explosively as we see more of Alexander’s involvement in the Order. “Why is he still here?”

  Grandmother doesn’t stop though, doesn’t even acknowledge his words, and the images keep coming.

  The Alexander in the images meets a beautiful Indian girl in a marketplace, but before a stab of jealousy can rip through me, the next image shows him finding her dead—her face so ashen there can be no doubt she was drained of arcana.

  The images move through Alexander meeting me, his confrontation with Wallace, his decision to follow me to Bath, and his split-second decision to follow me to Sylvania. Once there, the images move through everything we went through in that beautiful other world, including our joint effort to defeat both Centerius and Titus.

  “Oh Lucy,” Wren says with a shake of her head, “how could you put yourself in such danger? And here we were … with no idea. I should be furious with you if not for the gift you’ve given us of ridding the world of such evil.”

  I thought the images would stop there, but they continue to the night of the ball, culminating in the vision Alexander and I shared.

  The final image is of children who look remarkably like Alexander and me, playing in a Sylvan field. When it fades away, the room is left with a pregnant silence.

  “This, as you can see, is a story of redemption,” Grandmother says. “Alexander is not blameless in all this, though he was taken in by Centerius at a very young age directly after the death of his mother.”

  Alexander sits like a man on trial, silent but tense. Wren is the first to speak, her hand still gripping mine. “I know you probably worried about my reaction the most, dear sister,” she says, “but I do not see in Alexander’s character the same darkness that Blackburn had. I think he has more than proved his loyalty to you, and more importantly, redeemed himself of his participation in an evil organization.”

  “Well said,” Rob says from somewhere behind me, but I’m too busy throwing myself into my sister’s arms to see.

  I shouldn’t have doubted my siblings’ support. When it came to it, we were thick as thieves.

  “Though I do worry,” Wren says, glancing at Grandmother. “Is this truly the end? Does killing Centerius ensure the rest of the brotherhood will fall apart?”

  “Defeating the leader will have an enormous impact on the brotherhood, but you are right to stay on your guard—only time will tell how much the threat has been mitigated.” Grandmother turns to Alexander. “How fortuitous for you that you have a former member in your midst. He, more than anyone, will be able to ascertain how safe you will be in future.”

  “I will keep this family safe,” Alexander says, his eyes darkening. “This I swear to you.”

  “You cannot be serious,” James says, glancing from us to Alexander indignantly. “It’s not as though the chap belonged to the wrong sort of club. He was caught up in a brotherhood that murdered people. Namely, your people. He may have sought vengeance upon the man who killed his mother, but I daresay that doesn’t make him an acceptable part of our family now—or even society!”

  I feel the heat rising to my face in the onslaught of James’s words, though not at all because I am ashamed. Rather, I’ve never felt angrier. “Thank God you are not judge and jury of us all, James Wyndam, for I should think no man would be capable of redemption in your eyes.”

  “I can only assume,” Colin interrupts, walking around to the front of the sofa before James can respond to me, “that we have been shown this because Alexander would like to become part of this family.” He turns, then, and stares at Alexander, who meets his gaze unflinchingly.

  “I’ve come here to ask for Lucy’s hand in marriage from Lord Sinclair,” Alexander says, his gaze shifting to Papa, who has not uttered a word yet. “I consented to all of you viewing some of the darkest and most shameful parts of my life because I believe there shouldn’t be any secrets between us. I know Lucy wants the approval of her family, and her happiness is worth sacrificing any fleeting embarrassment or shame I may feel in sharing this with you.”

  I stand and go to Alexander’s side. “Papa?”

  My father seems to rouse himself from a deep thought. “If the decision lies with me and me alone, then I fully give my permission. One thing I learned from my beloved wife is that she could be trusted implicitly, particularly where visions were concerned, and I daresay her mother has the same ability.” He turns to Alexander. “Yes, Lord Devonshire, you may take my youngest daughter as your wife, but I expect that all will be done as it should be—the banns to be read and so forth.”

  James seems to be struggling to hold his tongue, but I admire that he does so. His brother, on the other hand, shakes his head. “If my opinion counts at all, then I must say I think your turning against the man known as Centerius shows an astounding lack of values.”

  “Colin, for heaven’s sake, what are you even saying?” Wren demands. “That he’s unscrupulous for fighting against an evil man?”

  “No, I’m saying it seems to illustrate that he doesn’t know his own mind. He couldn’t recognize the evil until it was beating down his door.”

  Again, I feel that rising anger within me, and my cheeks instantly flush. “He was only a child—”

  “He has every right to say such things,” Alexander interrupts, coming to his feet to face Colin. “You are right, Lord Thornewood, I didn’t turn against the brotherhood until the facts of their evil deeds were staring me in the face. For this, I blame my loyalty. Once given, it’s nearly impossible for me to rescind it. But you are right—failing to leave the brotherhood immediately is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life. The fact that Lucy has chosen to love me in spite of this brings me inexplicable gratitude, and I know I may never be able to atone for my misdeeds.”

  Colin says nothing to this, but I can see a shifting in his expression, a reluctant respect.

  “I do love him,” I say quietly but firmly. “I love him and I will marry him—regardless of anyone else’s opinions on the subject. You are all my family and I love you, and so I also want your acceptance and support, but ultimately, I do not need it.”

  “You need it if you want to marry,” James says obstinately.

  “Papa gave his permission freely, but even if he hadn’t, I would elope.”

  The words hang in the air for a moment, and just as I feel myself start to pull away from my family, Rob laughs. “Good God. What would you have Father do? Sign for his permission in blood? You will have your wedding, little sister—no need for a sordid trip to Gretna Green.” He comes over and claps a hand on Colin’s shoulder. “Colin and James will accept Alexander eventually. Neither of them likes anyone upon first meeting, so I hardly think they are a good judge.”

  Colin’s expression darkens at my brother, but he thankfully says nothing more.

  “Then it’s time for supper, is it not?” Rob asks. “Grandmother, you must be famished, shall I escort you in?”

  “You may indeed, but just a moment.” She comes over to me and touches my arm. “This is but a small trial in a very long future of happiness,” she whispers.

  I nod and give her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Grandmother.”

  “The gong for supper should have been rung ages ago,” Wren says, getting to her feet and linking her arm through Colin’s. “Shall we go, darling?”

  With one last glance at Alexander, Colin smiles down at Wren. “We shall.” Before he leaves though, he turns to Alexander and me. “Lord Devonshire, you are welcome to join us for supper. We cannot be the only ones hungry.”

  “I thank you for the invitation,” Alexander says formally. “I think I will take you up on it.”

  As the others begin to leave the room, however, Alexander and I hang back to have a moment alone. James is last to leave, and I can see the tell-tale tension in his back and shoulders. “Might I have a word, Lucy?”

  “Of course,�
� I say, though it’s honestly the last thing I want. I know he will only rail against Alexander, but I almost feel as though I owe him an explanation.

  “I’ll just wait over here,” Alexander says and crosses the full length of the room—a considerable distance since ten bookcases and two fireplaces stand between us.

  “How kind of him,” James says with a wry smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Moving across the room to allow me a moment to say good-bye to my friend.”

  “There’s no need to be unkind,” I say, my frustration with him quickly negating all my good intentions. “And why should we not stay friends?”

  He shoves a hand through his hair. “Because I love you.”

  “Oh, James, that cannot be true. I think you do love me, but not in that way. If you did, then you would want me to be happy.” When he lets out an explosive sigh and shakes his head, I press on before he can argue. “I know you don’t understand, but I know—I think I’ve always known—that my path lies with him.”

  “So because of some vision,” he says with a distasteful curl to his lip, “this is why you want to be with him—with a man who only just recently belonged to the Order?”

  “I want to be with him because I love him,” I say, trying rather unsuccessfully to keep the edge from my tone. “The vision is merely confirmation of things I already know.”

  James shakes his head, frustration and anger darkening his usually carefree features. “Is this revenge on me, Lucy? For passing you up when I had the chance?”

  The idea is so absurd I almost laugh—until I see his expression of complete despair. “James, no, of course not. I was sixteen then, and I’ve long since made amends with you. I’m not so cruel as to devise some elaborate punishment.”

  “I can see that I won’t change your mind on this, but at least I can tell myself that I tried,” he says, pain evident in his voice. Before I can say anything, he turns and strides toward the door. At the last moment, though, he stops. “In answer to your earlier question—we will stay friends, I’m sure. If only because I can’t help myself.”