Stella and Sol
The complete Series
By Kimberly Loth
God of the Sun
Prince of the Moon
King of the Stars
Queen of the Dawn
For Will
My incredible husband
For believing in and supporting me
Always
Thank you
Prologue
The Baby
High Prince Leo of Stella sat down at the large circular table. It was rare for them to eat breakfast in the dining hall of the castle, but the rest of his twelve siblings arrived last night at the behest of his sister, Candace, who had an announcement. Of course, he knew what the announcement would be, they all did, but he played dumb anyway. This would be the first grandchild for his father, and so it warranted a special breakfast.
Bright yellow lights hung from the ceiling, and the floor glowed white. Light flowed from nearly every surface, as the darkness could be suffocating. Thank the stars for magic. Leo looked around the noisy table. Over the last few years, the number of people around the table had grown. When they were children, there were only twelve of them, plus his father and his father’s wife. Now, couples were starting to emerge. Three of his older siblings were married, and others had steady relationships. At seventeen, Leo had had a relationship or two, but at the moment he was free. Which was a lonely place to be when his favorite sister was about to announce that she was pregnant. Where in the depths were Ari and Sage? They would keep him entertained. But they were always late.
Candace caught his eye, and he smiled at her. She practically glowed. She wore her deep black hair swept up in a twist. He hadn’t seen her wear it down since she got married.
He missed having her around. They were the only two siblings who shared the same mother, and that created a special bond between them. But now Candace was a lower queen and had too many responsibilities to come home often.
A hand thumped him on the shoulder, and his eldest brother, Ari, collapsed into the armchair to Leo’s right. He sat with his leg flung over the armrest, his blue hair hanging in his eyes. To Leo’s left, his sister Sage sat down, flicking her rainbow-colored hair over her shoulder. She had deep purple bloodshot eyes. She yawned and put her head on the table.
“Late night?” Leo asked.
Sage nodded into her arms. “Has she announced that she’s been knocked up yet?”
Ari straightened in his chair and poured himself a glass of juice. “She can’t be knocked up if she’s married.”
“She’s only been married for a month. My guess is she’s a few months along. That’s knocked up,” Sage said, sitting up and rubbing her forehead. “Remind me to never drink again.”
Ari laughed. “You say that every time we go out. The last time I reminded you, you punched me.” He turned his attention to Leo. “How come you didn’t come out with us last night? I sent you a few messages.”
“I turned off my disc. I wanted to spend some time with Candace. She won’t be here long.”
“Right,” said Sage. “You just don’t like to party. Maybe you should go live in Sol.”
Leo snorted into his glass of orange juice. “If I have to live in Sol, you two are coming with me.”
“They’d kick us out so fast. Ugh, what did I do to my hair?” Sage asked, examining the multi-colored locks. She squeezed her eyes shut, and it returned to the brilliant violet she usually rocked. She dug into her pocket, took out a small bottle, and downed it.
Before Leo could ask what it was, Candace stood, and the whole table fell silent, except for Sage, who was giggling. Candace glared at Sage, and Leo squeezed her knee. She covered her mouth and tried to stifle the giggles. The small bottle clinked next to her plate, and he picked it up. The label said “Giggle.”
“That’s not nice,” Leo hissed at her. “Taking this potion right now. You’re going to ruin the announcement.” As the tenth child, Sage got away with more than the rest of them, but sometimes she took things too far. This wasn’t fair to Candace.
“Sorry.” She giggled. “I thought it was Sober. My head is killing me. For what it’s worth, the giggling isn’t helping.”
Candace cleared her throat as the door creaked opened. Every head in the room turned.
An old woman hobbled in. She was large with a pale weather-beaten face, and she wore a bulging tattered coat. An earthy odor emanated from her. She crept slowly to the table and then plucked an apple from a bowl. She took a bite and spit it out, revealing gray teeth.
“Blech, those taste much better in Sol. I need to remember to eat before I come next time.” She looked around the table. Her blue eyes pierced Leo’s, and he shivered.
The entire table sat in shocked silence. No one moved. Leo had heard the stories about the Old Mother who gave horrible prophecies that required someone to make a great sacrifice. He didn’t know anyone who had actually met her. He assumed the rumors were simply scary stories kids told each other.
The old woman cackled and pointed to Candace. Leo’s stomach clenched. Not now. Not her. He pushed his chair back, ready to help Candace if she needed it. He crept around the table and made his way toward her.
“A prophecy I have for you. The vipers grow restless. They long for the blood you deny, and they are changing. If the kingdoms of Stella and Sol are not joined by that child’s first birthday, then he will die,” said the Old Mother.
She stared at each of them in turn, making eye contact. “And he will not be the last. The union must be strong. You must prove to the earth that Stella and Sol will be forever joined, or the vipers will eat you all.”
With a poof and a cloud of dust, she disappeared from their midst. Not a sound was heard in the room except Sage’s giggling.
Chapter 1
The Stranger
Screams filled the little house in the middle of the slave village. Zwaantie pushed her white blonde hair out of her eyes and held Mrs. Bakker’s hand, making exaggerated breathing motions in the hopes that maybe Mrs. Bakker would copy her and make the birth easier.
Instead, Mrs. Bakker let out another ear-piercing scream and crushed Zwaantie’s fingers. Zwaantie’s slave, Luna, wiped a white cloth on Mrs. Bakker’s forehead. The room was stifling with the wood stove burning. Wilma, the midwife, said it helped the mothers, but Zwaantie thought it just made them hot and irritable. Mrs. Bakker opened her bright blue eyes and stared at Zwaantie.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Mrs. Bakker said in between breaths. Zwaantie sighed. She supposed being addressed like that would be the story of her life, as it had for all of her sixteen years, even if she was just trying to do her job.
“Please, call me Zwaantie.”
Don’t ask for such disrespectful things. No one should call you anything but Your Highness.
Zwaantie nearly rolled her eyes at the Voice, but then she’d get another reprimand. The Voice was always scolding her and everyone else for silly things they said or did. Thank Sol it could not read thoughts. It was a constant chatter in everyone’s heads, reminding them of the rules. Solites learned at a young age to tune out all but the most forceful of the words, or they’d never be able to think.
Zwaantie’s mother often reminded her that she should be grateful for the Voice, or else their kingdom would be in chaos all the time. God spoke to them through the Voice so they would always know the right thing to do.
Mrs. Bakker struggled to speak. “Of course, Princess Zwaantie.”
Solites believed in hard work, and so even as the crown princess, she was not allowed to sit around and be pampered. If she became queen, she wouldn’t be able to perform her midwife duties as often since she’d have to attend to the affairs of the kingdom. She hoped that
by some miraculous surprise, she wouldn’t have to take the throne, because what Zwaantie wanted most in the world was to be normal.
It was unusual for a member of the royal family to pick such a job since it was so demanding. Her younger brother, Raaf, had chosen to learn how to cook. Her father was a master archer, and Mother was a seamstress. Mother had hesitated when Zwaantie declared she wanted to work with the midwife. But after Zwaantie batted her baby blues, Mother gave in. Zwaantie abhorred royal things, so she chose a job that got her as far from the castle as possible. If Mother had refused, her second choice would have been farming.
For the most part Zwaantie loved her job, except she hated wearing the brown dress. All her dresses covered her body from neck to foot, but the brown dresses always seemed more suffocating. They were tighter in the chest and arms so loose fabric didn’t interfere with any medical procedures.
“One more big push. You can do this.” Wilma gave Mrs. Bakker a wide toothy smile, but it didn’t do any good. Mrs. Bakker bore down, her face twisted in pain. She let out another scream and then collapsed. Zwaantie dropped her hand and rushed to see the baby, her favorite part. She left Luna to attend to Mrs. Bakker.
Wilma sat on a low stool and cleaned out the mouth of the tiny boy with inch wide gold bands tight on his wrists and ankles. Those bands marked him as a slave and would grow with him. Wilma rubbed his back, but he let out no cry, his body a deep purple.
“Quick, grab the bottle of Breathe.”
Zwaantie spun around to the wood table and dug into Wilma’s leather bag, her chest tightening. The Voice blabbered about the immorality of potions, but she ignored it. In the four years she’d been working with Wilma, she’d never seen a baby or mother die, but they did sometimes. She tossed aside Nopain and Bloodstop and finally found Breathe.
Abomination, the Voice said forcefully. Although the Voice abhorred magic, it wouldn’t stop her from using the potions. She tuned out its chattering even though it’d gotten loud, unstopped the bottle, and handed it to Wilma, who tipped the contents into the baby’s mouth. As soon as the liquid hit his throat, he sucked in a deep breath and let out a cry.
The knot in Zwaantie’s chest loosened. They were out of the woods. She collapsed against the table, relief flooding her body. Wilma wiped the baby down, wrapped him in white cloth, and handed him to his mother, who took him with shaking arms.
As Mrs. Bakker nursed her baby, Wilma observed the girls cleaning up. Zwaantie had become fast friends with Wilma when she started her training. Zwaantie wasn’t sure how old Wilma was—probably older than her grandmother, but Wilma had an answer for every question Zwaantie ever asked. She loved that because Mother often used the dreaded phrase: “Because I said so.” Plus, Wilma never treated her like a princess, and yelled at both her and Luna equally. Working with Wilma was the only time that Zwaantie felt like a normal person.
Zwaantie was still learning, and she found the work incredibly rewarding. She’d never delivered a baby without Wilma present, but she felt she was ready. She was about to tell Wilma as such, but a knock came from the door. Luna rushed to answer it. The rusty hinges squeaked as she cracked it open.
“Come in,” she said, stepping back and opening the door. Luna had a wide smile on her face that told Zwaantie only one person could be on the other side.
Sure enough, Pieter ducked as he stepped into the doorway, his sandy blonde head nearly grazing the ceiling of the tiny home.
“The king has called for you,” he said with a nod to Zwaantie.
“Tell him I’m working.”
You will go to your father. That is non-negotiable.
Zwaantie sighed. They were always summoning her for dumb things, like what color they should use to decorate the grand hall or what to feed the lower kings and queens. Quite frankly, Zwaantie didn’t care. But the Voice would keep talking until she did what he commanded. She thought about arguing, but then she’d have to open her mouth. Zwaantie often spoke aloud to the Voice, but she only did that when no one else was around because she thought it looked weird when people walked down the street talking to themselves. Everyone knew they were arguing with the Voice, but Zwaantie didn’t want people to see her doing it.
“Pieter, wait. Luna and I will come. Wilma, will you be okay?”
Wilma gave her a knowing grin. “Yes. I’m going to stay here tonight and make sure there are no other complications. Tell your mother we need more medicine. That was my last bottle of Breathe.”
“I will, but I don’t think there is a whole lot she can do.”
“The mage wagon should’ve been here weeks ago.” Wilma wrung her hands together. They relied on those potions and had no way to produce them on their own, and it wasn’t like they could go over to Stella and get them. Potions were the only kind of magic allowed in Sol, though the Voice still discouraged it.
“I’ll see if she can have a guard wait by the crossing, intercept a carriage, and send a message that we need medicines.” It was the most she could do. Someday she would be queen, and she used to think that meant she’d be able to change things in her kingdom, but the more she learned, the more she realized that there was so much out of her control. She didn’t want that job or the responsibility.
Pieter held the door as Zwaantie and Luna walked out into the cool morning. Zwaantie flipped up her hood so that no one would recognize her. Their shoes clip-clopped along the cobblestones, breaking the silence. Tiny houses with thatched roofs lined the road, packed tight next to one another. Slaves went to work as soon as the day broke, so even by mid-morning, there were hardly any people around, save a few guards who watched from the shadows. Pieter stayed close to Luna, and Zwaantie saw them brush hands a few times.
“You know, you are allowed to hold hands,” Zwaantie said.
A deep blush formed on Luna’s face as Pieter intertwined his fingers with hers. Zwaantie let out a sigh and dropped back a few steps. They were adorable. Luna’s caramel skin stood out against Pieter’s pale skin, but they seemed to fit so well together. The bands on both of their wrists flashed in the sunlight. All slaves had four bands. One on each wrist and ankle. By the time they were fully grown, the bands were about three inches wide and fit snug against their skin. They never came off.
When they were ten, Zwaantie asked Luna if the bands hurt. Luna replied that she barely felt them, but she didn’t like the way people looked at her because of them. Being a slave was a stigma Zwaantie wouldn’t want.
Though, in some ways, she envied Luna. Pieter had been Luna’s choice. No one had told her who she had to marry.
Zwaantie had a choice as well, but her pool was smaller. As heir to the throne of Sol, she’d have to marry a lower prince. The problem was she didn’t like any of them. There were only four, well five. But the prince from Zonnes didn’t count because he was only four years old. Zwaantie was glad he was the only one who lived in the capital city, or she’d have obnoxious princes at her door every day. As it was, she still had to see the other four lower princes once a month. The lower kingdoms of Ghrain, Sonnenschein, Haul, and Slonce were each at least a day’s carriage ride from Zonnes, where Zwaantie lived in the high castle.
The princes were yet another reason to not become queen. Every day she found another one, but most centered around the fact that she wasn’t a leader. Not by a long shot. She did what others told her. Except for the Voice. She disobeyed it as often as she could get away with because she was so tired of its incessant chattering and never ending lectures, but she didn’t think that was a sign of leadership.
Thankfully her mother hadn’t brought up the dreaded “m” word yet. Zwaantie had until her brother took his position as Grand Chancellor. Because Mother said that when Raaf returned, she would have to prepare to take the throne. Which, roughly translated, meant getting married. As much as she missed Raaf, she hoped he had to train for a long time.
Four years ago, the grand chancellor had declared that his time was at an end, and Father chose Raaf to replace h
im. Raaf was only eleven at the time, but Zwaantie knew he was glad to get the position. Next to the king and queen, the grand chancellor held the most power. He spoke to the Voice on behalf of the people and controlled the guards.
She should’ve told her mother and father she didn’t want to be queen when they chose Raaf to be grand chancellor. Maybe if she’d spoken up then, Raaf would be preparing to become king instead.
Who knew how long it took to train the grand chancellor. At least ten years. Maybe even longer. Was anyone ever ready to face God?
A hooded man pushed past Zwaantie and grabbed Luna’s wrist. Pieter shoved him away, and Zwaantie rushed to her side.
“How dare you touch my slave.” Zwaantie glowered at the man. She caught sight of his dark face and took a step back. He was from Stella.
“You don’t belong here,” the man growled at Luna. “Certainly not with those slave bands. Come with me. I will bring you home.”
Zwaantie stepped in between them. “Let her go.”
The man shoved her, and she nearly lost her balance. “This is none of your business.”
Zwaantie stalked to him and lowered her hood. Two guards came running as she knew they would when they recognized her. She hated being reminded that without her royal title she was nothing. She couldn’t even protect her friends without using her status. She was pathetic.
“Is there a problem, Your Highness?” one guard asked, glaring at the man. The other guard pushed the man against the wall of the nearest house. “Filthy Stellan, what are you doing in our land?”
Zwaantie needed to play this carefully. She didn’t like the way the man talked to Luna, but this was the first Stellan she’d seen in weeks, and they needed medicine. Curse the stars. She should’ve stayed hooded. She could’ve talked to the man without having him fear her. Now she was steps away from getting him arrested. She never thought before she acted.
“No, no problem. I apologize if I alarmed you,” Zwaantie said.
Stella and Sol Box Set Page 1