Heir of Stardust and Secrets (Mythic Spark #1)

12. A Toast

Chapter 12

A Toast

S leep abandoned me. I could feel that phantom spark tingling in my fingertips like a static charge. In the quiet darkness, I tapped my index finger to my thumb again and again, trying to see if the ember would reignite.

After a time, the movement devolved into a mindless fidget, a mere backdrop to the cascading thoughts pouring through me after everything the king had unveiled.

He hadn’t seen the spark, and I was not inclined to tell him. For some reason, it felt deeply private, like a thought I’d never deign to speak aloud. Maybe in time I’d feel comfortable enough with him to share it, or it would happen again and he’d witness it firsthand. Perhaps it was a figment of my imagination, or something to do with the shared vision—though something deeper nagged at me, as if whispering its truth.

The knowledge I’d obtained from the king felt like jigsaw pieces falling into place. Only just as I made headway, blank pieces were added to the amassing pile that still needed to be sorted. As I made connections and formed an understanding, a barrage of questions would slam into me, and I’d feel even more lost than before. It was like putting together an imageless puzzle, blindfolded, without all the pieces.

It frustrated me beyond measure, and I hated not being able to solve it.

But it wasn’t something I could solve. It was my life…and I may never feel like I had all the pieces again. Things with my family had been far from easy, but at least the rules of engagement were clear. There was nothing comfortable about this new reality. Well, except that bed—it had been sent from the heavens themselves.

One piece had clicked today, although it was of little consequence. I’d never understood why we pray to the stars, the gods, or the Mother, but that all made sense now. It was as if the veil had wiped all details from our memories but not our intrinsic belief in something larger than ourselves—I wondered if there was any power strong enough to rid us of such compulsions.

I also wondered what came first: The seasons or the ancients? Did the ancients create the seasons, or did the Mother create the seasons, and then the ancients played within the parameters of her offerings? Or maybe we could say it was the gods, as they were the ones who’d created Lumnara with her cyclical nature. Or maybe it was…

Those were the types of thoughts that endlessly cycled through my mind until dawn broke at last, and I pulled myself out of bed. I doubted anyone else would be awake, so I sauntered to the lavatory and ran myself a bath.

Jars of salts and soaps and small dropper bottles of oils lined a small table next to the tub. I twisted each one of them in turn and drew in a deep breath. I was grateful they were labeled, as most of the scents were entirely new to me. Finally, I settled on one called eucalyptus —not because it pleased me the most, but because its potent aroma was like a salve for my nerves.

The deep fragrance drifted into the chamber, where I now lay on the bed watching the tub fill with bubbles. Bubbles . Actual bubbles frothed in a massive heap. Their existence brought me childish delight, and I lay there smiling as the white plume amassed.

Now full to the brim, I padded over and turned off the spigot. My robe slid to the ground, and I held the tub edge, lifting my right leg over its side. It was gloriously hot as my toe found the water below the swath of tickling bubbles. I gave my body a moment to acclimate before I stepped in and sank down, letting the heat envelop me wholly. White, pillowy bubbles tumbled over the sides as my weight displaced the water. I’d clearly miscalculated, but I didn’t care—the more, the merrier.

In a life that felt like it was no longer my own, I would treasure these tiny moments of pleasure as much as possible. Yes, that iron weighted cloak of sadness and grief had become a part of me, but I had to find moments, even fleeting ones, to lighten its force. If I didn’t, I’d surely buckle under its oppressive bulk.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back.

Fully relaxed, I finally drifted off.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep, but the water was lukewarm at best, and a majority of the bubbles had abandoned me, exposing my naked body below the surface. I finished bathing in earnest and got ready for the day.

By the time I was dressed, the sun was up and the morning teemed with life.

I opened the door to find that my dutiful escort was there…again.

“Why are you here every morning? I can find my own way around, you know,” I said.

“Aren’t we in a fine mood?” the man said as he flashed me an amused grin. “ Good morning, Tarrin. How are you this morning? ”

I decided to ignore his mocking tone, and him.

Like every other time, he turned and signaled for me to walk in front of him. He angled his head to look at me as we walked. “Good morning, Nyleeria. I’m good, thank you. How are you?”

I rolled my eyes. I was not in the mood for pleasantries or being patronized. Apparently, I’d woken up on the wrong side of the tub. Clearly the lack of sleep and my inability to eat were rubbing me raw.

“I didn’t realize you warrior types were so sensitive,” I said, holding his gaze, then added a small, saccharine smile for good measure.

“And I didn’t realize a young woman such as yourself was raised by heathens, thereby lacking proper decorum.”

“Umm, you’d think someone with your skill sets would be more observant than that.”

He smiled in earnest and chuckled as he opened the door to the solarium.

The king took note of Tarrin and asked, “What’s got you smiling this morning?”

“You didn’t tell me this one is funny.” Tarrin nodded in my direction. I’d never seen them this informal with one another.

“Oh?” the king said as he looked between us, brow cocked. “Nyleeria hasn’t graced me with that side of her yet.”

“You just have to catch her in the right mood, I suppose,” Tarrin teased, pulling out a chair for me next to the king, then taking his seat across the table.

“And what mood might that be?” the king inquired.

“Pissy,” Tarrin said with a chuckle while filling his plate.

The king’s look shifted from amusement to concern, his features asking a silent question: Are you oka y ?

I nodded. I wasn’t really, or maybe I was as good as I could be. But I didn’t want to talk about it at all, let alone in front of Tarrin.

Keeping my tone light, I said, “And you hadn’t told me what a sensitive baby that one is.”

The king’s eyes widened in surprise, and then he barked a laugh, patting Tarrin hard on the back with his palm.

“You have one conversation with her, and she’s already got you pegged,” the king laughed, his levity pulling a smile from me.

I scanned the table for food I might be able to palate.

The king reached for a silver jug and poured some of its vibrant green contents into a glass, then handed it to me. “They made this special for you; it’s juiced fruit and vegetables.” Concern crept back into his eyes as I thanked him and accepted it.

As the glass touched my lips, a deep hunger gnawed at me. I took a tentative sip. The juice had a pleasing earthy flavor with a light sweetness to it. I dared a gulp, and it felt like taking the first spoonful of soup after recovering from the flu—pleasant, but I’d have to nurse it.

The king looked like he wanted to comment on my state but thought better of it. Instead, he said, “Allow me to formally introduce you to my second-in-command, Tarrin.”

Tarrin gave me a slight nod, and I reciprocated.

A moment later, another man entered. I recognized him; he was the third man at the cabin. Stars, all of them were large in stature, and very handsome.

“There you are,” the king said. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d make it back in time.”

“The patrol took longer than expected,” the stranger answered casually as he took the seat next to me.

“Nyleeria, this is my third-in-command, Nevander.”

“Pleasure,” Nevander said with a dip of his chin.

“The pleasure is mine,” I responded.

“Ah, so she does have manners,” Tarrin jested, and it reminded me of bantering with Eithan, which brought a smile to my lips.

“No, I’ve just used up my allotted cynicism for the day on you,” I shot back. He opened his mouth to respond, and I interjected. “But I’m sure I could find some reserves if necessary.”

Mischief danced in Tarrin’s eyes, and I held his stare, letting him know I did, indeed, have plenty in reserve. He grinned and went back to eating.

“How do you all know each other?” I asked.

The two commanders looked at the king to answer.

“I’ve known Tarrin and Nevander since I was a child.”

They looked at me as if watching for a reaction. I took them in more carefully than before. He had known them as a child . That meant all three of them were centuries old too.

“They were with you the day you cast the immortality spell,” I said, piecing it together. Surprise flashed through both commanders’ eyes. They clearly didn’t know the king had told me.

“Yes, but we—I,” the king amended, “had no idea it would work, let alone the cost of it.” There was a tightness to the king’s voice—maybe regret?

A strained silence fell until it was palpable, and I felt like the little girl who was always on the outside looking in—never allowed in by my family. The one that had every right to think me cursed. Gods, what had I gotten them into ?

Looking down at my hands, I said, “It’s okay if you don’t want to share it with me. I know I’m a stranger, and probably not what you were expecting after all those years of sea?—”

The king interrupted me, resting his hand on mine for a moment, before nodding to Nevander as if giving permission.

Nevander twisted in his seat slightly to face me. “It’s not about you, Nyleeria. Some sentiments remain unspoken between us, even after all these years. You see, what Thaddeus did for us is something that he feels he did to us.” His gaze darted to the king, then settled back on me. “When Thaddeus unleashed the spell, there was a toll, and we became the collateral. Without warning, it violently devoured our life force and thrust it upon Thaddeus. Ten of us went to the outcrop and only three returned. To this day, exactly how Thaddeus saved Tarrin and me remains a mystery. At first, we weren’t even sure if it worked, and the only test for immortality is time. So, we waited. As years accumulated into decades, we remained untouched by Lady Time. Even still, we aren’t sure if the spell’s effects are eternal or not.”

“They didn’t ask to share my fate,” the king said, “to have my burden on their shoulders. I forced it upon them that day, unwittingly, but…” He trailed off, unable to speak his guilt, and I supposed no words would suffice.

I could feel their sadness. The centuries they’d endured. The uncertainty. It would be an awful fate to be stuck in limbo, waiting for some sort of miracle. For me .

I looked to Tarrin and Nevander and said, “Then we’re much the same. I, too, find myself entwined in a fate I did not choose.”

Something settled over us in that moment, and I could feel the threads of kinship begin to weave themselves between us.

I raised my glass. “May the fate laid before us be kind—and may we be strong enough if it’s not.”

They raised their glasses, and we drank in silence.