6. Lucina
LUCINA
The Captain takes me to a tall building with swirls etched into the wood exterior. Oak? Cedar? I can’t be sure. It’s on a grassy hill all by itself, second in height to the Banyan tree, which towers over everything in—
Fuck. Where am I?
I should know that.
Callan pulls one of the arched doors open, gesturing me through. Cedar. Definitely cedar. I can smell it. “Um, Callan—” My mouth snaps shut when he whips around to face me, the door shutting behind us at the same moment. “What?” I swallow. “That is your name, isn’t it?”
His chin jerks to the door at the end of the hall. “You can’t call me that in there.”
“Okay…” I blink, and I swear when my eyes open, he’s halfway down the hall. I hurry alongside him, keeping my voice down on instinct, “Where are we?”
“Pirn.” Callan halts just before the door at the far end, warm lights dancing underneath it and lighting the hallway in sunset-hued shadows. “These women oversee it. Quit fidgeting, they won’t like that.”
My brows rise. I hadn’t noticed my hands balling into fists at my sides—over and over again.
“Anything else, Captain?” I ask with as much respect as I can scrounge up, but the bite in my words isn’t subtle.
He gives me a quick once-over. “Keep your chin up, but not higher than theirs. And leave that attitude on this side of the door.”
His knuckles wrap twice on the polished cedar before I can respond, and the door swings open.
The room sparkles like the heart of a ruby; red drapes pulled over large windows.
There’s a massive hearth centered along the back wall, ashes from a previous fire still piled beneath the black grate.
The floor is covered in intricately woven rugs—a layered mass of color and textures, and not a single piece of furniture matches.
A russet tufted couch, floral printed armchairs…
an eclectic hodge podge of colors that…oddly work.
But the room doesn’t feel nice. It’s cold and sharp, like I can’t drop my guard in here. Ever.
I meet the gaze of three sets of star-flecked eyes: burgundy, caramel, and navy.
The woman standing behind the sofa wears pale-yellow robes that spill to the floor at her feet, the light color making her smooth ebony skin richer in this light. If I had to guess, she is forty, maybe fifty years old, a line between her brows that only deepens as she surveys me.
The woman by the hearth is wearing the same yellow robes, but she has red hair and skin paler than moonlight.
The third set of eyes belongs to The Dame.
Her robes are silver, the shimmer of the fabric like liquid starlight. She stands gracefully from where she’d been lounging in the leather armchair, approaching the door with an air of elegance that you’d have to just be born with.
The Captain nudges me with his elbow, and I bow. When I straighten, the Dame is assessing me with vibrant navy eyes. “I’ll be…” she mutters. That’s when I notice the golden diadem centered on her forehead, woven into the tendrils of her light brown hair. “Your name?” she asks.
“Lucina.” I keep my chin high. But not too high.
“Hm,” is all the Dame says, then she waves a hand to the woman behind the couch.
“This is Laverna, my second. And Ceres, my third.” The red-haired woman by the hearth sticks her nose up as if she smells something foul.
“And I’m sure you know who I am,” the Dame says to me, and I nod.
Her stare falls on Callan. “Captain,” she says in way of greeting.
“Your Grace,” he replies, bowing stiffly.
“You brought a stranger to Pirn?”
“We found her along the coastline of Streatham. She claims she’s from the commoner lands.” Claims? “But she’s wearing the mark of a witch, and the Banyan granted her access. It deemed her soul clean.”
Clean? My soul? What in the Vita’s name is going on here?
The woman by the hearth moves to stand behind the Dame, scowling as she notes my sodden hair and casual attire. “The commoner lands?” she questions, and I nod.
“And how did you wind up there, if you have that?” the Dame asks, lifting a manicured finger to the silver chain around my neck.
“I was left there as a baby. I’ve had this all my life.
” My fingers brush against the pendant, tracing the etched sun along the silver backing.
I never really thought anything of it. I liked believing that it belonged to my actual parents—a family heirloom they wanted me to have, but I could never be sure.
“The latch is broken,” I tell them. “I can’t take it off. ”
The Captain sighs heavily, and my gaze whips up to him. “The latch isn’t broken,” he tells me. “It can only be opened by you or someone from your bloodline. You aren’t supposed to take it off.”
Oh. I thought I just had a really shitty necklace. “Well…” I fidget with my hands, forcing them down at my sides. “I’d like to stay here,” I say to the Dame. “For a little while at least—”
“Lucina, you can’t leave now even if you wanted to,” she says sharply, shooting a pointed look at the Captain. “You know where we live now, and that our kind still exists. We’d have to wipe your brain of us.”
“I can do it at any time, Delia,” Callan retorts.
Delia.
There is a fight in her navy eyes at that name, the gold on her diadem flickering as if she’s controlling how much light reflects on it.
She straightens herself and turns back to me.
“You’re Sol, Lucina, this is where you belong.
” The Dame gestures with a silver-clad arm to the seating area behind her.
“About that…” I start, cautiously finding a seat across from her. “I’m not sure if that’s true—”
“Well, have you Split?” the woman behind the couch asks.
“She doesn’t know what that means,” The Captain says plainly, stealing the words right out of my mouth. I stare as he pulls over a wooden chair and sinks into it, looking back at me with an unapologetic shrug.
“It’s a rite of passage for our kind,” the Dame explains, her starlit robes shifting as she crosses one leg over the other.
“It’s a transformation, a turning-point, a rebirth.
Your Split manifests as a near-death experience, and it’s meant to challenge you.
It finds you when you’re the most vulnerable, and it brings forth the magic that’s been lying dormant within you.
Have you experienced anything like that recently? ”
Fuck. “Yes.”
What I’d just been through—it’s as near to death as I’ve ever been. But did I really awaken magic? I do feel different, but in a raw and weak kind of way. Like I’ve shed skin, and the inside of me is on the outside now—is that magic? No, surely not.
As if he could see the war raging behind my eyes, the Captain says, “Your Split is your death.” A sudden prick of static in the air has me turning to face him. Had that come from him? The static?
“Meaning?” I ask, lacing my fingers together to keep them from fidgeting.
Callan leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Meaning, you died. Your Split strips you of what you no longer need. It rips you apart. The pieces that don’t fit back together get left behind.” More of that static fills the air. “They die and you’re reborn.”
That must be why I feel this way.
“It’s a test of strength,” the Dame interjects, “and if you pass, you receive the gifts of your ancestors. You inherit their magic, power that is unique to your bloodline.”
That’s what that was? My lungs filling with water while the blackness of the sea claimed me…that was my Split?
When I remain speechless, the Dame exchanges a wary glance with Laverna, who’s staring at me like she’s trying to puzzle me together.
So, is the woman by the hearth. Ceres.
“I’m not sure what you know about our people, Lucina,” Laverna says slowly, “but we operate on rank, and we won’t know your rank until your magic is properly trained.
You have a tattoo under your skin, distinctive of your bloodline.
Once you’ve tamed whatever power you’ve inherited, the mark will flare, and we’ll know what Solian family you hail from. ”
“A tattoo?” I choke out.
The Dame looks at the Captain, and he clears his throat.
“Like this.” A wave of static crests through the room, and every hair on my body stands straight.
I watch wide-eyed as a line of silver ink slithers up his body like a snake, starting at his wrists and wrapping up the thickness of his forearms. It disappears under the fabric of his shirt, reappearing along his neck, then it crosses through his hairline.
A crown of silver weaves itself across his brow, the ink brightening as it completes itself.
My jaw falls to the floor.
As quickly as it appeared, it vanishes, taking the static with it.
“Yours will be unique to your bloodline,” the Dame explains. “All of ours are different—Lucina?”
I’m staring at the Captain. At his golden skin that was wrapped in silver only seconds ago. I blink back at the Dame. “Sorry, I…it’s a lot to wrap my head around.”
Delia takes a deep breath, her lips pressed into a tight line as she surveys the room. “Usually you’d train with your coven, but since we don’t know your heritage, I’ll start your training personally.”
My stomach drops, and I swear the Captain flinches.
“You’ll meet me here every morning before breakfast. Once you’ve mastered enough to reveal the mark under your skin, we’ll put you in your respective coven.”
My pulse is a wild thing in my ears, beating up the sides of my neck, and rumbling through my limbs, my aching feet, my empty stomach…
“Captain,” The Dame cuts her gaze to him, and he straightens in his chair. “Find Lucina a cabin in the main lodging area and keep one of your men on her watch until further notice.”
“On my watch?” I squeak out. “What for?”
Ceres blurts out before Delia has a chance to, “Because we don’t know you. We don’t know your rank or your magic, or your coven, and the Sol operate on those things. We can’t trust you if we can’t see what cards you’re holding.”
My mouth snaps shut. Then the Dame nods to Callan, and he pulls himself to his feet. “Time to go.”
I don’t release the breath I’m holding until we make it back out into the summer heat, the sun warming my clammy skin. Callan takes off walking, muttering something under his breath.
“What was that?” I ask, taking an extra step to catch up to him.
“I said,” he whirls around to face me, grey eyes piercing and dark brows furrowed. “That I don’t have time or men to spare on your watch.”
“Then don’t—”
“That’s not how this works, Lucina.” He lowers himself to be eye to eye with me and my head is forced back. “I am second to the Dame. I am oath-bound to her orders.”
I wet my lips; my mouth having dried out completely. “I didn’t know that.”
“Well, now you do.” He takes a deep breath, as if he’s reigning some temperamental part of himself back in, then he straightens to his full height, blocking out the sun.
“I’ll get you the cabin beside Gemma’s, and I’ll send one of my men there tonight.
Just keep your head down, don’t do anything stupid, and we won’t have any problems.”
“I hadn’t even thought of doing anything stupid.”
“Good.”
“Until now.”
The stare he pelts me with could start wars. It’s the kind of stare intended to make the enemy tremble, and if it weren’t for my stubborn pride, I might have. “Do not test me, Lucina,” he snaps, anger rising in his stare. “That is a child’s game.”
My vision turns red, my hands clenching at their sides, and a deep rumble sounds in my gut—no, not my gut, my spine. My bones. My very being.
My soul.
It’s foreign, this…anger, manifesting itself in an entirely different way—a new way. It cracks and fractures, crawling up my throat and setting my eyes on fire. I feel like I’m burning—
The Captain goes utterly still, his voice dark as death, “Push that back down, Lucina, you don’t know how to use it yet.”
Holy gods.
This isn’t anger.
It’s magic.