8. Lucina
LUCINA
Gemma is one hell of a tour guide.
She showed me the lake and the stalls set up behind it.
They sell anything you could imagine at the Markets.
Everything is traded and bartered; they don’t use coins or money of any kind.
She showed me the gardens and the church—a beautiful building tucked in the woods, with stained glass windows.
Devon, of course, lingered a step behind, watching from a distance.
But we were having so much fun, I hardly noticed him.
By the time Gemma had shown me all of Pirn, the sun was setting, and my feet throbbed. I tried getting out of the Selumira plans for tonight, but Gemma just rolled her eyes and threw a skirt at my face.
I step back in the bathroom mirror to get a better view of my outfit.
It’s a two-piece set made of dark navy-blue fabric, thin and light, and perfect for dancing.
The top is strapless, fitting me exactly as Gemma said it would, and the skirt falls in uneven frayed layers down my legs.
The longest piece of fabric is at my ankle, and the shortest cut is to my mid-thigh.
I don’t remember the last time I wore something this nice.
I slide on some socks and a pair of boots that Gemma claims don’t fit her anymore.
They’re distressed brown suede, with intricate designs embroidered in golden thread.
Across the pointed toes are tiny stars and a crescent moon, and along the side are flowers, vines, and a stunning image of the sun almost identical to the one on our medallions.
I almost faint when I get a better look at my face.
My skin its…glowing. Shining like the skin of the Sol. All my freckles have darkened, and I have color in my cheeks. Soft pink color that I’ve never had before. Maybe it’s from being out in the sun. Or maybe it’s from being half-dead when I showed up here, and I’m just now coming back to life.
I look Solian. Even my hazel eyes have an odd sort of shimmer to them.
I separate a few loose curls, run my fingers through the softer waves, ultimately deciding to leave it down for the night. Then I grab the letter I wrote for Ivy and Jude, stuff it into my bra, and step out into the muggy summer-night air.
Gemma whistles when she sees me, then locks her cabin door and meets me along the path. She’s smeared gold glitter over her eyelids, practically glowing in her stark white sundress that she’s paired with bright red boots. “That looks much better on you than it ever did on me,” she croons.
“Thanks.” I feel my cheeks heat at the attention. “I don’t normally wear skirts.”
“Well, you should start.” She nudges my shoulder then looks around. “No Devon?” Her tone is optimistic, until she spots Pax up ahead, then she jabs a finger in his direction. “That one can carry a conversation at least,” she says, and the red-haired Ajax perks up.
“Devon can carry a conversation; he just hates talking,” Pax replies.
“Yes, and you have the opposite problem,” Gemma fires back, and Pax smirks, shoving both hands into his pockets as he falls in step beside us.
The entirety of Pirn has come to life with the setting sun, and there is a buzz of excitement in every person we pass. Soft music flits through the night, pale moonlight shines down on the roofs of every cabin, and small orbs of amber light bob and sway along the dirt paths that lead to the Banyan.
When the massive tree comes into view, my eyes widen.
Hundreds of those amber lights dance through the Banyan’s branches. They warm the bark along the massive trunk and illuminate the entire clearing that surrounds the tree.
Every Sol in Pirn is here. They’ve all exchanged work boots and muddied overalls for hand-sewn dresses, skirts, neatly pressed pants, and button-downs.
There’s a certain wildness in all their faces, burning in their star-flecked eyes.
It’s excitement and hunger and…I find myself wanting to be a part of it.
“Run along, Pax, you can keep an eye on her from your Coven’s section,” Gemma says, then skillfully pulls me through the mass of people, effectively losing Pax. Though I don’t think he tried that hard, I’m under enough watchful eyes as it is.
Most stares linger as we pass, and I note the glass jars of a glittering liquid that they all hold. Moonshine. There’s no one here who isn’t drinking it. The last time I had moonshine was New Year’s Eve, and I threw up all over Ivy’s dashboard.
I should take it slow.
I lift my chin and crane my neck over the crowd to see what everyone is gathered around. I catch the golden rim of a large basin, at least ten feet wide, the walls of it coming up to my waist. Wood is piled high within it, and I realize I’m gawking when Gemma tugs on my arm.
With one final tug, she pulls me through a break in the crowd where a long wooden table is set up, glass jars covering the entire surface. Gemma picks out two and hands one to me, wasting no time unscrewing her lid and taking a big swig of the shimmering liquid.
I hold it cautiously up to my nose. It smells like moonshine…
The first sip burns mercilessly as it runs down my throat, and immediately, my chest is warm. It’s like tiny sparks are being shot off within my rib cage, prickling down my arms and legs. It tastes like lemons and blueberries with a hint of smokiness that lingers on my taste buds.
I lift the jar to the light. This is not moonshine.
“What is it?” I ask, noting the way the liquid swirls around and around even as I hold the jar still.
“Moonshine,” Gemma replies simply. “Why do you not like it? I know it burns a little but—"
“I’ve had moonshine before, Gemma… and it’s not supposed to…” Her blonde brows pull together. “It’s not supposed to move like that.”
Color blooms across her cheeks, the ‘moonshine’ flushing her skin like I know it’s flushing mine.
“The word Selumira in our ancient tongue translates roughly to light of the moon. The Dame and her coven gather it for us, then the Hearth witches make it taste good. It’s captured moonlight.
” Gemma clinks her jar with mine, raising the glass to her full lips that are still kicked up in a smile. “Moonshine.”
I eye the suspicious liquid, questioning everything in my life that has led me up to this point. Then I look back at Gemma. I guess I’m going to need some liquid courage if I see the Captain.
Screw it.
I drink deeply from the jar, swallowing a cough that works its way up my throat.
Gemma is grinning when she grabs my hand. “Come on, I want you to meet my friends.”
She weaves us back through the crowd until we get to a line of benches that have been set out before the golden basin. Most are already occupied, and I scan the crowd for Callan, but I can’t see a damn thing over all these people.
Gemma shimmies her way into the middle, right up to a wooden bench where two younger women, about Gemma’s age, sit cross-legged with their jars of moonshine resting in their hands.
“Of course you took in the stray,” the dark-headed one groans, the beads at the end of her braided hair snapping together as she turns her head to me.
“Selene, this is Lucina,” Gemma replies with a look of warning. “Be nice.”
Selene’s onyx eyes move across me in a painfully slow once-over.
The dark charcoal around her eyes is smudged, and the sleeve of white ink running up her left arm complements her deep brown skin stunningly.
Her dress is all black, slits running up the sides, and she moves…
like a predator, eyes flicking this way in that.
“Hello Lucina,” she purrs, sizing me up with that same suspicion that everyone but Gemma seems to have with me. Something feels sinister about Selene, with her dark eyes and too-perfect teeth, slightly sharper than everyone else’s.
She smirks as if she heard that thought. Weird.
“And this is Kimber,” Gemma continues, and the green-eyed girl next to Selene smiles widely.
Kimber’s cinnamon hair shimmers under the moonlight as if random strands have been painted gold.
She’s wearing a bright yellow dress with thin straps tied in bows over her shoulders, and the pointed toe of forest green boots sticks out from the longest layer of fabric.
She looks up at me with big green eyes, then her rosy lips split into a full smile. “Lune Sylra,” she says, and my brows furrow.
Lune Sylra is the brightest star in our sky. She’s the first to join the moon at night and the last to leave come morning. People used to write songs about it, and some even dedicated their lives to figuring out how it burned that lucidly for that long, but it’s a mystery still.
“Lucina,” I correct her as nicely as I can, then Gemma tugs me down onto the bench beside her.
“That’s the name you were given in the commoner lands?” Kimber asks.
“Um, yes,” I reply, then pause. “Wait, how did you know I came from the commoner lands?”
“All of camp knows,” Selene answers for Kimber, casually swirling her jar of moonshine. “The strange girl who grew up with humans.”
“Selene…” Gemma grits out, but her friend only shrugs, crossing one leg over another and revealing more white tattoos; swirls and shaded lines that look almost like rocky ocean waves.
“She’s right,” I say plainly, and something like surprise sparks in Selene’s dark-eyed gaze, as if she’s used to dishing out snide comments, and not used to someone… agreeing with them.
“Thank you, Lucina,” she says, lifting her jar to me. “And you’re right about my snide comments.”
I freeze.
Had I said that aloud? I hadn’t said that out loud.
“Wait,” I stutter, “how did you—”
Gemma scowls at Selene, then pats my thigh gently. “She’s a Lakelet. A water witch. Her coven can read unguarded thoughts—careless streams of consciousness. We’re all taught at a young age to protect ourselves from it, but don’t worry, Selene here can teach you how to shield.”
The Lakelet snorts, “Fuck, no.”
Great. Another thing I have to worry about, not being able to protect myself against mind-readers…and whatever the hell Kimber is—
“She’s a Diviner,” Selene says, and my eyes go wide.