“Wasn’t the other part her being dead?”

Wry amusement settled into his features. “The young maiden’s story didn’t end with her death. You see, the one who ultimately caused her death believed that he was in love with her.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, relieved to feel the ache in my head already lessening, “but he only saw her picking flowers. He didn’t speak to her or anything. So, how did he believe that he was in love with her?”

Sir Holland shrugged. “He saw her and fell in love.”

I rolled my eyes.

“That is what he believed, but it was more like he fell into obsession.”

“You mean after he…spoke to her?”

He shook his head.

I let out a choked laugh. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know how you can become obsessed with someone by only seeing them pick flowers. I mean, love at first sight? I could maybe believe in that, but only if they’d actually spoken.” I frowned, rethinking that. “And even then, I would say they probably fell into lust. Not love.”

He grinned, stretching out a leg. “Well, he was obsessed with bringing her back and being with her.”

My breath caught. I had never heard this part of the legend. “Did he?”

“He was warned that it wouldn’t be right. That her soul had crossed into the Vale and that she was at peace. But he…he found a way.”

“Gods.” I closed my eyes, both saddened and horrified. If she were real, her life had already been taken from her. To learn that her peace had also been stripped away sickened me. It was an unconscionable violation.

“Sotoria rose and wasn’t grateful for such an act. She was frightened and unhappy. The one responsible couldn’t understand why she was so morose. Nothing he did made her better or made her love him.” Several moments passed. “No one knows exactly how long Sotoria lived her second life, but she ended up dying. Some say she purposefully starved to death, but others say she began to live again, to fight against her captor despite how powerful he was. She was strong, Sera. She was the kind of warrior that fought back through the grief of losing her life at such a young age. Through the loss of peace and control, no matter how badly the odds were stacked against her. That’s why you remind me of her.”

“Oh,” I whispered, finishing the last of the tea. “Well, that’s nice,” I said, hoping Sotoria’s story was just some old legend.

“Finished?”

“I am.”

“Good. It may make you a little drowsy, but nothing like a sleeping potion,” he explained, rising. “There’s extra in the pouch in case you need more. Just make sure you steep the herbs in boiling water for about twenty minutes.”

“Thank you,” I said, finding the words strange to speak.

“No problem.” He started for the door and then stopped. “Everything will be okay, Sera. Get some rest.”

As soon as he left, I did what he’d said to do. I closed my eyes. The drumming in my entire head and the churning had almost completely gone away, and as Sir Holland had warned, the potion did make me tired—or at least relaxed enough to drift off.

I wasn’t sure exactly when I had fallen asleep, but quite some time later, there was no ache—not in my temples nor in my jaw—and my stomach felt steady enough for me to put on pants and scrounge up something to eat.

How Sir Holland had come across such a potion, I didn’t know. But it was a miracle, and I just might hug the man when next I saw him.

With food in my belly, I felt mostly normal. I entered the bathing chamber to brush my teeth and bent over the small basin to rinse out my mouth. As I placed the pitcher on the narrow shelf above the basin, I looked down.

“What the…?” I whispered, staring at the streaks of red among the foamy paste.

Blood.

I knew very little about the Chosen, whether this one was male or female, but either curiosity or restlessness had drawn me to the Sun Temple on the afternoon of the Rite.

Nobles, wealthy merchants, and landowners already filled the Sun Temple, but dressed as I was in the pale blush gown that I wore on the rare occasion my mother wanted me seen, I was recognized as one of the Queen’s handmaidens. I moved easily among the crowd as the people climbed the wide steps. Like the entire courtyard, the Temple was constructed of crushed diamond and limestone. Sunlight poured off the walls and spires, reflecting off the specks of diamond. Two large torches jutted out from the pillars at the top of the steps. Silvery-white flames flickered gently in the hot breeze. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I pressed on, weaving in and out of the masses to enter the main hall of the Sun Temple. The corridor was long and narrow, full of closed doors, and I could imagine the whisper of robes behind them. A shudder worked its way through me as I thought about what Ash had said about what filled the Priests’ insides.

Gods, that was the last thing I needed to think about. As I came to the entrance to the cella, the main chamber of the Temple, sunlight streamed in through the glass ceiling, streaking the ivory and gold floors. The hair continued to rise on the nape of my neck and under the gauzy hood of my gown as I entered the cella. They’d only lit a few dozen or so of the hundreds of candelabras staggered along the walls. It wasn’t often that I entered the Sun Temple or any Temple for that matter, but the cella had a unique energy, one that coated the very air I breathed and often crackled over my skin, reminding me of the jolt of energy I had felt when my skin came into contact with Ash’s.

The pews and benches were already packed, and as I made my way to one of the pillared alcoves, I lowered my hood. To keep it up in the Sun Temple would not only be seen as an act of great disrespect, but it would also draw far too much attention.

I stopped near the golden sheen of a column, my gaze tracking to the dais. White peonies had been scattered across the floor and at the foot of a throne constructed from the same crushed diamonds and limestone used to build the Temple. The back of the throne had been carved into the shape of a sun, absorbing the powerful rays streaming in from the ceiling. Two Sun Priests stood on either side of the throne, their white robes pristine. They appeared just as gaunt as the Shadow Priests as they stared out into the crowd.

Dragging my gaze from them, I searched the front pews for the glimmer of crowns, quickly finding the Queen and King. They were seated up front and to the right of the dais. My lip curled as the many tiny pearls on my mother’s gown glittered in the sunlight.

I supposed she was lucky that the gown had been finished when it was.

Crossing my arms, I shifted my attention to where Ezra sat stiffly beside her brother. She didn’t even look like she breathed. I imagined it took nearly everything in her to remain there. Tavius sat in the kind of sprawl only a man could accomplish, his legs spread wide, taking up at least two spaces worth of room.

What an asshole.

I looked for Sir Holland among the Royal Guards that waited in the alcove closer to the family, but I didn’t see him.

My skin felt uncomfortably warm as I flicked a look out over the crowd, wondering if any of the people here knew what’d happened to the Coupers—what had surely happened to other families, and was currently happening as they sat in the pews, most likely thinking of the feasts and fine wine they’d celebrate with later. Did they even care?

My jaw ticked. Maybe I wasn’t being fair. Many of them did care. Wealth and nobility didn’t automatically make a person apathetic to the needs of others. I knew for a fact that Lady Rosalynn, who stared up at the dais now, often sent food for the children under the care of the Ladies of Mercy. Lord Malvon Faber, Marisol’s father, had opened his home on more than one occasion to shelter others when fire or rain damaged their homes. Lord Caryl Gavlen, who sat behind the Crown with his daughter, still paid the harvesters even though they hadn’t been able to work the same amount of land.