She tries a different approach. “If your abilities rise up at the wrong moment, it could lead to horrible destruction, and not just for one man.”
I meet her eyes. She’s telling the truth.
“What do I do?”
She stirs the spoon around and around her teacup. “I spoke to your father.” Her mouth tightens. “We’re sending you away to training early.”
A fortnight later I’m walking to Sun Isle, to formally begin my Sunling instruction. All royal heirs inherit the four Lightlark abilities—Sunling, Moonling, Starling, and Skyling—and are sent on rotations to each isle, until they master each power.
For a while, I feared my father wouldn’t let me go on the rotations. Egan himself hasn’t even finished his.
Now ... I’m being sent a year in advance.
Before the gilding, I’d have been excited. I’ve always wanted to leave the castle. I’ve wanted to do just about anything beyond its walls.
But I don’t want to ever use my abilities again. Now ... I’ll be forced to.
The walk seems to last an eternity, but finally we reach the bridge. If it can even be called that. It’s just ancient wood and rope,barely tied together and swinging wildly over a thrashing ocean hundreds of feet below.
My mother turns, momentarily blocking my view of the bridge, and her eyes are glassy. I’ve never seen her cry, not ever. My father might think he is the strongest in the royal family; he might think his loud words and cruel orders make him so, but he’s wrong. My mother, with her straight spine, her kind encouragement, and her firm conviction—she is strongest. She cares about the people on this island ... while my father has set his sights on uncharted lands and chances at gaining even more power.
More. Always more. Nothing is ever good enough.
Egan is more like my mother. He will be a great king.
“My darling son,” she says. Notsecondson. She has never treated me differently than Egan. She has never loved me less. “Mysun,” she repeats, though with the emphasis that tells me she’s calling me the name she gave me when I was little.Her sun, shining brightly. She always smiles when she says it.
Right now, though, she looks afraid. She takes both my hands, quickly. They are warm in mine, familiar.
“I love you, Oro,” she says. “Always.” Something stings my palm, and then I see it. She’s slipped something into my hand. The same thing she used to leave on my pillow every night when I was younger, to ward off nightmares. The flowers she’s grown with her Wildling friend for decades. Roses with golden petals.
“You were born with fire in your heart,” she says. “It’s still there. Find it. Find your fire.”
She turns to leave, and I’m alone.
With a steadying breath, I study the bridge. It’s swinging even more wildly now, as if it knows it’s a test. My first step at being brave. At being strong.
I take a step toward it, then hesitate.
I’ll be blown off, surely. I’ll fall through the gaps.
A gust of wind has me stumbling to the side, and I hear one of the guards behind me laugh. “Foolish boy,” he says under his breath.
It’s not the first time I’ve heard it.
But, I decide, it will be the last.
I swallow and step onto the bridge. The second I do, my entire body lurches to the side, the structure swinging, and my hand scrapes as I fight to hold on to the rope.
My mother’s voice is in my head.
Find your fire.
Father thinks I’m weak. He thinks I’m worthless.
He’s wrong.
I take another step and trip, hurtling forward. I land on my knees, gasping as I gaze through the gaps in the planks. Rocks like knives reach toward me, hundreds of feet down.
