#sunshine bbys

“Now tell me what you’d need to know about any of those, in a meeting.” Corinda examined her over the edge of the paper.

Elain recited, thinking, trying to balance her racing thoughts with the intricate movements she had to make with her hands. These damn braids…would they never behave…?

She realized she’d fallen silent and resumed her lesson. “The largest tribes of the shore and the sea, who possess wind magic that assists them in sailing and fishing.” She wound hair around her left hand, trying to complete the first few inches of the braid, which needed to adhere more closely to the scalp than the lower parts, if it was to serve to keep loose hair out of the eyes, or to act as an anchor for a hair piece. But the strands got caught around her little finger and anchored too loosely in the braid. She was tempted to curse, but Corinda, ever sharp and experienced and unfailingly courteous, would never stand for it.

“Yes.” Corinda’s mellifluous voice inflected up at the end, and Elain knew her answer to be incomplete. “But what will they likely ask for in an audience?”

Elain squinted and focused hard on the fingers of her right hand, where she held the comb that was creating the sections for the box braids. “Wider…access. For fishing rights. And docking privileges in ports and harbor islands.”

“Yes, and who would oppose them in such a request?”

“The harbor and quarter masters.” Elain thought of the reticent, dismissive pair they had just met with to discuss fees and safety concerns at the docks.

“Just so.” Corinda turned to select another dossier and frowned as it wasn’t the one she was searching for. “The harbor fae will not readily relinquish their access to the small islands, as they are a windfall in lightening fees for the larger ships. Not without a fee.”

“And the shore tribes don’t have that revenue,” Elain continued. “Not yet, anyway. Not unless they can also access the lightening docks at the outer harbors and ports.” The comb spun and dropped with a clatter to the tile floor as she tried to draw it toward the back of the section she’d created. She hissed in anger.

With a husky laugh, Corinda put down her dossier of commerce updates from the harbor, picked up the errant comb, and gave it back to her. “Hold the hair looser in your left hand, Princess. Then you can create a straight line more easily; let the strands escape as the comb guides them.”

They had been in the Solarium for hours now, struggling with horsehair and mannequins after the interminable meeting with the harbor fae. The rays were getting long over the Western Sea, and the Sun Tower’s bright beams could now be seen over the sun itself, sweeping gently across the darkening harbor. Elain had had dinner plans, but she’d canceled them in a burst of industriousness a few hours ago, and now she was regretting it, awash in frustration. Corinda watched her for a moment, then stood and with measured, precise gestures, lit tiny glowing lights in the hanging lamps. They created no heat but were still bright enough to hurt the eyes, when not concealed in their brass shades. But under Corinda’s gentle touch, the room flooded with a golden glow.

“How does anyone learn to do this?” Elain gritted between clenched teeth, carving against the rigid marble skull, decorated with a full head of sweeping horsehair after it was repurposed from a crumbling statue — all for her to practice this task. This thing that she so badly wanted to be good at. This thing she was beginning to fear she’d never master.

Corinda approached, observed for a moment, and nodded approvingly; then applied her strong, practiced fingers over Elain’s long and awkward ones. “It is only practice, Princess. Practice, and experience. It is kind of you to wish to learn this.”

“But I haven’t really learned it. And with all the other things you have to do? How did you master it?” Elain said, hearing the petulance in her voice and hating it. She sounded like a disappointed child.

Corinda smiled. “I worked at it for centuries. And be fair to yourself, for you have learned, Princess. Your braids are smooth now, even if your sections need work. And you don’t need the seed pod oil to make them shine now. To say nothing of the deference you command in meetings now.” She gathered up her papers and slid them in orderly rows into her leather pouch. Elain was constantly jealous of the chancellor’s organization; her calm, and the level of trust she inspired. Not only from Helion and the aristocrats who relied on her expertise, but the merchants and fae who had faith that she would mediate fairly on their behalf.

“But the braids — they mean things.” Elain twisted the strands she had separated the horsehair into, stroking them into three pieces — then adding them into an additional lock of horsehair for a thicker braid. She had braided her own hair many times, and even her sisters’ on occasion, but never with the damned extensions that got hopelessly tangled, and never in the complex geometric patterns that acted as an anchor for the coronet of the Day Court. She bit her lip, concentrating hard, and let out a frustrated sigh. “And I just want them to mean the right things. For anyone looking closely.”

Corinda laughed. “Yes, Princess, they mean things,” she said, her voice going softer, falling into incantation, intonation. “Long ago the world was built of rage and chaos, and we Fae had to find places we could hear the music of the world. We were wild ourselves, after all, and like all the creatures, looking for safety. And for our Solaris folk — the tribe of my ancestors — following the sun and the open blue of the sky, the solution was to plan routes through the darkness.” Her hand steadied Elain’s, pointing to a forgotten skein. Elain nodded and pulled it back in, the braid twisting naturally around the central fourth strand to create a spiral. Corinda pointed again, and Elain wound the skeins of hair together again. “The spiral represents the route up, and out. A stable way to navigate the chaos. We sailed, mile by perilous mile, into the light; but we never forget our time in the dark…or how easily we could slip backward into it.” She picked up the wire of a coronet, placing it on top of the braids Elain had painstakingly created, and winding each braid around the base to hold it steady. “And we brought the great treasures of Day with us; because beautiful things are a gestalt, a thing greater than the sum of its parts. They mean we made something important in our time on the earth. That’s our responsibility; to make things, and people, connect. Despite the differences.”

Elain was quiet, listening. She had heard it many times, and yet it never ceased to make her calm. To think of how the past affected the future, and the present lived in the fulcrum. How Lucien, in his own way, had lived that connection; forging upward out of chaos and darkness, scraping by on courage and hope, building something beautiful against all odds. The bond rolled against her ribs as she thought of him, purring like a contented kitten. That russet hair, the color so rich it was almost ruby; the bronze skin, aglow with the sunfire that was banked inside him; the gold eye that whizzed faster as his interest piqued and his mind sped to accommodate new information; the gleaming, mischievous smile, rarer these days as the responsibility of his position weighed on him, but all the sweeter for that. Thinking of him, how she wanted him to look on the day of the celebration, when he was presented to his people, she picked up the comb and leaned forward again, making little sections of hair under the golden light, as Corinda murmured encouragement and corrected her every now and then, twisting them and molding them into shapes that could make her Sun Prince unique. To show the Day Court — and all the other courts too, she thought with grim satisfaction — how it might be different. A new kind of High Lord with a new agenda. Step by step, she thought, twisting the hair around her fingers, determination writ large across her delicate features. Into the light.

“Are you going to the Common Market tonight?” Corinda asked.

Elain nodded.

“Be listening,” she said. “Their reactions to your rule will live in their talk, and in their tone. Some will not like our every choice, but if they see it as fair, you have won the day.” She closed her leather pouch with a snap and walked to the door. “And be thinking of what we will need to tell the Sun Prince on his return.”

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The shadows were long and blue in the alcoves, under the awnings, and the sound of the sea in the background was murmuring; calming, with an occasional creak and splash as a rope thudded against a dock or a sail was wound up to rest against a mast. It was a beautiful evening, cool and calm, and the white hulls of the boats against the dark bulk of the rocky harbor would be the final sight as the night sank over Rhodes. And here she was, with a purpose, with intelligence to gain, but only missing Lucien. Her heart twisted with longing for him. He’d been gone for almost a month now, up to the hill country, far from the city to avoid any danger from practicing with his sunfire; he’d gotten so much better at it, too, she reflected, remembering how only a few weeks ago it had rushed out of him so intensely that he’d kept the entire county at full daylight for almost two days. Helion had had to shield the city from the relentless sunlight, and announce to the public that the Sun Prince was learning to wield his emerging powers. Yesterday evening, as Elain had walked through the Common Market at the base of the city, breathing in the rich scent of the bougainvillea and the cinnamon trees, she had overheard many people talk about the constant glow to the East, which had faded to a dim arc over the horizon. The prince is learning fast, they’d said, chuckling. When Lord Helion acquired his full powers we were under constant noon sunlight for a week.

This prince is powerful, one old merchant had said. He holds back the sunset even before he is the High Lord.

May he hold back the darkness and danger as well, another had said, making the circular sign for safety over his heart as he handed Elain one of her favorite pastries, crusty with sugar and crackling crisp, the scent of fresh-ground coriander and cinnamon wafting up. She licked the lingering sweetness off her fingers, studying the heliotrope flowers that wound up the side of the pale walls of the Citadel. In their flowering season, the plants absorbed light from the relentless Day sun, and stayed softly glowing in the evening, continuing to attract their pollinators for a few extra hours into the night. Was it her imagination or were they brighter than they had been before? Perhaps the brightness was an indicator they were almost done flowering.

She climbed the steps to the Western Gate, where the guard let her in with a bob of his head and a muttered “good evening.” She went out frequently enough that the guards had stopped insisting on accompanying her long ago; most times, as she had in Velaris, she left through the servants’ entrances with her scarf draped around her head, but now she also kept a clever little glamour she’d learned from Helion over her face, and no one not looking closely would ever have recognized the Sun Princess wandering in the massive Common Market like a housewife. Elain loved the anonymity of it all, and how much she’d been able to explore. For the first time in her life, it felt like freedom. She’d wandered the winding streets, familiarized herself with the pier and the ships that went out on day journeys to fish or trawl, eaten lunch in the shadow of the Sun Tower. She’d made friends with the dairy merchants and the bakers, who now saved her her favorite items and called her over for spirited bargaining, which had embarrassed Elain until she realized it was an elaborate game to which all were privy. And so much more besides.

She’d eaten oysters fresh from the bay with salt and lemon, the acid stinging her tongue and the flavor of the ocean bursting in her mouth…bought twisted paper packets of spices more precious than gold whose scent scorched her nostrils…stained her hands in the buckets of rich indigo and violet dyes…and once been gifted a white silk scarf of a weave so fine it was almost transparent, edged with golden threads. The merchant, a female with faceted, jewel-like eyes and skin of glimmering gold, had nodded at her with odd familiarity and refused payment.

She’d seen barefoot urchins with wings of obsidian black fluttering around pelting each other with refuse, smelters hammering at copper pots and urns, the sick and destitute clustering around the hospitals, distinguished old ladies hard at work on the great looms making the lush textiles that Rhodes was famous for, even lewd street performers impersonating her and Helion and Lucien. Elain had been shocked at first, and had told everyone about the little pantomime with cheeks burning; but Helion had only roared with laughter over it all. Corinda had chuckled and said, “The people may mock you on occasion, Princess, but their hearts are with you. Else you’d see much more violent and angry displays, instead of just tasteless comedies.”

Elain pulled back her hood as she passed under the gate, the white limestone gleaming in the last of the light, and with a smoothing motion over her face, removed the glamour. Her curls fell from the hood and she briefly shook them in the breeze, relishing the touch of the wind against her neck…and then a familiar twinge against her ribs. She opened her eyes just as a bright light spilled from a room on the second floor, doors flung wide to the inner courtyard. Her room.

She knew instantly what it meant, and it sped her steps into a frenzy, all tiredness forgotten, breaking into a run up the stone stairs. She raced along the wide hallway with its generous arches and fluttering curtains and the ribboning bougainvillea vines she had braided with jasmine and coaxed into bloom. Skidding to a stop, she burst through the door into her room, alight with a globe of drifting sunfire so bright it hurt her eyes — and as she threw up her hand to shade her face, arms caught her around her waist, and pulled her in. To him. To his solid, lean frame, warm and welcoming. To his scent, pomegranate and whiskey, ribboned sweet with her own honey and jasmine, just as overpowering to her senses as ever he was.

I missed you, was all she could think as he kissed her, her relief and joy rendering her close to senseless, his lips firm against hers, hands gentle on her neck and waist. Gods, I felt your absence like my own heart was gone from my body. Her arms circled his neck and crushed him to her, and he laughed, lifting her up and spinning her around. The little lock in her heart that shut tight when he had to be away opened with a snap, flooding her chest with warmth, adding fierce desire to her kiss. He broke away after a moment to catch his breath, and she leaned in, greedy for him, her teeth snagging his lower lip.

“Wait. Look,” he whispered, and nodded toward the globe of light bathing them both in radiance. With one hand open, he dimmed it so the shadows lengthened, and his hand glowed as he pulled the sunfire back into his flesh in an incandescent stream, then banked it into a golden gleam that lit his hand enough that she could see the bones and veins inside it.

“You…you can control it,” she whispered, and tucked her face against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist. Last she’d seen him, nearly a month ago, he could call it up but could not pull it back, only hold on to it with arms extended, waiting for his control to rupture before rays shot out in every direction. He was so calm now. Gods, she loved seeing him like this. Expert. Finessed. Magnificent.

He made a noise of dissent and kissed her hair. “I can control it better,” he said. “Not entirely. It’s gotten away from me many times. But it…answers to me more easily now. Like I have a dragon on a leash, and sometimes it eats from my hand.”

“What happens when it gets away?” she asked, tangling her fingers with his, gazing at the pulsing light that beat inside his nail beds.

He cast his eyes down, shamefaced. “I dried up a river by accident…and blasted a field of sunflowers to ash. At first I wondered if that was partially the Autumn fire, but Helion said no, the sunfire burns brighter and is more likely to scorch.”

“But you can dim it and brighten it now, according to your will?”

“Most times, yes,” he said. His arms tightened around her. “As soon as I could do that, I knew it’d be safe to come see you…to tell you how much I missed you, and how often I thought of you…”

“Don’t tell me,” she interrupted, threading her fingers into his hair. “Show me.”

He needed no further invitation to extinguish the remaining glow, plunging them into darkness and surrendering to the bond, which was its own dragon on a leash between them, roaring with a deep and insatiable need.

And now it would feast.

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Hours later, the sky was pale with the coming dawn. Elain awoke slowly, surfacing as if through deep water, limbs languid and wound in the sheets. She turned over to her side to face Lucien, who was still fast asleep on his stomach, arm splayed toward her. She smiled at him fondly, reaching out to push back the coil of hair that had fallen across his face and fluttered in the quiet breath from his nose and mouth. He grunted and buried his face in the pillow, and she almost laughed aloud; there were times when she felt she could see how he had been as a child or a youth, groggy in the morning and wild at night.

“Wake up,” she whispered, and ran her finger down the back of his neck.

“Mmmfff.”

She turned her finger slightly so her fingernail sliced into the groove of his spine, right between the angle of his shoulder blades. She couldn’t suppress a giggle when she saw goosebumps bubble along the skin of his bare back. “Wake up, prince of Day.”

He huffed a gusty sigh that lifted his back muscles up, and her mouth went dry as sand at the sight of his bronze skin, bare in the sparse light. She watched little patches of golden light crackling along his ribs as he breathed. “You’re going to miss the sunrise…”

His arm shot out and scooped around her waist, and she went down with a squeal as he rolled, tunneling into the sheets with her, holding her flush against him. “This is a better view,” he whispered. “Brighter than the eastern sun on the horizon.”

Overcome, she tilted her head towards him, pushing against him. Her face fit right into where his neck and shoulder met; he let out an undignified squawk as she scraped her teeth there, catching some of his skin between her incisors. “Stop, or I can’t be blamed for what I do next,” he laughed.

“You think I fear you?”

“You should. I’ve never known you to not succumb to this…” he wiggled his fingers firmly against her abdomen and she doubled up, breathless with giggles.

“Stop, Lucien, stop!” He did, brushing a kiss to her chest; she heaved with laughter. “I just…you’re such a scoundrel, and a mess.”

“Funny, Helion says the same thing,” he groaned, flopping sideways. “And after that river dried up I thought the same thing too.”

She kissed the notch of his collarbone. “My poor Sun Prince. I wasn’t trying to shame you, really; I only meant your hair was a mess, not you yourself.”

“My hair?”

“You haven’t braided it in weeks, clearly,” she said, combing her fingers through it until she hit a snarl, then picked at the tangle with her nails. “Let me?”

He hesitated. “It takes a while,” he said finally. “The braids I usually wear aren’t just the simple ones.”

“I know,” she said, and a grin crept onto her face. “I’ve been practicing.”

“You have?” His eyes went round with surprise. “When have you had time for that?”

“Corinda was teaching me in between meetings. Sometimes as we reviewed for audiences with the merchants and the guilds. It was useful to help keep my statistics and facts and figures straight. While you were taming a few sunbeams, I’ve learned to keep my hands and my mind busy at the same time, you see,” she teased. “And now I just can’t let you look scruffy.”

“I thought you liked me scruffy.”

She relented. “I do. But…maybe I just want that Lucien to be my Lucien. Outside of here you’re the Sun Prince. And you’re changing things, and the people can feel it, and they hope to be able to trust you. I want them to see you that way. Only here…” she tilted her head and nuzzled his throat gently. “Only here will you be all unraveled, and messy, and mine. It’s the only way I can bear to share you. And so I feel it’s only fair that I should help present you to the court.”

He swallowed, and his eye went bright; even the gold one got a bit of extra sparkle. He released her and sat up, shaking his head until the red locks stood out from his head like a mane. “Then show me what you’ve learned, Blossom.”

She pushed up onto her elbows, excitement sparking through her. “Truly?”

“I can’t wait to see your new talents,” he said, and stood up, reaching out for her hands to pull her from the bed. “And to hear all the business of Rhodes as well.”

She seized her white robe from the foot of the bed and swung it around herself, already padding eagerly across the tile on her bare feet to the wardrobe, in search of her comb and the seed pod oil to keep the hair sections neat. Lucien pulled on his breeches, discarded on the floor since last night, and watched her with amused affection as she bustled around setting things up. Finally she took a seat on an overstuffed ottoman, and motioned for him to sit in front of her, tossing a cushion onto the floor. He obligingly sat before her, arms draped over her knees, and leaned back as her hands plunged into his hair, combing through it, smoothing his scalp, dividing the bright russet locks into pieces.

He hummed contentedly, deep in his chest, as the comb sectioned the hair at the front of his head. “How have the meetings with Corinda gone?”

“Fairly well,” she said, her brows pinching in concentration as she began twirling the hair and flipping the skeins over and under, over and under. “The guild of the Solaris fishermen wants fishing rights in the bay, but Corinda says they would settle for shared waters between us and the Western Islands as long as…” she trailed off.

“As long as what?…ouch.” He turned his head to look at her and she swatted him on the ear as she tightened the braid she was working on.

“Don’t move your head,” she said sharply. “As long as their boats can move in and out of Summer Court harbors.”

“That would involve a treaty with Tarquin and spells to make the maritime border passable,” Lucien murmured. Her hands on his head made his eyelids heavy.

“Yes,” she said, crisply, twisting the braid and securing the end before picking the comb up and starting the next one. “And their catch migrates seasonally through the oceans without difficulty, so if the minnows can manage it, and the summer silverfish, why not you?” She dropped a kiss atop his head. “You are the son of the spellcleaver.”

“Hm.” He seemed at a loss for words. “Would that not overstep my authority?”

She shrugged. “If it does, then you can allow Helion to negotiate it as he sees fit. And you will still have the harbor and shore fae’s respect for bringing their concerns to the highest audience.”

He quieted as he thought about it. She teased three skeins of hair from the other side of his head and guided them back over the loose hair. “These braids mean things, you know.”

“Yes,” he said. “In Autumn they refer to your battle prowess. And your rank.”

“I mean here, in Day,” she said. “They represent triumph over adversity. Corinda’s told me some things; I don’t know all of them. But there’s a legend of Solaris people escaping from a great darkness across the sea, where they had come from a garden of plenty who had fallen under the shadow. They had to leave or risk enslavement. So they came east toward the rising sun. They had to fight all manner of monsters for their freedom; and then leave with nothing but ropes and sailcloth and a little food and water.” She pulled the strands into a spiral. “They brought the crown with them — representing sunbeams reaching toward them. And settled in a new place. But they stayed by the sea. To build their lives where they could see where they came from and where they were going.”

She fitted the crown on the top of his head, and wound the braids around it, anchoring it securely in place. Then she pulled another, smaller strand in front of his ear and began to braid that, looser than the top braids. “Your Autumn braids at the sides,” she said softly. “And your Day crown on top. A prince who crosses borders and courts, who lived with the people no one else cares about. You know where you come from. And where you’re going.”

He went very still. Barely breathing. She tightened the last braid and tied it with the bright blue leather band he favored.

“Look at you,” she said, and her hands slid down to his shoulders. “My prince. Of sunshine and fire.”

He sat up straighter, until she handed him a mirror. “The braids could be better,” she said. “I’m working on it. But I’ll have it perfected before the presentation ceremony.”

He stared at himself in the mirror. In the crown. He’d never worn it before, and on his head, it seemed to stand taller, shine brighter, as if the gold soaked up his sunfire and stretched upward toward the source of the light itself. The gold spikes shot up above the braids, which were gleaming and, despite her self-deprecation, only slightly crooked. He was only a chiton and a cloth-of-gold scarf away from the full symbolic costume of the heir. She knew all the moments from before were weighing on him from the way the bond ached in her chest.

“I love you,” she said, hoping it was what he needed to hear, because it was the truth, in all its weight and simplicity. “I’m so proud of you.”

He grasped her hand and squeezed it; then angled the mirror to catch her face above his. “I could not be prouder of you. I couldn’t do any of this without you.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “Do you know how much I love you? What you mean to me, Elain?”

She bent forward, her bronze-gold curls mingling with the remaining loose red locks around his shoulders.

“Yes,” she said, her smile brighter than the dawn. “I’m your new hairdresser.”

He burst out into a wet laugh. “I’m afraid it will only add to your burdens, my love.”

“I swore to bear them with you,” she said. He rose and pulled her to stand, the comb and the mirror dropping forgotten to the floor. “I meant it.”