The Sindaco’s cave, like everything else down here, is dim, cast in shadows. I am able to make out several maps adorning the stone walls, lanterns and candles sitting in the places where a bit of rock protrudes into the room. Because of this, the cave has the radiance of sunset, all golds and yellows and pinks.
“That will be all; thank you, Dorian,” the Sindaco says.
“Wait!” I blurt out, catching us all off guard. “I’d prefer he stay.”
Dorian stares from the Sindaco to me and back again. Sure, the Sindaco’s like the High Regent and I’d never speak in such a way to the ruler of Bellona, but Raevald’s never put me in a position to, oh, I don’t know, lead an army to victory for him.
The Sindaco nods, eyes heavy, expression unreadable. “Very well. Dorian, you may stay.” I can’t tell if I’ve angered him or impressed him with my request.
I glance back at Dorian, who’d taken a few steps toward the exit, and I catch a glimpse of the back of the door. There’s a large posting tacked to the metal. Not so dissimilar from the ones now nailed all over the island, but this one reads JOIN THE REVOLUTION!
Below the heading is the image of three shadowed figures holding hands beneath a crescent moon. The person in the center, a girl, I think, based on her long hair and delicate features, has a golden star painted on her chest. Underneath the picture, in smaller print, it reads THE MOON WILL RISE AGAIN!
I turn and face the Sindaco, my stare hard, focused. I’m the one sizing him up now. Let him see how it feels.
“Please … sit,” he says in a quiet yet stern voice, ignoring Dorian and meeting my stare, challenging me to break away first.
I won’t. He wants me to be some strong Lunalette? Fling me into that role without warning? He’s gonna get just that.
Stepping forward, I sit and slide back into one of the cold, weathered chairs in front of his desk. I clasp my hands in my lap. Dorian takes the seat next to me.
“Veda Adeline,” the Sindaco says, his dark eyes piercing. “You must have so many questions—”
“A few,” I break in.
The corner of his mouth twitches, but he continues speaking before I can decide whether it was going to inch into a grin or grimace. “I expect that Dorian explained the basics, but, please, ask me whatever you like.”
I sit up and scoot to the edge of my seat. “Dorian’s been great. He’s told me a lot. And you’re right, I have so many questions.” I scoot even closer. “But the one I seem to keep dwelling on is something you said at the celebration, that the Lunalette has come home. If that’s me, if I’m this … Lunalette … and I’ve never been here before in my life, what in the Sun could you possibly mean?”
He gives a curt nod. “Let’s backtrack a bit, shall we?”
I fold my arms over my chest, and I can’t help wonder if we’re both fighting for a bit of control here. Actually, I’m quite sure of it. I lean back in my chair. “All right.” I’ll play along.
“Dorian told you the story of the legend, yes?”
“He did. It was quite a tale.” I swear I catch Dorian cringe out of the corner of my eyes. And, all right, maybe I am pushing the Sindaco a bit. But from where I’m sitting, I don’t owe him my trust, certainly not my loyalty. If anything, he owes me.
Another short nod. “Good, good … I’m not sure Dorian’s aware, but since I became head of the Night, and especially after the uprising that cost us so many lives, finding our Lunalette has been one of my top priorities.” Now I’m the one stiffly nodding once. “I truly believe, Veda, that you are the key to revolution. To giving Basso the freedom and respect they deserve. To finally freeing an entire group of people out from under the oppressive thumb of the Imperi.”
“How are you so sure I’m this person?”
“There are several signs that line up, but most telling is the scar over your heart. The legend speaks directly to it.”
I eye Dorian. “But there are similar stories on Bellona. I know how these things go … Stories are repeated, made grander with each telling.”
“You don’t believe in fate? Prophecies?”
I shrug. I catch Dorian gawking at me from my periphery. I ignore it, answering the Sindaco. “I wouldn’t say I don’t believe, but I’ve never been around when one came true.”
“Ah, I see. Well, let me ask you this: Did you believe the stories the Imperi told about the Night?”
I hesitate, but answer truthfully. “Yes.” This seems to please the Sindaco. “But people were disappearing around me. Our villages were being burned, property destroyed. My parents were taken and killed by the—”
“Your parents were never taken by us. They were members of the Night.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I mean, Dorian told me the Night didn’t kill them, but … members? There’s no way.” I’m still shaking my head. “It’s not possible.”
He stays silent like he’s waiting for me to come around to the idea.
I continue talking myself out of it. “I’ve always been told my parents were taken, brutally killed by the Night.” I look into his eyes. “If what you’re saying is true, that they were actually members of the Night, then who killed them?” I assume he’s going to give the same answer Dorian did, that if anyone took my parents it was the Imperi, but I test him anyway.
“The Imperi. During the first war.” His words are softer than I expect, like he’s delivering bad news. I suppose he is. But I never knew my parents. They’ve been dead all my life, buried with any infant memories I might have had of them. The hows and whys don’t change their absence, the senselessness of their early deaths.
Still, I’m forced to take a deep breath. Fight the heat barely simmering behind my eyes. Stay focused in the present.
What would he gain by telling me my parents were members if they weren’t? I’m not sure, but if what he’s told me is true, then all I’ve known to this point is lies, the truth stolen, tossed upside down, and scrambled into nonsense. “Why? Why would the Imperi kill my parents?” It comes out as an accusation and maybe it is.
The Sindaco doesn’t answer right away, but takes his time as if choosing his next words carefully. Then he simply shakes his head. “Your mother was a member of the Night. She was captured by the Imperi in battle.” He clears his throat, staring toward an empty corner of the cave. “I apologize, Veda, but she was tortured and then executed like so many of our soldiers during that time.” The Sindaco looks back at me.
Meanwhile, I’m not even sure how to take this information much less whether to believe him or not. I stay cautious. Skeptical. Skim over the details he just shared because I can’t begin to delve into their meanings right now. It’s what Poppy would tell me to do. Not to be too spontaneous or careless with my reaction.
He’d say, Wait. Listen.
“And my father?” I’m 100 percent confident the Sindaco won’t have any information, because the man’s a ghost. If his own daughter’s only knowledge is his first name, that he wasn’t married to my mother, how would this stranger have anything new to offer?
The Sindaco shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says simply.
No one does.
I push the ghost of my father back into the shadows of my mind and focus on this new maybe-true information about my mother. A member of the Night? A soldier? Could she have been? It would partially explain Poppy’s silence over the years about her, his always avoiding the subject, only ever answering my questions with the same quick, short mumblings.
I do my best to pull away from all those unknowns, but my heart races at the sheer idea of it, the image of my mother running around under the cloak of night, atlatl at the ready, fighting the Imperi. My stomach sinks, my chest tightens; severe doubt and wanting badly to know the truth battle within my mind.
“Your grandfather was sworn to secrecy,” the Sindaco says as if reading my expression, sensing how my insides are turning end over end. “He knew what was at stake if anyone ever found out, so he locked the truth—your mother’s secret, your secret—deep down.”
I nod once, head swimming, and all I can think is how horrible Poppy is at keeping secrets. But when I look across the desk and to the Sindaco I can see he’s pleased. Not in a smug way but in a way that feels like he thinks I’m coming around. Like he’s won and I’ve lost, and I won’t have that. Not until I’m sure of the truth. Sure I can fully accept all of this.
With a deep breath, I shove my questions, my emotions down for safekeeping. I’ve got to be strong. Stronger than this leader of the Night before me.
You’ve got the upper hand, I remind myself. “My secret?” I quirk an eyebrow. “That I’m the Lunalette.” It’s almost humorous to hear such an outlandish revelation leave my own mouth. Almost.
“Exactly,” he says drily.
“Here’s the problem with that whole thing … The difference between what I thought I knew of the Night and this Lunalette myth is that I had fast and solid proof the Night was evil. As far as I know, this Lunalette prophecy is only a story. One I just heard. Nothing but words with zero facts to support it.”
“Your scar is proof. Though, I get it, as you just discovered with the Imperi’s propaganda, proof can be false.”
I sigh heavily, roll my eyes. “I see what you’re trying to do. Flip everything around on me, so I’ll believe your version. It’s a little Imperi-esque, don’t you think, Sindaco?” I settle back into the chair.
The way the Sindaco’s jaw sets and his eyes focus in on mine, how his right hand flexes into a fist, I can tell I’ve gotten his attention. It’s also clear I’ve crossed a line with him.
I’m not looking directly at Dorian, but I can tell his jaw’s nearly hitting the floor.
But as quickly as he turned annoyed, with a deep breath the Sindaco’s composure changes again, voice now with less of an edge to it. “You will believe, Veda. I have faith in you. We all do,” he says with utmost confidence, folding his hands under his chin, palm to palm, as if in prayer. “But I appreciate your point. Most stories are made grander over time. However, the truth reveals itself in one way or another. I’ve found over the years that fate doesn’t always come around the way you think it will. It may be late. May be confusing. It even might be fickle. But it always shows up.”
“I guess I can buy that.”
He picks a pencil up from his desk and jots something on a map. Shakes his head. “I’m not trying to sell you on this idea, Veda.”
“Aren’t you?” Again, Dorian side-eyes me. I’m not intimidated by the Sindaco. If anything, for once in my life, I’ve got a bit of power. Control.
The Sindaco catches me off guard by laughing under his breath at my comment. “I suppose if you don’t believe what I’m telling you, then I am trying my best to convince you of it.”
“So let’s pretend, for conversation’s sake, that I am this Lunalette.” I pull my hood over my head, tug the strings so it barely tightens around my face like I’m getting into costume, though there is a cold draft. “What next?”
“You’ll become a member of the Night, join our community, train to learn to defend yourself from the Imperi.”
“Defend myself from the Imperi…” I laugh under my breath. “I’ve been doing that all my life. Fighting the Imperi is a recurring dream of mine.”
“Yes, but you won’t be fighting the Imperi … You won’t even be facing the Imperi much if things go as planned … We just want you to be ready, to be able to defend yourself if need be.”
“Wait. You want me to lead a revolution and not fight?”
“Exactly.” He says it as if he’s bartering fish for wool. As if it’s the simplest, most normal thing ever. “You’re a symbol to the Night, Veda. Something sacred, someone our people have revered and prayed to and painfully waited over a decade for. I’m not about to toss you into battle and lose you.”
“You’re asking me to flip my world upside down … To abandon my grandfather … My life … My home … Only to stand by and do nothing at all? To be a symbol?” I shake my head at the sheer idiocy of it. “I don’t think so.” Dorian shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “If I’m going to be your Lunalette, I’m doing it on my terms.”
“Veda—”
“No. Do you know how many times in my life I’ve hoped and prayed for some scenario where I’d have the slightest chance to fight back? To be in a position to stand up for myself against the Imperi? Now you’re going to hand that opportunity to me on a silver platter but with ridiculous conditions?” I harden my stare, glare across the short distance between us.
I hadn’t noticed when, but Dorian’s placed his hand over mine atop the armrest. He’s patting me gently. It’s comforting. Calming. But I don’t want to be consoled right now. I remove my fingers from under his when I readjust how I’m sitting, shove my hands into my pockets. Breathe deep.
The Sindaco leans forward, softens his expression, his voice. “Don’t you see? You’ll be saving all those things most dear to you. You’ll be a hero, Veda, the one who finally broke your people free of their invisible chains, the shanks dragging them down to the bottom of society. In this way, you will fight the Imperi. Maybe more effectively. More ruthlessly than in combat. You will be responsible for Basso finally having food, decent living conditions, and, mostly, the Imperi won’t keep them in fear under the guise of the Night.” He finds my eyes, holds my stare. “But we need you alive to do that. Think of yourself not as a follower but as a leader, as being in charge.” That’s a completely foreign notion. “It won’t be simple. I know from experience that being the one everyone looks to isn’t easy. There are days I’d much rather switch places with Dorian.” He stands up behind his desk. “I long to fight, to throw up my hands and draw my sword because I’m fed up too”—and I see it in his expression, feel it in the emotion beneath his words—“maybe even more so because when you’re the one calling the shots, you bear the consequences, good and bad.” He leans forward, hands flat against the top of his desk. “But someone must. And, believe it’s true or not, you, Veda, have been chosen.” He zeroes in on me as if going for the kill. “Can we count on you?”
I won’t deny it, he’s good. The Sindaco’s stare is expectant, his words still sinking in, and I realize my breathing’s picked up, my hands, no longer shoved in my pockets, are clutching the edge of my seat because what he said called to me. Regardless of how much I don’t want to believe what the leader of the Night who’s like-the-High-Regent-but-not is saying, my emotions, all I know and have experienced up to this point in my life, beg otherwise. But I refuse to get completely caught up in all of that. Not yet.
Slowly, I fold my hands in my lap, take a deep breath to calm my nerves. “Before I answer that question, I need to know … What did you mean by ‘our Lunalette has returned home’?” Because he never answered.
The Sindaco looks away. “I don’t have a simple answer to that question except that you’ve been a part of the Night longer than you can imagine. You’re our daughter, sister, friend, cousin … A part of our society. A member of the family. To us, you have returned home. The legend foretold it and now we’ll live it.” It’s exactly what Dorian told me.
I have no words.
“That scar over your heart is no accident, Veda. It was divinely placed there as a symbol, a responsibility.” The Sindaco stands. “I sincerely hope you’ll consider everything I’ve told you with an open heart. This is bigger than only you. Bigger than any of us.” The back of my neck prickles because hadn’t I just thought those exact words?
The Sindaco doesn’t push me to give him an answer at this exact moment. Instead, he dismisses Dorian and me, explaining he has much to do and that he hopes to see me again very soon. But not before wishing me a happy birthday.
I smile, then mumble something about it not being until tomorrow under my breath, but he either doesn’t hear or chooses not to acknowledge it. Dorian definitely hears my comment and once again gives me a horrified look over possibly disrespecting his leader.
I ignore him.
On my way out, I catch something I didn’t see when I entered. He has a small altar in the corner of his cave. But it’s not a Night altar, it’s a Bellonian altar, a Sun altar. My first thought is of home, how much I miss it after only a day—this place a world away. But upon a closer look, behind a row of candles, a hunk of quartz, one of Dorian’s glass trinkets (a five-pointed star), next to an etching of the Sun, is a Dogio crest.
“I FEEL LIKE he’s keeping something from me.” I’ve been rolling the conversation over and over in my head the entire way back to my cave, and without missing a beat Dorian’s quick to point out I’ve referred to it as “my” cave twice now. “Do you know what it is? What he’s not telling me?”
“I told you, I’ve given you everything I know. If the Sindaco has some other information, it’s not my—”
“Story to tell. I know…” He whips his head toward mine, eyes wide, slight grin tickling at his lips. I suppose he didn’t expect me to guess his next words. But, like my spinning thoughts, Dorian and I have been talking in endless circles.
When we reach cave number nine, there’s a small package waiting just inside. I pick it up and read the tag: HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
Dorian clears his throat. “Bronwyn has a penchant for gift giving. You’ll get used to it … Oh, and, happy birthday, by the way.”
“Thanks, but…”
“It’s-not-until-tomorrow.” I knit my brow. “We know.” He pushes his lips together, shoves his hands in his pockets, like he’s trying not to be smug about it. It doesn’t work. “I should also warn you, Bron’s horrible at waiting to give gifts.”
I smile down at the box. “She’s sweet.” Then I stare back up at Dorian. “But if it’s more tea, I’m not touching it.”
“A smart choice.” I untie the twine and open the linen to find a small, perfect loaf of bread. I lift it to my nose. It’s all spices and pumpkin, maybe a bit of apple, and my mouth’s instantly watering despite the tight knots in my gut. “It smells delicious.”
“Expect more where that came from. I could be wrong, but I think she wants you to stay,” Dorian says lightly.
“Seems she’s not the only one.”
“I … I mean, of course I want you to stay—for the revolution. The legend.” Dorian avoids my eyes as he runs his hand through the long side of his hair so it flops in the opposite direction. His face is flushed and he’s fidgeting with the corner of stone sticking out from the wall. Vulnerable. Embarrassed. Completely endearing. And I’m loving every second of it so much that I allow him to squirm just a little longer.
“Dorian?”
“Yeah—” He continues avoiding my eyes.
“I was referring to the Sindaco.”
“Right. Of course. I mean, all of us—the Night, in general—agree with the Sindaco.” He steps farther into the cave, starts checking the oil in the lamp, replacing a low-burning candle with a fresh one from his pack.
It’s then—Dorian’s charming energy putting those silly butterflies in my empty stomach on notice, pushing some of that worry to the side—that I realize how very hungry I am. I begin tearing into the bread. Somehow it even tastes better than it smells.
I gaze back to Dorian, offering him a piece to which he politely refuses. “Thanks, by the way,” I say. He’s standing by the door, hands shoved back in his pockets, expression oblivious. “For the glass Sun.”
He takes a few steps closer. “If it were me and I’d had to leave everything I know out of the blue, I know I’d want a special reminder of home.”
I’m only able to nod. The mere mention of home sends me into a sudden bout of homesickness. Not because I’ve been away so long, but for the notion of what’s to come. Of the days, weeks, months leading up to the revolution and the what-ifs over how all of that might look, over possible failure. The unknown. And, of course, of what all of this means for Nico and me.
That, as much as I know I should ignore and push it aside, I can’t deny the butterflies and fluttery swirling that takes over when Dorian looks at me that way he does. How my cheeks heat up without my permission when he smiles that crooked smile because of something I’ve said or done. But Nico … There’s a very real emptiness in my heart right now for him. And maybe that’s why I bridge the space between Dorian and me, meeting him where he stands just inside the doorway. “It is special,” I finally manage, the effort of swallowing back my brimming emotion causing my voice to hiccup. “I know each one of these creations must take a lot of time and thought, concentration and effort. It means so much that you’d do that for me.” I look him in the eyes. “Truly, it does.” Dorian catches my eyes with his own. The deepness of his silver-blue gaze sends a slew of goose bumps up and down my arms. It’s like he’s seeing so much more than I’m intending to reveal. My cheeks grow warm, the heat reaching up into my ears, down my neck. I take a step away more abruptly than I mean to.
Dorian’s eyes, no longer searing into mine, glance toward the mat in front of the mural.
“Do you have more questions?” He speaks softly, moving into the room and toward the mat as I follow. “Ones I can maybe answer? Anything that might ease your decision?” We sit down across from each other.
I think for a moment. In my conversation with the Sindaco I’d mentioned the proof (while false) of the Night’s harmful actions helped me believe the stories. And perhaps if I believed this Lunalette story, I’d be able to more fully jump on board. “Is there anything written of this legend? A book or a scroll?” I ask.
“Proof?”
I nod. “Anything?”
“Other than the murals and tapestries, you mean?”
Oh yeah, those. I shrug. “More would be nice.”
“It’s all been passed down by word of mouth. We’ve been thorough about not being found … Not leaving a trail.” Dorian shakes his head. “I don’t envy you, Veda. It’s a heavy burden to bear. One I know most people couldn’t handle, let alone rise up for.” My stomach sinks because he’s pretty much just spoken the doubts swirling in my head. This must show on my face because he leans forward, tone strong yet calm. “What I can promise you is that I’ll be next to you every step of the way. Through training. Through missions. Preparing for battle. I will fight in your name—the symbol of revolution. Retribution. Freedom.” The way Dorian looks back at me, his eyes blue like ice yet so warm, so trusting, once again, I’m lost in them.
“That means a lot.” I manage to get the words out in a whisper.
“I mean every word with all I have.” He nods, unblinking, not taking his eyes off mine, and I realize I’ve leaned closer too. “Will you be staying the night or going back home?”
I swallow, take in my surroundings, the mural on the wall. I recall all those faces earlier at the celebration, the Sindaco’s words, Dorian’s stories, Bronwyn’s kindness, the name Lunalette embroidered by a child’s hand.
I think of my parents. That they were killed by the Imperi.
Then I think of Poppy. How he deserves so much better than the life he’s been dealt. How if there’s even the slightest chance I could change that …
I glance back at Dorian. “I’ll stay. For now. But on one condition. That I can be assured my grandfather will be fed. Taken care of in my absence.”
He nods once. “Done.”