3. Saoirse

Saoirse

" I 'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that." Xan rushed over her words, fear in her eyes that I would lash out with my anger. Her concern wasn't unwarranted, but I'd long since stopped being mad about the hand I'd been dealt in life.

"It is not like it isn't true."

"I'm so selfish," she said, and my head shot up to look at her. "Of course you wouldn't want to come." She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, clearly regretting her words. Xan severely lacked a filter, a terrible habit she would need to correct if she were to be queen someday.

‘A true queen knows when to hold her tongue.' Our mother used to always lecture. I often listened in on the lessons Xan received, never given the opportunity to participate. What point was there, after all?

By blood I was the heir, but I would never be a queen. I wasn't even sure I was classified as a witch.

"I have long since come to terms with my lack of magic, Xan." My tone was dry, but necessary. She often treated me like I was fragile, breakable. And maybe that was true. I surely wouldn't be able to defend myself in a fight, as my run-in with Jephyr had proven. Born under the first solar eclipse in centuries to the two most powerful Lightlace witches in existence, I'd come out the most disappointing way possible.

"I know, I know," she said, and I turned my head away from the pity I heard lacing her voice. I refused to look at her, knowing she'd be wearing the same look she always gave me anytime she visited me at the bakery and got a glimpse into my sad, simple life.

Still, I stayed, opting to run away from the castle right after my Awakening ceremony, the final concrete confirmation that I had no powers. But I'd never escape my past, not as long as I lived behind Lanthus walls, and I could never bring myself to leave Xan.

Where would I even go if I did want to leave? Lanthus was the only place I knew how to survive, never having been further than a few miles beyond the city's walls. There were plenty of untrustworthy characters beyond the capitol's walls, and as a defenseless woman, I would stand no chance.

No, here was the safest place for me, even when it wasn't.

There were many more dangers in the world. The Draug kingdom was the closest to us, but even if the Nightstalkers who dwelled there didn't try to drain me of my blood, I would have to trek through Umbra to get there. Not to mention the fact that they would probably want nothing to do with me.

Devoid of light, Umbra was a desolate wasteland where nothing grew and no one inhabited. Lightlace parents loved to tell their children about the Darkwings, red-eyed monsters that would kill you and steal your magic that supposedly dwelled there.

Really, it was just a lie they told to make sure their children never ventured too far outside of the Kingdom walls unattended, but it had stuck through generations of witches, the tale changing ever so slightly with each passing of the torch. On the rare occasion someone needed to travel into Draug territory, Umbra was given the widest berth .

While the Darkwings weren't real, the darkness was, and Lightlace powers didn't work in Umbra.

"Look," Xan gently touched a hand to my shoulder. "I know this is a huge ask, but I can't imagine the most important person in my life not being there on a day like this. And more importantly, you can do this. You're the strongest person I know." Her arms reached around me, giving me a tight squeeze from behind. Her much shorter head only came up to my shoulder, a fact I often teased her for.

My body screamed at me to push her away, tell her absolutely not and to get out of my bakery, but my head quieted it against the wall of guilt that welled against my better judgment. There were few things in the world that I wouldn't do for Xan.

"This is too much," I said, shaking my head. "I can't."

She pulled back slightly, her grip stiff on my shoulders. "Please, for me. It's the last time I'll ever ask you to go back there while they sit on the throne. Except my wedding of course." Her voice was pleading. "I promise. You can get through one night."

I clenched my fists, her words cutting deep. "I'm nothing close to being strong, Xan. I'm barely holding it together some days." My honesty surprised me, but in this moment, I wanted her to know exactly how big of a request she was really asking of me.

Her grip tightened as she went back in for a hug. This time I sank into it, trying to enjoy the feeling of her small arms wrapped around me, even though I'd rather pull away. "You're stronger than you think, Saoirse. Please, just this once, trust me as much as I trust you. They can't do anything to you there."

I turned away, my mind whirling with indecision. In a room full of people, they wouldn't bother me. Nothing mattered more to my parents than appearances, and I doubt that had changed over the years. "What if it makes it worse?" I asked, voicing my fear quietly. A part of me worried that if I stepped behind those walls again, I might never come out .

"You won't," she breathed, her voice steady. "You never have."

Would it really be okay? It was just a party, only a few hours of my time that I would have to spend inhaling the same air as them, and I could slip right out and retreat back to the safety of my bakery the second she got her powers. A part of me wanted to see it—the moment she got everything she had ever wanted, the moment she'd been working toward her entire life. I resented a lot about my life, but never Xan.

When finally, the person who could change the Lightlace for the better, came into her powers. It would be decades before she got to sit on the throne, but one day she would, and I knew in my bones she would change the world the same way she'd changed mine.

I'd been out from under their thumb long enough. They couldn't control me anymore.

"Fine," I said finally, my tone clipped. Her head shot up, arms dropping back down as she whirled me around with her excitement. My lips twitched slightly, her still youthfully rounded cheeks tinged with happiness.

"You mean it? Wonderful," she exclaimed at my nod, sagging with relief.

"Give me an hour and I'll be on my way," I told her, already busying myself with the mountain of dishes my foray in the kitchen had built up. Maeve had always yelled at me to clean as I go, but there was no fun in that.

Without further protest, Xan left, and I made quick work of my closing tasks as my anxiety increased tenfold with each passing second.

Alone with my thoughts was a dangerous place to be.

They can't hurt me. They won't hurt me, I corrected. They could hurt me if they really wanted to. It wouldn't be the first time, and it wouldn't be hard. But as much as my parents hated me, they would never do anything to cause a scene when all eyes were on them .

From an outsider's perspective, I was the shunned eldest daughter of the king and queen of the Sol Kingdom. The forgotten heir. There wasn't a name that hadn't already fallen from the lips of my peers. Even worse were the words that came from my parents.

Gloom leached into my train of thought, threatening to suffocate me as I finished the last dish, hanging the large mixing bowl from the rack to let it dry with shaking hands. I looked down at them, the skin slightly wrinkled from the prolonged exposure to water, fingers scarred from years of misplaced knife cuts. My talents were more aligned with baking, where sharp knives and open flames were not nearly as prevalent.

With nothing else to stall my departure any longer, I ascended the rickety set of dilapidated stairs in the back of the bakery, taking as long as possible on each step as I did. I said I would go, not that I would be on time, and each movement I made filled me with a wave of dread that I feared might pull me beneath the surface and drown.

My room was at the top of the stairs, a lonesome door against a backdrop of wood, a small washroom to the right of the stairs, hidden only by an off-white curtain. The space used to be storage, but when Maeve had learned of my situation, she'd converted it into a bedroom just for me. My heart warmed at the thought of my old friend, a mother to me, in a lot of ways. At least I'd have someone to talk to while Xan was busy.

My abysmal wardrobe stared back at me as I contemplated what to wear. Dresses were not something I often needed, and by often I meant absolutely never. My typical outfit consisted of loose pants that cinched tightly at my ankles, and whatever long-sleeved shirt I'd managed to rescue from the clothing donations left at Daer's temple. It always astounded me that people thought leaving a pile of raggedy old clothing and stale bread would bring them favor, but I was also grateful for it.

The gods had long since abandoned this world; a half-assed offering of food wasn't going to bring them back .

Frustration burned in my veins as I considered my options. To show up to an Awakening dressed in my less than stellar attire would be the same as painting a target on my back. The goal was to remain unnoticed until it was socially acceptable for me to leave. The fewer people I had to speak to, the better. Most everyone left me alone, but showing up entirely underdressed was the exact opposite of what I wanted.

I needed something better.

My eyes froze on a strip of tattered lilac fabric that just barely peeked out behind my barrage of neutrals and blacks, and I reached for it like a lifeline, barely noticing the way the worn material was fraying around the edges.

My Awakening dress.

I am not really sure why I bought it. We all knew what was going to happen. I'd been poked, prodded, and tested from all avenues over the years, and every time, the results were the same. I had no magic. Not one miniscule, microscopic granule of magic, and I'd never been allowed to forget it.

Deep down, I think the dress was a rare moment of hope, that maybe, just maybe, my magic would show up. That all this time had been Daer's version of a sick joke, and I'd finally be able to fit in the way I'd always craved.

But it hadn't.

I fingered the dress, and after a brief hesitation, I pulled it out. My clothes fell to a heap on the floor as I made quick work of shimmying into the dress. The dress hugged my waist a little too tightly, and I was honestly surprised that I still fit into it. Six years was a long time for it to hang in my closet.

At the time, I'd been lost, and I spent a few rough nights sleeping in doorways and in alleys, where it seemed safe enough. I'd thought technically being a princess would curry me a warm bed in someone's home, but I'd quickly realized how wrong I'd been. In the inner city, away from the sedentary life of the castle, I'd soon learned that most people didn't even know who I was. And those that did, didn't care. Without magic, I was worse than even the scummiest of witches.

The dress was long; the hem coming to a stop at the top of my feet, just the way I liked it. The tightness was mostly in the shoulders and hips, but as long as I stood as straight as possible, it would be okay.

I couldn't train in combat like the rest of the witches of Sol, so I spent the majority of my days in the bakery, where I sampled a few too many pastries on the daily. It wasn't glamorous work, but it kept me out of the castle and a roof over my head. And if I was being honest, baking had fast become one of my favorite activities. There was something so cathartic about executing a new recipe, losing myself in the measurements and techniques, and then having a delicious pastry to show at the end as a result. I often baked for different events at the castle and would send them with Maeve to deliver.

I ran my hand through my ginger curls, cursing when my fingers tangled in a mass of knots in the back. With a frustrated sigh, I yanked my hand through it, wincing at the tearing noise from my hair. I wiggled my fingers, letting the few strands of hair that wrapped around them fall to the floor. There was a toilet in the bakery but no bath, and I was forced to visit the wellsprings each day to clean myself. My hair was a constant battle of tangles and dryness, but I did the best with what I had. It didn't bother me if my hair looked a mess, which it usually did.

It is not like anyone ever paid attention to me, anyway.