c h a p t e r • o n e

Solace

I was eight years old when I came into my consciousness. My eyes opened, and my ears started to decode the world around me. My brain took note of the change, documenting each smell, sound, and sight surrounding my newfound world. 

My memories from this time are ingrained deep in my mind. Details like the cobblestone steps to our home; the way their rounded surfaces felt beneath my small feet. Marking the path to the place my parents brought me after I was born; the futile ward my father built for my mother and me. Piece by piece, stone by stone, he assembled our haven here in the forest of Curiyan after being shunned from my mother’s hometown for having an unmated child. It’s the only place I’ve ever called home, the only place we have ever been safe. 

Our home is peaceful, quiet, and spacious enough to allow my mother to spread out and be as loud and lively as she needs to be. My father created a homestead, where our lives were ignited by her presence. And although he no longer does, his soul resides here. A physical representation of everything my parents must have been together. 

Protective, in the strong walls and thick doors that contain us and keep us safe inside. Thoughtful, in the ways he placed our rooms so that the sun rose through the glass panes above our beds and set in the grand window of our main living space. Delicate, in the details of the doorways and the soft arches at the top of each, welcoming us inside. My father had built it, but my mother made it a home. Scattered with paintings and sculptures that she had collected throughout their years together. Rugs and linens made by royal Capsian cloth workers in Nar. Her warmth radiated from every room. History lined our walls despite the young age of the manor. A place I love to be, where I feel my mother in every corner. 

My least favorite season, yet the one I remember most in our home was springtime. Small white flowers bloomed along the sidewalk, seeming to smile up at me as I walked by. The air held a sweet promise that the sun would be here soon to stay, bringing us warmth once again. New life blooming around us, new greenery sprouting up where piles of snow used to lay, and a fresh rebirth of Capsian.  

It was on one of those chill spring nights that I remember my mother reciting fairy tales to me as she tucked me into my bed. Stories of mated fae, feeling their draw to one another, from across the world. Living restlessly as they wandered, looking for the soul that called to their own. Their dreams, so vivid of the one who matched the set of their own eyes. Every fleck, blemish, and iris, a twinning set to their mates. 

The first time I studied my own eyes in the mirror. Seeing their deep brown lifeless color, swallowed by a black ring gave me an overwhelming feeling of shame. Especially when it seems like everyone around me was blessed with colors found in the deepest of forests, and blended in paintings. I’ll never forget how much contempt I felt for my own eyes, their deep and despairing sight. And to imagine having to love someone with the same set brought me to tears. When my mother found me and asked me why I had been crying, I demanded that she explain how she could be so beautiful, and I so ugly. I still hold on to the melody of her voice as she told me, 

“Sweet Solace. The contrast of your brown-ringed eyes compliments your golden blonde hair and olive skin. A rare combination.” As if my muted and colorless toned features were so original. “When you were born, a ray of sunshine shone on your face. Not fire red and blazing, but golden and warm. I named you in honor of the ray of light you brought into our lives. The hope of a future as bright as you. You are made of sunlight. Remember, even in the deep dark depths of night, the sun shines through reflecting on the moons to remind us how special she is. How bright she burns. You are beautiful, treasured, and seen, please never forget that.”

These are the memories I choose to hold on to. Ones that framed my foundation. Then there are the memories that weigh heavy on my conscience with no reason as to why.  

Sitting on her plush king bed, dressed in a cream linen bed set in my mother’s bedroom, I watch her as she packs two leather duffles full of necessities. Her hands are quick and precise. Folding clothing and rolling it into the bag. Looking up at me, her green and orange flecked eyes are wild and burning. Something is different about them, but maybe I hadn’t observed them close enough before now. Her long red hair and olive skin compliment her slender nose spotted with freckles and full lips, a permanent shade of rose. I study those features, trying to cement them into my memory.

She walked this planet for one hundred and eighty-three years before having me. Being immortal has its perks. Like her ageless beauty and pointed fae ears. But there are some flaws even she can’t hide, like her utter sadness that she seems to wear now that my father is gone. I can’t pinpoint the shift inside of her, but I can feel the depth of her sadness everywhere in our home.

It’s been two short years since we lost my father and I can’t remember what he looked like anymore. What color his eyes were, or what it sounded like when he laughed. I know my mother loved him even though he was not her mate, which was a crime within itself. Being immortal, it’s inevitable that one day your true mate will be drawn to you. Until then, it is forbidden to bind yourself to another. 

My parents were unusual, but I had a strong respect for the decisions they made. They were a mere one hundred and eleven years old when they met. I like to believe that they were so deeply in love that despite knowing their mates may show up one day claiming them as their own, they chose one another anyway. That their connection and bond was something magical. He must have loved her because after being shunned from Matahari, my father set out to find land to build a haven. Which he found here in Curiyan, just on the outskirts of the main capital of Capsian, Nar. 

I can sense her sadness, even when her smile lies to everyone around us. Being an alpha, pretending that everything was fine seems to be second nature for my mother. She works hard to make sure I never feel like I am missing something. A piece of me, that quite frankly I didn’t even remember existing. I guess that means that her efforts are fruitful. 

From where I sit on my mother’s bed I can see into the long arched hallway outside her door. A tall mirror hangs reflecting a soft light from the sconces on the walls. I hear her zip up the bag before breaking my clarity of thought. 

“Solace, are you ready to go?” 

Lost in my new state of consciousness, I come back to where I sit on her bed. Shifting my feet against the linen, and blinking twice before she asks me again. 

“Are you ready to go?” I nod as I watch her lean arms pick up those two heavy leather duffles and wonder if things will ever feel the same.