The next few days slipped past in a haze. I would rise, step onto the stage, and heal until my head smoked. Nights blurred into mornings, and the only thing that ever seemed to change was the soup’s taste. The faces I healed melted together, their names and stories lost in the endless tide.
With everything swirling around me, the Solar Festival slipped my mind entirely. At least I didn’t have to worry about gifts this time—women gave theirs during the Lunar Festival, and now it was the men’s turn to return the favor. A small mercy, really.
The first thing to arrive that morning wasn’t the solar knights, but an avalanche of mail—letters upon letters, some written in elegant calligraphy on thick, perfumed paper, others scrawled on scraps of old newsprint, barely legible. Then came the packages, from ones that could fit in my palm to those that needed two servants just to drag them inside. Word of my healing magic had traveled farther than I ever imagined. Most of the gifts weren’t even from people I’d helped, just hopeful strangers trying to buy a place at the front of the line. There was so much, the Yuwen servants could have spent a week sorting it all. It was so absurd that even jealousy seemed pointless—except to Anna, who stormed off the moment she realized only a handful of packages bore her name.
I couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer volume, though most of it meant little to me. There were dresses big enough for two of me, hats so hideous I wondered if they were meant as a joke, stuffed animals—some real, some monstrous—a couple of swords, and more handkerchiefs than I could ever use. Most of it would end up shared or donated to the family, though Anna, in her usual prideful way, refused to touch any of it. She said she wouldn’t lay a finger on gifts meant for a whore.
Still, a few treasures were hidden among the clutter—money, jewelry, dresses that actually fit, and even paintings of me healing on the stage. I didn’t like those paintings; they made me look like some kind of saint, distant and untouchable. Janus wouldn’t let me sell them, though. He insisted the artist had captured something in my eyes. I wasn’t so sure.
The gifts that mattered most came from the Yuwen family. Janus’ brothers sent little boxes filled with sweets and delicacies from the capital—thoughtful, if not exactly inspired, since everyone else got the same. Still, I couldn’t complain. I even found a box of licorice tucked inside, and I nearly cried from how much I’d missed it. Sadly, no one else seemed to like it, though, so the others quietly slipped their licorice to me. Maybe it was better that way.
But the gift that stole my breath was the pair of Sun and Moon necklaces Janus had chosen. We already had the marriage ones, but these were for our engagement—a tradition among nobles, who always seemed to need another excuse for something beautiful and expensive. Most commoners made do with simple pendants for engagements, opting to buy more expensive ones for the marriage, but Janus wanted something special. His was a Sun: a round ruby at its heart, rays of teardrop rubies set in white jade and circled by white gold. Mine was the Moon: a crescent sapphire resting on onyx, also wrapped in white gold. They felt heavy in my hands, as if they carried more than just metal and stone.
For now, we’d each tucked a lock of hair inside the lockets. Janus promised we’d visit the dwarves soon to have one of those “new” photographs made, the kind everyone seemed to want these days. I wondered if a picture could ever hold what I felt when I looked at him.
The Festival itself was a far cry from the chaos of the Moon Festival back in Rosedorn. Here, everything was orderly: nobles gathered in the Eclipse Cathedral for the sermon, then retreated to celebrate quietly with their families. A few parties were held, but nothing grand. The commoners, though, filled the streets with color—orange, yellow, red, and even white in the wealthier quarters. A great stage was set up for the fairest maiden contest, where women danced and sang, and the winner could choose any man from the crowd for a dance. Their laughter drifted up to the cathedral windows, making me envious.
While laughter and music spilled through the city, I found myself trapped in the cathedral’s cold hush. I wasn’t even allowed to sit beside Janus; instead, I was tucked away with the other cardinals, their eyes still wary, for Lucrezia had thrown a wrench into their plans by making me a cardinal. Janus sat alone, though his mother, Olivia, offered me a gentle, reassuring glance from across the aisle. At least the twins were spared, left at home so their small voices wouldn’t disturb Lucrezia’s sermon. The sermon itself was mercifully brief, all about resilience and forgiveness, but the ceremony dragged on. We each drank from a chalice and breathed in incense—just water and ordinary smoke, or so it seemed. Yet as I swallowed and the scent filled my lungs, I felt something strange and bright flicker inside me. It wasn’t mana. Only later did I realize it was divinity itself. If any other demon had tasted it, they would have burned from the inside out.