Chapter 8
Order is a concept, a fanciful desire, unless solidified in action. Thus, Balance sustained order through his guidance and allocation of blessings. We too must bridge the gap between disarray and harmony. Only then, with our deeds and conduct, can the realm flourish with the Stars.
Trutinoris, Priest of Balance
ASTRAIA’S CLOAK RUSTLED BEHIND HER as she sped down alleyways, weaving through buildings, unsure of her destination but certain of her motive.
Get as far away from the bounty hunter as possible.
The sound of rushing water was her only compass as she sprinted, slowing as she came to groups of townspeople in an attempt to avoid suspicion.
Tugging her cloak lower over her head, she pushed her way through a particularly busy part of the market as shopkeepers offered their wares and haggled prices.
The roar of the crowd deadened the anxiety threatening to overcome her.
She needed only to reach the bridge, then she could lose herself in Virellia. Without Orion, it would be difficult to cover ground quickly, but she could stow away in a wagon if needed or temporarily borrow a horse.
A disturbance up ahead gave Astraia pause as she craned her neck to see what the commotion was. She could just make out three Celestial Guards riding down the street toward her, shouting at the townspeople to clear the way.
A man beside her muttered to his companion, “They’re looking for that Starborne.”
Her pulse quickened as she backed away from the street and ducked into a dark alleyway. Cursing under her breath, she ran through the shadows.
Astraia’s boots pounded against the ground, lungs burning with each breath, her newly returned bond humming beneath her skin like a barely caged storm.
She was almost to the other end of the alley, close to the docks, when her back slammed against the stone wall, her breath knocked out of her.
Rough hands grab her wrists, pinning them above her head.
Her eyes adjusted to the darkness to find glowing molten eyes glaring back at her.
“You're going to get yourself killed,” he breathed, both of them panting.
“You think I care?” she seethed, teeth bared, trying to pull her hands down out of his grasp.
“You lit up half the district like a beacon. If the Court’s eyes didn’t see it, the bounty hunters did.”
“I saved a man’s life. That used to count for something.”
“Not if it gets you killed.” His voice was low, harsh, clipped. But his eyes searched hers—like he wasn’t sure if she was about to collapse or combust.
Astraia’s bonds were still humming, on edge from the threats surrounding her. “You will never let me go. I use my bond to give people a sliver of hope, and you still don’t care. All you care about is your bounty.”
“Now you’re finally using your head.”
Astraia stilled, her breath catching.
“If I’m not the one holding you,” he continued, quieter now, “some other hunter will find you. And they won’t offer manacles. They will offer the sword or worse.”
She swallowed, her throat tight at the truth in his words. His body still blocked her way, heat radiating between them.
“Don’t pretend you care about me,” she muttered, glaring at him.
“I don’t. But I care about keeping you alive.”
They stared at each other, weighing the gravity of the moment. Astraia had a choice—which cage she could accept. The cage that kept her bonds quiet but her skin intact, or a cage of inevitable torture.
Draven stepped back, lowering her wrists, but kept a hand wrapped around her arm. “Come on. Before someone less patient finds you.”
“And if I don’t?”
He looked at her sternly as the sound of boots and clanking armor echoed down a nearby street. “Then you better pray to the Stars the next person who finds you still thinks you’re worth more alive.”
_
“There.” Draven motioned just ahead to a sign hanging above a door that read, The Capri Inn. He still held her arm, but did not bind her with the manacles, which puzzled Astraia.
The smell of baking bread and roasted meat floated through the air as they drew closer to the inn. The noise of boisterous patrons reverberated off the stone walls of the alleyway. Tired and suddenly famished, she eagerly stepped through the door held wide by her captor.
The inn was full of guests either grabbing a drink from the bar or eating their meal. A true melting pot of Astradeon with people from all over the continent.
Astraia’s eyes flitted between the tables, first noticing a small group of acolytes from the Hollow City temples, wearing their white robes and heads shaved.
Seated at the bar were two men dressed in furs and wearing leather armor, a custom of the Skyforge Peaks dwellers.
Their long beards were braided with small white beads.
Old stories once said the beads were whittled from Drakari bones, the once great beasts that flew across the empyrean as stewards of Rage, their massive bat-like wings carrying their enormous scaled bodies leagues without effort, breathing fire as judgement.
Other unassuming people were seated at various tables, laughter and conversation filling the entire room.
Her mouth tugged into a smile at the sight of the people.
The resilience of Astradeon’s people never ceased to amaze her.
The Constellations had left them, forsaken them, but they still found a will to keep living.
The world might have darkened, but there was still some Starlight left in the hearts of the people.
Astraia noticed Draven shift beside her, and she stole a sideways glance toward him, only to find him staring at her.
Without a word, Draven dropped her arm and strode to the barkeeper, inquiring about a room.
She took advantage of the brief reprieve to breathe deeply, the realization of her predicament crashing down on her.
There was no clear path ahead. Astraia was a tactician, born and bred to ascertain her enemy’s weaknesses and exploit them to achieve her goals, but she had not prepared to be caught in a hunter’s snare.
Failure was for the powerless. Astraia was not powerless. She was power reborn, and she would escape. There was no alternative.
The innkeeper barely glanced Astraia’s way, even with her cheeks flushed, cloak battered and soiled with dirt and the blood of her enemies, and eyes like twin storm fronts.
Draven dropped some solas into the innkeeper’s hand and returned to her side holding a single key.
She glared, heat rushing to her face.
“You don’t have to like it. But I still don’t trust you.”
Without another word, he gestured toward the stairs, allowing Astraia to lead.
With a sigh, she walked ahead of him and climbed the narrow wooden staircase in silence. The hallway flickered in candlelight and smelled of rain mixed with damp stone.
Draven moved in front of her to the nearest door to the staircase and unlocked it. Astraia stood in the doorway, irritation flaring as she gazed at the moonlit room.
One bed. One chair.
“I am not sharing a bed with you,” she said flatly.
“Wasn’t planning on it, Starborne,” he said as he threw his pack on the ground and sat on the edge of the bed, shrugging off his boots.
She stepped further into the room, floorboards creaking, and shut the door. “You could have let me go, let me disappear. I would have never sought you out. Why did you chase me?” she asked as she shrugged off her cloak, throwing it on the worn cushioned chair.
“Because I’ve seen what Celestial Guards and bounty hunters do to Starborne like you. Believe me, I’m doing you a favor.”
Heat rushed to Astraia’s face.
“Look,” he said, eyeing her, “I could’ve handed you over already. Chained, unconscious, maybe missing a finger. But I didn’t.”
“You want gratitude?” she snapped.
“I want you to shut up and stay alive.”
Astraia huffed, making her way to the chair, and angled it to face the bed, the chair legs scraping against the floor. With an exhale, she plopped into the chair and looked at Draven with contempt.
“If you touch me while I’m sleeping,” she said, “I’ll slit your throat and burn you from the inside out for good measure.”
“If I touch you, it will be to put those manacles back on,” he said, deadpan.
“Try it.” Challenge laced her words.
He gave a half-tired laugh, running his hand through his hair. “Stars, you are exhausting.”
“Good,” she said, a small smile of satisfaction creeping onto her face.
“And you stink,” he said, nose wrinkled.
“What?” She gaped at him, taken aback. Of all the things for him to say, this was unexpected.
“I’m not going to be stuck in this pathetically small room with you smelling like Plague rot and blood. Use the washroom.” He pointed to the door beside the fireplace, one Astraia had neglected to notice earlier.
She snorted. “Mighty bounty hunter unbothered by leading an innocent woman to death, but sneers at foul stench? My, how the mighty have fallen.”
Draven argued to his feet, making her pulse quicken and muscles tense, readying for a fight. He snatched his satchel from the floor, yanking a white shirt from the bag, and threw it to her.
Reflexively, she caught the shirt, eyes wide as she looked at him.
“Wash before I dunk you in the river myself,” he growled, turning his back to her and striding to the door. “I’m getting a drink. Don’t even think about trying to escape. I’ll know.”
He shut the door. The sound of the lock turning made Astraia’s blood boil.
She cursed at him, grasping the shirt—his shirt—and opened the washroom door.
“Oh, thank the Stars,” she moaned as she discovered a large tub with modernized plumbing.
A luxury she had not experienced in years.
She took full advantage of the fact, letting her muscles relax in scalding heat and using a healthy amount of the vanilla soap she found to clear away rot, death, and days of running.
Finally satisfied, her skin purified from slaughter, Astraia climbed out of the tub. There was a small mirror on the wall next to the wash basin. She paused at the woman staring back at her.
Although her body was tired from fighting and running for days, her face glowed, a radiance beaming back at the mirror.
Her eyes no longer looked haunted and her hair glistened with stardust in the lamplight.
The Sacrifice lumenmark glistened in the lamplight, reflecting the Pegasus Constellation on her skin. The brand of the Starborne.
Her gaze fell to the shirt lying on the table next to her. “Stars save me.”
But she really did not have any clothes to wear. This journey was never supposed to happen. It was either wear the shirt, or wear nothing. And that was not an option.
With a sigh, she pulled the shirt over her head, the fabric falling to just above her knees, brushing against bare skin like a phantom touch.
It smelled like pine and firelight and something darker—something that reminded her she was still alive.
Her bond flickered…and she didn’t push it down, sending warmth up her spine.
She breathed deeply, finally coming to terms with her plight. Captured. She had been captured. After five years of hiding, her efforts were counted worthless in a matter of a few days.
But she was not shackled. He had left her unbound. She could work with this fortunate slip-up.
Sighing, she opened the door to find the bounty hunter asleep on the bed, his massive frame taking up every inch of space on the mattress.
Unbelievable, she thought. He must have an unnatural ability to separate his emotions from his actions—hunting down Starborne in exchange for solas and still managing to sleep like an infant.
A flicker of hope fluttered in her stomach.
She crept toward his hulking form, standing just beside the edge of the bed.
She stared at his face, his brows no longer furrowed, his mouth in a relaxed line.
His beard had grown since their first encounter in Orastrea, more than a shadow now.
A small strand of his golden-brown hair fell over his forehead, obscuring one of his eyelids.
She fought the urge to sweep it to the side of his face.
The realization hit her like a wave. He was beautiful. She hated him for it.
Shiny metal caught her eye as she stared at the sleeping captor. The room key peeked from beneath his shirt, hung loosely on a cord around his neck.
Her hand extended toward his chest, her eyes trained on the key. Freedom was within her reach. All she needed to do was take it.
Warmth emanated from his skin as she lowered her fingertips toward his chest. Her breath hitched.
“I wouldn’t do that, Starborne.”
Astraia’s hand snapped back as she stifled a cry.
Draven’s eyes remained closed, a smirk on his lips. “But I applaud the effort,” he said as he opened one eye to look at her.
Blood rushed to her face, embarrassed at being caught and equally vexed. “Stars, you are insufferable,” she seethed, stomping over to the chair and collapsing into the worn cushions.
“Good,” he replied, closing both eyes once more.