Chapter 11
In the tenth year of the reign of King Illias, Ruler of the Celestial Court, King of Astradeon, the Celestial Wars began.
First, in the heavens, as Dominion sparred with his enemies, bringing them low with trickery and deception.
Then, in the realm, by the hands of his stewards, spreading shadow and unholy fire across Luxterra.
Broken: The Celestial War
“SO WHAT NOW, BOUNTY HUNTER?” Astraia all but shouted as they wove through the crowded streets. “If you think I’m going to readily let you parade me to the Celestial Court to meet my death, you clearly have not been paying attention to who I am and what I’m willing to do for my freedom.”
Merchants were hurriedly opening their shops, while boats moored on the banks, coming and going as bees to a hive.
After breakfast, Draven had been unbearably quiet as he gripped her arm and all but dragged her outside.
Now, she had the mind to stab him in the back.
Another curiosity she could not shake was the fact that he left her armed.
He never once tried to make her relinquish her dagger or bow.
As though he did not deem her a threat. Eyeing him now, exposing his back to her as he wove between townspeople, only solidified this theory.
Draven finally turned off the main street and approached a courier emporium.
The outside of the shop had a glass window with gold etching that read, Falconry Correspondence—officially sanctioned by the Celestial Court.
Draven did not pause at the window, pulling open the door and shoving Astraia through the threshold.
The shop was musty; the smell of saltwater and the clear odor of bird droppings made Astraia’s toes curl. A young woman stood in front of the teller’s counter, holding out a small box wrapped in cloth and tied with string.
The teller smiled as he spoke. “Of course, we can deliver this to Tenebris by nightfall. Our falcons are the best in Astradeon.”
He was an elderly man with white, disheveled hair that almost mimicked a bird’s nest. Gold-rimmed spectacles were perched on the end of his long nose, giving him the appearance of a wise owl.
Even his brown vest and white long-sleeved tunic were covered in brown and white feathers.
Astraia wondered if he merely worked here or if he actually slept with the falcons.
The Astradeon falconry correspondence system had been established long before Astraia was born.
The falcons were born in the wilds of the Skyforge Peaks, high enough that only the native folk could traverse the terrain to find them.
The falcons were trained by elite falconry masters, but the real magic was the ability of the falcons to understand where they were meant to travel and how to return to their original staring point.
As a little girl, her father owned his own falcon for private correspondence.
The bird had been mostly brown with some white feathers atop his head, giving him the appearance of wearing a crown.
Astraia had given him the name Prince Aquilias after the constellation, petting him frequently and slipping him biscuits.
Her father scolded her for treating the falcon as a pet, saying she would grow too attached and when the falcon did not return one day, she would cry.
Her father had been right.
The young woman paid the teller and turned to leave. Her eyes locked onto Draven, pink flushing to her cheeks as she passed him.
Astraia's eyes rolled. “No wonder the size of your ego could match a Drakari,” she muttered, loud enough for him to hear her.
“You would be surprised,” he quipped.
“Be right with you, sir,” the teller chimed as he walked through a curtain behind the counter.
Astraia could just make out several compartments filled with falcons, all eager to take flight.
The teller stopped in front of a rather large bird, strapping the box to his leg.
The old man stretched out his arm, allowing the falcon to perch on it as he walked to the large open window at the back of the shop.
With forceful enunciation, the teller boomed, “Tenebris”—and with that, the falcon took flight.
A proud smile bloomed on the old man’s face as he ambled back toward the counter. “That never gets old. Now, what can I help you with today?” His gaze flickered between Draven and Astraia, clearly unsure what to make of the pair.
“There should be a letter that arrived this morning for me,” Draven said, “from the Celestial Court system.”
Astraia flinched, her bleak circumstances crashing over her like cold water. It had to be orders from the king. Who else would be sending Draven letters from Court? Certainly not a lover—there was not a courtesan within a hundred leagues that would tolerate this brute.
Her lips pursed, forming a line as she glared at the back of Draven’s head, her knuckles white.
She could drive her dagger in his neck right now, rid herself of his scheming for good.
But a tiny voice in her head told her to bide her time.
Astraia would be free again, but slaughtering him in the falconry was not the opportune moment.
“Ah, yes, of course.” The teller looked over his spectacles at Draven, then moved to a series of shelves to his right. After a moment of filtering through scrolls and letters, he snatched a letter with the royal seal embossed in wax on the back. “Here you are, sir. Will that be all?”
He slid the letter across the wooden counter toward Draven, who promptly snatched it up and shoved it in his cloak.
“Yes, thank you.”
Without even sparing Astraia a glance, Draven marched out of the falconry courier’s door.
***
Astraia was not accustomed to idleness, always finding ways to either secretly heal those in the slums or go on deliveries for Delphi—may the Stars curse her. So, sitting in the same spot tucked in a corner table of the Capri Inn was making her skin crawl.
Draven had instructed her to stay in the inn as he inquired after their horses and made some preparations. Stars only knew why the bounty hunter spoke cryptically, as if she did not know exactly what kind of preparations he was making. Preparations for her death march.
Astraia had been sitting in her corner of the hall until the sun began to set, drinking tea and munching on bread and cheese as she watched people float in and out of the hall.
The urge to bolt out the door and over the bridge to Virellia made her fidget uncontrollably, her foot tapping incessantly on the wooden floors.
The only change of pace for the last hour had been the steady beat of raindrops on the window next to her. The dark clouds continued to linger over Aquarian, comfortably unburdening themselves of rain.
Astraia peered outside at the small grassy field behind the inn, likely as a grazing spot for the horses stabled next door.
There were a few apple trees along the edge of the field all in bloom, white flowers dotting the green leaves.
It made her yearn for another garden, full of the most exotic and wondrous plants in the realm.
The sound of wood scraping against wood startled Astraia from her daydreaming.
A man, one of the burly ones from the Skyforge Peaks, had pulled out the chair next to her, his frame engulfing the seat. He had a cup of ale in his hand, with clear evidence of previously consumed cups lingering in his beard.
“Oi, you been here a while, ain’t ya?” His voice was husky, slurred as he spoke, glancing sideways at her.
Astraia only cocked an eyebrow, gritting her teeth in annoyance.
She already had one egotistical brute to deal with; she did not need a second.
Instead, she shifted in her seat, angling away from the barbarian and stared out the window.
Her right hand slid to her dagger on her thigh, her fingertips grazing the embossed hilt.
“Hey now.” He belched, the stench of ale on his breath. “I just wanna talk. Hadn’t talked to a pretty girl in a while.”
He slammed his mug down on the table, sticky ale sloshing over the table. Before Astraia could react, he had grabbed her chair and turned her to face him. One hand lingered on her chair, his other hand braced on the table, preventing her from leaving.
“Perhaps I do not wish to speak to a drunk,” she snapped, her bonds reacting to the threat, begging to be unleashed.
She gripped her tether, images of Elion flashing before her eyes as she bit down the desire to flare.
Her tether was slippery, uncertain and wavering.
She did not trust herself to control Power and resist a flare.
There could be countless bounty hunters in the inn. She could be staring at one right now.
“What’s the matter, girl? I’m just lookin for a good time.” A sloppy smile appeared on his bearded face. His right hand inched away from the edge of the chair and came to rest on her upper left thigh.
Her bonds were screaming now. White spots dotted her vision as Astraia tried to dampen the overwhelming hunger to flare and turn the man into a pillar of ash.
“Remove your hand, drunkard, or lose it,” she growled, her skin burning from Power lingering just beneath the surface.
“Ahh, so yer a feisty one, eh?” His speech was garbled as he slid his hand further up her thigh.
In a breath, she pulled her dagger from her thigh and slammed it down through the man’s left hand straight through the table.
He wailed, yanking his right hand away from her thigh, and made to grab the dagger that now speared his other hand to the wood. Astraia jumped from her chair, wrenching her dagger free, which elicited another scream.
The entire inn had gone silent, all eyes glued to the scene unfolding in the corner of the room.
The man grasped his bleeding hand, panting as he spoke. “You’re gonna pay for that, girl.”