Chapter 13
The sacred thirteen Constellations lived harmoniously in the Empyrean since the birth of the cosmos, long before the written world.
The Shattering: A History
DAWN brOKE AND THE TWITTERING of birds outside the window aroused Astraia from sleep. It took a few moments for her to realize her eyes were swollen almost entirely shut, and the rush of memories from the night’s horrors came flooding back.
She attempted to shift in the bed, but her body was like a corpse in rigor mortis.
Her back was stiff, aching and throbbing everywhere—even her insides were as though molten lava had been poured down her throat and settled in her gut.
She dared not breathe too deep, as she realized her lungs were also damaged.
Breathing was like ice shards stabbing her lungs, every inhale as painful as the exhale.
Forcing her swollen eyes as wide as she could, she peered at the chair next to the bed, and the bounty hunter sleeping there.
Astraia could faintly make out his disheveled hair, his head at an uncomfortable angle, overextending his neck.
She tried to turn her head, but was met with white-hot pain.
An unsolicited moan wretched free from her throat, a searing throb following as the sound escaped.
Draven bolted upright, inhaling sharply, and his gaze landed on hers. Pity and remorse flickered across his eyes before he spoke.
“I’m going to remove the manacles now, okay?” He looked at her in earnest, waiting for her approval.
Fear crept into her mind at the idea of her bonds returning.
She had lived with her Sacrifice bond for over a decade, but Power still frightened her.
Her incompetence and lack of control frightened her.
What if her tether did not return either?
She could never use her bonds again, or she would burn out.
Without a doubt, she would never survive another flare like last night.
“I will not let you flare. You have my word,” Draven said firmly, pulling the key from around his neck.
Astraia stilled, inhaling slowly as she buried her fear. She was Starlight. She would not die today.
Nodding, Astraia relaxed her hands, allowing Draven to remove them. The sound of the key turning and metal clinking together as the shackles were released made her pulse quicken.
As soon as the manacles were gone, a flood of emotions came rushing back to her. The desert of her mind was washed over with the sea of her bonds, memories, and feelings—everything that made her who she was.
She was nauseated, her burned stomach now gurgling with acid, and she choked down bile that threatened to burn her throat more. White spots floated in front of her eyes, and she slammed them closed before she fainted.
Refocusing on finding her tether needed to be her priority.
Trepidation was her companion as she swam in the murky blackness of her mind.
Treading above the surface, she called for Elion, a little more than a whisper echoing in the dark.
When there was no response, she swam further, shouting now for her brother.
Still no smile or comforting voice flickered in the darkness.
A memory of a locked chest buried deep in her mind resurfaced.
Letting the dark seas take her, she sank into the abyss, pulling through the expanse with her hands.
Years passed by in seconds as she swam through time itself before she finally saw a subtle golden glow tucked in the deepest corner of her mind.
She made her way to the glow, a small chest appearing in the black depths. She exhaled loudly, relieved, and tipped open the lid to the chest.
A warm light glowed up at her. Elion’s smile flashed across her mind. His laugh bubbled from the depths. His teasing tickled her insides.
Stretching out her hand, the delicate memories floated in the expanse until they coalesced into a silvery white thread upon her palm.
There was never an end or a beginning to the tether.
It just stretched endlessly before her and behind her, as if linked to time.
Astraia hated time—always asking for more than it gave.
Slowly, she anchored her tether to her core, and wrenched open the door to Sacrifice.
Warmth in her spine spread to her hands, a blue glow pulsing from her palms. Her pain seeped away as Sacrifice worked to heal her mangled body.
She let out a small laugh, a tear sliding down her cheek as her body mended.
Her eyes were no longer swollen as she looked at the bounty hunter. A small smile crossed his lips as he gazed at her, the muscles in his shoulders relaxed.
“Thank you,” she croaked, but her throat was no longer in pain.
“Heal, Traia.”
***
It took several hours for Sacrifice to completely heal her wounds. Even then, soreness still throbbed in her muscles, making every effort annoyingly strained. However, she could walk and talk and eat, so that had to count for something.
Astraia had never been so thankful for her bond before now.
She was always grateful to heal others, allowing her some form of penance for her sins, but she had never been on the brink of death herself.
Despite Draven’s attentiveness, the likelihood of Astraia making a full recovery without the use of her bond would have been miniscule.
At the very least, she would have never been able to walk properly again, and her hearing would have been permanently damaged.
She hugged her arms around her chest, pulling her cloak tighter. It was later in the afternoon. The midday meal already passed as she stood in the grassy field behind the inn. Draven had protested when she began to pull on her clothes to leave their room, saying she needed more time to rest.
But she had simply waved her hand at him, scoffing, and said something along the lines of, “You see what I do to men who assert themselves,” before she sauntered out the door.
To her relief, the bounty hunter had left her in peace as she let the sun’s rays warm her.
Her gaze lingered on the burned stables for but a moment, taking in the damage.
Half of the twenty stalls had burned completely, but from the gossip she heard this afternoon in the dining hall, none of the horses perished.
Astraia uttered a small prayer of thanks for this one good omen.
Before leaving the dining hall, she did hear the barkeep muttering about scattered skeletal remains being found in the wreckage, but they had quickly disposed of the evidence before more whispers ruined the inn’s reputation.
Astraia was overcome with a wave of relief and shame walking to the field.
She knew the men deserved their fate, but she had killed again—her tainted soul thrust closer to condemnation.
Inhaling deeply, relishing the ease of breathing with fully healed lungs, Astraia forced the dark thoughts back into their cage. She had accepted her damnation the day her brother died. At least now there were three less evil men to plague the realm.
A loud snorting noise broke her from her thoughts as she stood in the field. Looking to her left between some of the blooming apple trees was Orion lazily grazing on sweet grass. As if sensing her stare, his ears perked up, and he raised his head from his feasting, walking toward her.
She smiled, holding up her hand as he approached. He nuzzled his head into her hand, allowing her to scratch between his ears before she patted the side of his neck.
“Hi, boy. I’m so glad you’re safe,” she murmured, resting the side of her head on his enormous neck, his black silky coat warm beneath her face.
He snorted, as if cursing her for being reckless and for slapping him.
Astraia chuckled, then grabbed his reins and led him toward one of the intact stalls of the stables.
After bribing Orion with oats, she left the stables and made her way back to the room above the dining hall before dinner.
The smell of roasted boar wafted through the hall as she climbed the stairs, her stomach growling in protest, but she had not seen the bounty hunter all afternoon, and this had unsettled her.
Yanking open the wooden door, she froze. Draven was sitting in the chair facing the fireplace, a few embers still glowing. He had made sure the fire remained lit all night as she healed.
But the flames were not what caught Astraia’s eye. It was the sealed scroll in his hand. This scroll was smaller than the letter he had received previously, but the wax seal was identical—another correspondence from the Celestial Court.
Astraia did not breathe as she stood in the doorway, looking at her fate literally held in his hands. The bounty hunter sat on the edge of the chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he held the scroll with both hands, and his fingers traced the edges of the wax seal.
He did not raise his head, but Astraia could see the furrow between his brows, and the muscles in his jaw clenched.
Hours passed in a matter of seconds before Draven finally rose from the chair, glanced down at the unopened scroll, and flung it into the embers. It took a few moments before the parchment caught fire, but as the wax melted and the words burned, Astraia’s heart thundered out of her chest.
Draven watched the fire lick the ink clean from the scroll before he turned to face her.
The glow of the flames flickered against his face, catching the golden flecks of his eyes and reflecting them back at her.
She still had not moved from the doorway, afraid of what answers lay beyond the threshold.
The bounty hunter held her gaze as he spoke, his voice commanding and resolute.
“I will take you to Volpes.”
Astraia’s eyes widened, perplexed. “I don’t understand.”
“I said, I will take you to Volpes.” He cocked one eyebrow at her, as if annoyed by her question.
“And what of your reward, bounty hunter? Your king will be expecting his pound of flesh. You expect me to believe you would defy your master?” she sneered, slamming the door behind her as she strode toward him. Her boots thudded on the floor with every flustered step.
Draven did not falter, keeping his eyes trained on her as she approached him until they were only an arm’s length apart.
“No,” he replied, a challenge in his stare.
“Then why should I trust you? Why take me to Volpes?” Astraia hissed, her fists clenched by her sides, her bonds stirring just beneath her newly healed skin.
“Because maybe, I have realized that you would rather burn than be taken prisoner.” His voice lowered to a hushed whisper. “And maybe, I would rather face the wrath of a false king than see you burn.”
Astraia blinked, stunned at the bounty hunter’s confession. Her mouth opened, then snapped closed, words escaping her.
A small curve tipped the side of his lips, forming a subtle smirk, a look of satisfaction that he had rendered her speechless.
“We will leave at first light,” he said as he turned away from her, making for the door. He did not utter another word as he closed it behind him.