Chapter 19
The initial battle that sparked rebellion by the wraiths, stewards of Dominion, was that of the siege on Interitus, the capital of Luxterra. The shadow demons overran the walls of the city, charging Nyrekh through the gates.
Broken: The Celestial War
THE FIRST THING ASTRAIA NOTICED was softness on her bare skin. Silky smoothness caressed her arms and legs. She was also warm—warm and cradled in clouds.
Her mind was clear. There was no dark abyss threatening to drown her. Just the calm serenity of her mind. She did not search for Elion. She was afraid of what she would find, or not find. And she decidedly did not have the strength for any mental turmoil.
It was quiet, but she could make out the faint sound of several people talking and laughing coming from somewhere close by, perhaps even beneath her. She breathed deep, relishing the ability to draw breath so easily without burnout mere moments from claiming her.
A calming scent filled her nose as she inhaled—pine and wood smoke.
Her eyes flew open at the familiarity.
Gazing around, she gained her bearings. She was in a small bed, covered in satin sheets and a warm, intricate quilt.
She was wearing the tunic Draven had lent her in Aquarian.
Her hands were clean of blood and soot, and her hair had been washed.
Unsure how she had gotten cleaned and dressed while she had been passed out was unsettling to her, but she did not linger long on the notion, as a creak of the door opening interrupted her thoughts.
Contrary to her cleanliness, Draven was still coated in black, sickly wraith blood, and ash peppered his hair and face.
He had removed his Drakari-scale leather armor, wearing a white long-sleeved shirt, with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows.
His mysterious mural of tattoos was visible, along with some newer scars that appeared to be scorch marks on his arms and hands.
They only served to enhance the plethora of marks from previous injuries and battles he likely had faced.
She recalled his battle with the wraith, the way he effortlessly dispatched Dominion’s steward—sheer power incarnate.
Her gaze rose to his battle-worn face. A strand of his unkempt hair fell over his eyes, and his beard could use a shave.
What was worse, was that not only was he irritatingly beautiful on the outside, but she was starting to see cracks through his rogue bounty hunter facade that showed a man of worth.
Astraia did not believe trust had been earned by Draven. But he had come to her aid. Time and time again. That had to mean something.
“Nice of you to join the living, Starborne,” he said, clearing his throat as he closed the door behind him. Astraia could have sworn there was a hint of relief in his voice, but she did not dwell on the thought.
“Sorry to disappoint.” Astraia narrowed her eyes at his retort.
He smirked, that annoying tug at the corner of his mouth that enraged and excited her.
“How long have I been asleep?” She eyed the small room around her, noticing sparse furniture, but there was a window overlooking a grassy field outside. It must be about mid-morning, based on the sun’s rays casting shadows from the trees.
“About two days,” he replied.
“What?” Astraia breathed, her gaze whipping back to Draven.
He sighed and slumped down into the chair next to her.
“You passed out after you nearly burned out. You had several burns again. And a broken arm as well, I’m guessing from meeting the wraith’s blows with your dagger.
Your Sacrifice bond did not awaken immediately to help heal you, so I brought you here.
” Draven eyed her right arm as if waiting for it to snap in two, not totally convinced it had actually healed.
“Why?” she asked, tone low in disbelief.
“What?” He stared at her, confused.
“Why did you come after me? Why not let the wraith end me? You could have taken my body to the king and collected your reward. Instead, you followed me into the fire. You finished the wraith. You saved me from burning out. Then you brought me here to heal. Time and time again you keep saving me. I need to know why, bounty hunter—if that’s even your true occupation.
” She tried to keep her voice even as tears of frustration threatened to spill.
He was lying. No bounty hunter in all of Astradeon could fight the way Draven effortlessly dispatched the wraith. Granted, the demon had been wounded, but the sheer force and speed by which Draven executed his judgment was otherwordly.
Most importantly, it was assuredly not a bounty hunter’s style.
He leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands in front of him, elbows resting on his knees. He was just inches from her face—his breath warm as it caressed her arm, sending a shiver through her.
“The Constellations spoke to you.” It was not a question but a declaration.
Astraia’s eyes widened, recalling the faint dot of light in the storm of her mind. The melodic voices that called to her, commanding her to live.
“How do you know that?” she whispered, uncertain if she wanted to know the answer.
“Only the constellations themselves could have pulled you back from the brink of total burnout like that.”
“But the constellations are gone—were gone,” she stammered. “How can I hear them? Where have they been since the Shattering?”
“You are Starborne. Chosen by not just one, but two of the Constellations. You are not like most. The Stars chose you for a reason. And now, you can hear them.”
“Why?” she yelled. Her entire body was shaking. Her hands gripped the sheets so tightly her knuckles were white. A flutter of her bonds awakened, quickening inside her with the shift of her emotions, but swiftly dimmed from fatigue.
Astraia glared at Draven. “Why now? Where have they been, Draven? Where were they five years ago when my entire world burned to ash from the curse they gave me?”
She was crying.
She had not meant to cry, but the overwhelming sense of betrayal and pure exhaustion was too unbearable. Her vision blurred from the tears, but she could not stop them.
A rough, warm hand closed around hers, gently coaxing her fingers to relax.
“Traia, breathe.” His voice was low, calm, caring even.
She blinked several times and stared at Draven, focusing on her breath—in for three seconds, out for three seconds.
Draven took deep breaths with her until she was no longer clenching the sheets and her vision cleared from crying. He continued to hold her hand, willing her to relax further.
“I do not know why they have chosen to speak now. If I knew the Stars’ intentions, believe me, I would be leagues away from here.
All I do know is that you bested a steward of Dominion, a feat most warriors could not achieve.
And you did not burn out while flaring two bonds, which no average Starborne could possibly have survived. ”
He narrowed his eyes at her, fierce determination in his gaze as he spoke. “You are meant for more. You are meant for the Constellations’ purpose.”
He relaxed his hand, pulling it away, and ran his fingers through his hair as he stood. “I am going to go check on the horses. There’s a washroom through that door. I’ll send some food up for you. You should eat.”
He grabbed his cloak from the back of his chair and made for the door.
“Draven.” Astraia shifted in the bed, wiping the remaining tears from her face. “Thank you.”
He simply nodded and closed the door behind him.
Astraia’s body was pathetically weak as she made to stand from the bed, her legs threatening to give way. How she was supposed to ride the remaining way to Volpes without falling off Orion, only the Stars knew.
The Stars… They were really alive. And they answer me.
She exhaled loudly, unsure how she should feel about this revelation.
A light knock on the door disrupted her thoughts. Shuffling slowly to the door, she opened it cautiously. A young girl stood with a platter of food in her hands.
“Hello. I was asked to bring you some food,” the girl said, smiling at Astraia.
“Oh, yes, thank you.” Opening the door wider, Astraia let the girl bring in the tray and thanked her again as she left. She hungrily devoured the soup and bread and decided a scalding bath was the best way to clear her head and wake up her body.
She gathered, based on the sounds coming from downstairs, that they were at an inn. They must be close to the lavish city of Volpes because despite the modest furnishings of the room, the washroom had running water and a large tub.
Astraia moaned as she settled herself into the steaming water, eager to let the heat melt away her sore muscles.
The wraith had drained her, mentally and physically.
Her right arm still throbbed, even though her bond had already reset the bone and likely stitched together the ligaments and tendons that had torn.
Massaging her arm, she tried to recall when it had broken, but she had flared so fiercely, it overpowered her natural senses during the fight with the wraith—dulling her pain response.
She lifted her legs from the water one at a time, inspecting for any sign of the burns Draven had mentioned, but only saw a few miniscule white scars on her left upper thigh.
Sometimes, Astraia yearned for more scars to ruin her porcelain skin. Her bond always intervened to keep her intact, but the life-threatening wounds she had experienced were only a thread of memory etched on her skin—a pale line her only reminder.
In her darker moments, she had wished her face was marred with deep horrific scars. So that every day she could look at herself in the small circular mirror in her apartment in Tenebris and remember the monster she was—the monster created by the Stars, who damned her brother.
Astraia dipped her head underwater, trying to drown the darkness in her mind. But the darkness was always there, looming on the edge of her thoughts.
She took her time in the bath but knew the rest of her journey would not wait forever. Sighing, she wrapped a towel around herself and folded up Draven’s shirt to replace in her satchel.
Opening the door to the washroom, she found Draven standing not a foot away from her, shirtless, his hand raised to knock on the door.
Tanned, scarred skin glistened in the lamplight. Every single muscle toned.
His gaze traveled from the towel wrapped around her, barely reaching her knees, and finally landed on her eyes. His hand dropped, but he did not step away from her.
“I was just finished,” she said, acutely aware of their closeness.
His insufferable smirk played across his mouth, and she could not help her eyes from flicking to his lips. She wondered what they would taste like—whether they were harsh like his hands, or soft like his eyes.
Stars save me, she thought, then blinked.
“Don’t leave on my account,” he said.
Astraia rolled her eyes and huffed, sidestepping his hulking form.
She could have sworn she heard him chuckle before the door closed behind him.