Chapter Thirteen
I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. All morning, the sensation prods at the base of my spine, raising the hair on my neck anytime a floorboard creaks or the wind rattles the shutters. Once in a while, the brass grate near the base of the wall in the kitchen catches my attention and I think I see the glowing red eyes tracking my every movement—though I’m sure it must be my imagination, because every time I look again, there is nothing but darkness.
“You’re jumpy today,” Father says, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye as he peels a carrot with keen precision, wasting nothing. “Everything all right?”
I swallow hard, forcing a smile. “Just a bit tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.”
His eyes narrow, but he nods. “Feeling okay?”
“Fine, yeah,” I lie, ignoring the throbbing ache in my head that kept me up most of the night, and the sick feeling that roils my stomach. Rays of afternoon sun stream through the skylights, all too bright, and I fight the urge to block my eyes as I turn to fix Father with my own questioning look. “Do I look that rough?”
Father grins—reminding me of Owen—as he gestures at the tomato I was supposed to dice. “Your technique is sloppy.”
I don’t suppress a chuckle before I frown at the mangled red chunk of fruit. “No one likes an honest pirate.”
Dorothy, drying dishes across the kitchen, shoots me a scandalized glance, and I roll my eyes.
“ Reformed pirate,” I bite out, the sweet smile on my face laced with enough venom to keep Dorothy from looking my way again.
“Get some rest,” Father says warmly, clapping me on the shoulder. “I’ll need you at your best for dinner tonight.”
I hesitate, thinking about the red eyes I saw watching me from above while I was lying in bed that first night. It was the Shifter—I know that now. Even if my head didn’t feel as if it were splitting in two, I doubt I would have gotten any sleep after my encounter with the shape-shifting Underling in my siblings’ room last night. I doubt I’ll get much sleep now, but I agree to take a break. I head upstairs, my every muscle tense as I open the door to my chambers.
My breath hitches in my throat. There—on my bed—sits the knapsack that disappeared the night the Hackneys were murdered. I inch toward it, my heart beating faster. All too aware of the brass grate overhead, I open the knapsack with trembling hands.
Inside, two pairs of eyeballs reek of death.
I drop the knapsack, stumbling back a few steps.
“Az?” Charlie knocks on the door, waiting only a moment before barging in. He wears the crimson livery of the guards, having agreed to cover for Hugh, who had taken ill with a cold yesterday evening. It’s strange to see him in uniform with the Castors’ golden dragon embroidered on his chest, but I can’t deny that it suits him. “Something wrong?”
I didn’t realize I made a sound. “No,” I say, grabbing the knapsack and darting past him through the open door. “No, everything’s fine.”
Charlie doesn’t seem convinced as he flicks a glance at the knapsack clutched behind my back, but he doesn’t press. “Sure.” He clears his throat, starting awkwardly, “You know, if you need someone to talk to—”
“I’m fine, Charlie,” I insist, already making my way down the hall. “Really, I’m all right.”
He leans against my doorway, arms crossed. “Right,” he says with a sigh. But when I reach the stairwell, his quiet voice reaches me, heavy with grief. “He was my brother, too.”
I halt, my foot hovering over the top step.
“And Lewis’s and Margaret’s,” he adds. “Elsie, Albert—we all miss him, Aster. You’re not alone in that. You don’t have to shut us out because Owen—”
“I’m fine, Charlie,” I repeat, careful to keep my tone even. Without waiting for him to respond, I hurry down the staircase, my grip on the knapsack like a vise.
I know Charlie means well. After all, he and Owen were only a year apart. In a lot of ways, they were closer than most of our siblings. But Charlie couldn’t possibly understand what I’m going through. The Guild of Shadows, Morana’s dark Underling army, isn’t after Margaret. Lewis isn’t being haunted by a Shifter. Elsie and Albert are oblivious to the threat of the Underlings, living in a carefully constructed illusion of safety. I am alone in my hatred—alone in my need to avenge Owen. Only one person in this entire house makes me feel less… alone.
Maybe that’s why I find myself wandering the west atrium of Bludgrave Manor, uninvited, in the insane hope of finding Will as alone as I feel.
Sunlight beams through the glass ceiling above, setting the scarlet staircase aflame and illuminating every shiny knickknack on display in this part of the house. Silver spoons, delicate pottery, hand-painted vases all reflect the light. It’s somewhat blinding. I’d have to take only a few things and I could bribe my way to the Cutthroat Coast. If I could make it there, I might have enough coin to buy myself a ship, maybe a crew. I might even be able to purchase information on the whereabouts of Captain Shade. Perhaps his offer to join him still stands.…
My grip tightens on the knapsack. If the Sylk is after only me, then if I left Bludgrave, the Guild of Shadows would have no reason to torment my family. Would they?
If only I could find Will. If I could just see him, maybe this sick feeling twisting my gut would be replaced by the incessant fluttering I feel whenever he’s near.
Oh, Maker of All. How can I be so foolish? I turn around, starting toward a panel of a wall I know will open into one of the servants’ passageways. Will agreed to help me find the Sylk. That doesn’t mean he’ll appreciate it if I seek him out during the day, in a part of the house where I am required to make myself scarce. For the safety of us both, neither my family nor his can find out about our secret meetings. Only Jack is to know about the time we spend together. I am not to delude myself with the notion that Will should treat me any differently than he treats any other member of the staff. Even if it seemed that way last night, when his arms were wrapped around me.…
“Aster?” His deep voice causes my steps to falter.
I look up toward where Will peers over the banister, his expression neutral. I don’t know what I expected. Did I fool myself into thinking he’d be happy to see me?
He descends the grand staircase at a leisurely pace, looking everywhere in the room but at me. A black three-piece suit clings to his lean, muscular frame, and I can’t help thinking he looks like a wolf in sheep’s clothing—powerful, cunning. Dangerous.
Dangerous, deadly things are often the most beautiful.
When he reaches the bottom of the steps, his gaze lands on me, far too intense. “Are you lost?” he drawls, adjusting his shirt cuffs.
My heart says yes , but, “No.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “You’re a long way from the kitchen.”
Still holding the knapsack behind my back, I give a quick nod. “I’ll just be going, then.”
Shifting the knapsack to my front as I turn, I press my hand to the panel in the wall, my chest squeezing painfully tight. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid—
“Wait.”
I hold my breath as Will’s languid footsteps draw close. His presence behind me pulses as if it has a heartbeat of its own, one that only I can hear.
“Aster,” he says, his voice low.
I glance over my shoulder at the same moment he retracts his hand, as if it were outstretched toward me. My stomach twists into knots as he looks left, then right, before reaching past me to open the panel to the servants’ passage. He inclines his head, a subtle command for me to enter, and the knot in my stomach tightens as I obey, my cheeks burning. I’ve never felt such humiliation in all my life as when I enter the dimly lit passage. Thick, angry tears well in my eyes as I wait, listening to the door click shut, when a hand on my lower back sends a jolt through my spine.
“This way,” Will murmurs, his warm breath caressing the shell of my ear.
Dumbstruck, I allow him to lead me down the passage, where we come upon another panel. The door lets out into a room I’ve heard Margaret extoll but have yet to see for myself.
Bookshelves line the cylindrical space, three stories high. A spiral staircase leads to the second and third landings, and in the center of Lord Bludgrave’s study, a hulking mahogany desk sits opposite a stone hearth big enough to stand inside. The crackling fire fills the space with warmth, while various lamps illuminate the piles of books strewn about the room. No skylights, no blinding white sun. Thank the Stars.
I glance about the room, wondering if Elsie or Father have seen this place. Between the two of them, the Lightbringer overflowed with books about almost everything. My favorite works in their collection were the storybooks Mother read to us at night—tales of faraway lands, of daring adventurers and runaway princesses. Mother and Father insisted we all learn to read when we were children, giving us as rigorous an education as a life of piracy would allow. But I never gave much thought to reading until we offered Mary Cross refuge aboard the Lightbringer after her family’s ship was attacked—the poor girl admitted she never even saw a book.
“Are you well?” Will asks softly, his light touch on the small of my back like a flare of heat. The scent of roses and damp earth encapsulates me, and for a moment, I forget to answer.
Just friends , I tell myself over and over again, despite my body’s treacherous reaction to the warmth of his hand. We’re just friends.
“I found something.” I turn, taking a step away from him.
His hand hovers where I was for only a moment before he adjusts his lapels, his green eyes narrowing as I extend the knapsack to him. “What is it?”
“See for yourself.”
Will opens the knapsack—closes it. His expression is nettled. “My sincerest apologies,” he says, taking the knapsack from me. He tucks it away inside his jacket, and as if by magic, the knapsack shrinks to accommodate the size of his interior breast pocket. “I’ve spent the morning attempting to locate any weakness in the wards my family has placed around Bludgrave, but there’s no sign of a breach.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “The only way an Underling could be getting in is if someone in my family let them in.”
The roiling in my stomach intensifies. “Could it be—”
“Annie?” He rubs his chin. “I thought so, at first. But she’s not skilled enough with magic to do something like that. My father created the wards before she was born. Our wards are meant to keep Underlings—and only Underlings—from stepping foot on our grounds, and so long as no one ventures beyond the boundaries of the wood, they should be safe. Annie is linked to them by blood, but it would be difficult for her to tamper with them without help from my father himself.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “Would your father—”
“No,” Will says sharply, his face drawn. “He’s devoted his life to fighting Underlings. If he knew one had found access to the manor…” He shakes his head. “I’ll keep checking the wards. I must be missing something.”
Above Will’s head, the fire dapples a brass grate with amber light. “Is it possible—” I hesitate. “Those… grates. I’ve noticed them all over the house. Could someone get in through those?”
Will tilts his head, eyeing me consideringly before glancing over his shoulder at the brass covering. “They’re called grilles,” he says slowly. “Mother insisted on ventilating the manor with central heating and air a few years back. Father didn’t see the point with all the fireplaces, but Mother won out in the end.” He runs a hand through his hair, his brows pinched. “They’re within Bludgrave’s walls, so the wards would still apply.” He fixes his gaze on me once more, ever searching. “Why? Did you see something?”
I lift a shoulder. “It might have been a nightmare,” I admit. But after the words leave my mouth, I realize something I haven’t before. Since coming to Bludgrave, I haven’t had a single night terror. Not one. Aside from the pain that kept me awake last night, I’ve slept soundly in my little cot. Margaret reasoned just this morning that it may have something to do with having a pillow for the first time in my life, but by the look on Will’s face, I’m not sure that’s the case.
“Impossible,” Will says. “Years ago, after Henry returned home, he could hardly close his eyes without screaming.” A muscle in his jaw twitches as he picks up a glass bottle. Inside, a miniature ship with replica black sails appears caught in a tempest—simple magic, surely, compared with what I saw Will do with the flick of his wrist, but wondrous nonetheless. “My uncle, Killian, is rather talented with wards. His magic guards Bludgrave against nightmares for Henry’s sake.” He shrugs. “I can’t complain. The only time I get any sleep is when I’m within these walls.”
Will sets the contained ship on a stack of books. With the little bottle no longer in his grasp, the sea within the glass calms, the sails flapping as if stirred by a gentle breeze.
“What did you see?”
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, hesitating. “My first night here, I thought… it looked like…” My right hand strays to the bracelet hidden at my wrist, and I let out a shaky breath. “Nothing. It was a long day. My eyes were playing tricks on me.”
Softly, he asks, “What kind of tricks?”
My heart throbs in my chest, a dull ache. “Eyes,” I whisper. “Red eyes. Watching me…”
His brows furrow. He doesn’t speak for a long moment as he studies me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Could you tell if someone in this house was possessed?”
“I think so.” I scan the bookshelves, squirming under the weight of Will’s calculating stare. “But, Will…”
“Yes?”
“You said the wards protect against nightmares,” I say slowly, dragging my gaze back to his. “Albert had a nightmare the morning after we found the Hackneys. He thought…” I take a deep breath, clenching my fists to keep my hands from trembling. “He thought he saw Owen.”
“Owen,” he echoes, his expression unreadable. “It’s possible my uncle’s wards have weakened since he last visited. I’ll have him check them first thing when he arrives.”
His confident dismissal of any other possibilities is so certain I allow myself to sag a bit with relief. It was only a nightmare. Albert didn’t actually see Owen. But still, as much as I want to believe that it was a fault with the wards, I can’t help wondering… is there something else going on? Something Will doesn’t want me to know?
Will’s gaze trails down my arm like a caress, resting on the concealed form of the bracelet. “I always thought most pirate trinkets were gold earrings and bronze medallions. Why the bracelets?”
I run my fingers over the braided leather beneath my sleeve, somewhat jarred by his change in subject. “At sea, all my siblings and I had was one another. The three strands represent our unbreakable bond.” I meet Will’s gaze, my brows pinched. “My brother said you kept me separated from them for two weeks. Did you decide to take my bracelets before or after you decided to keep me drugged in your chambers?”
A muscle in Will’s jaw feathers as he slides his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t drug you, Aster.” He sidesteps around me, stopping to stand in front of the fireplace, his back turned. “When I first saw you that day aboard the ship, you were crawling toward your brother. I saw you take his bracelet, and then… I knew, when you saw the Sylk—I knew what you saw. I’d suspected it, but I knew for certain then. And when you followed it into the captain’s quarters—after having just witnessed something truly terrifying and strange, you followed it anyway, despite your fears—I knew I had to meet you.”
Silhouetted against the flames, his dark outline sends a shiver through me. He appears like a shadow—like a Sylk given flesh.
I am no stranger to curses.
“But when I looked down at you, lying there…” He trails off, his deep voice barely audible over the crackle of the hearth. “I saw that you’d been marked.”
My heart drops into my stomach. “Marked?”
He angles toward me, beckoning me with only a look. I shuffle across the ornate rug, toward the warm embrace of the fire. I glance sidelong at Will, the amber light dancing in his eyes as he extends his hand, slowly, to brush a loose strand of hair from my cheek. He tucks it behind my ear and his fingertips lightly brush the skin behind my earlobe, sending another shiver through me.
“There,” he murmurs, his face grim. He traces the ink tattooed in the shape of an X —a scar I’ve tried my best to forget. “Henry has one just like it.”
Will’s fingers linger near my cheek, his calloused palm cradling my jaw. At his touch, a feeling of calm overtakes me, the tension in my neck and shoulders melting like butter on a hot skillet.
“So you felt sorry for me?”
His eyes darken. “I felt responsible.”
“Responsible? For what?”
He clenches his jaw. “I should have found them before they could do to anyone else what they did to Henry.”
“Will,” I say, my voice small, “what happened to me isn’t your fault. You didn’t even know me then.”
His thumb strokes my cheek. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.”
My stomach somersaults, and I struggle to form words.
“When I saw you…” He trails off, his eyes prodding at my very soul. “I couldn’t let them take you to the brig. Not after everything you’ve been through.”
He sighs, withdrawing his hand. At the absence of his touch, my skin goes cold and clammy, and the ache at the base of my skull seems more intense than it was before.
“Some of my kind are gifted with unique abilities that go beyond our natural affinities,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I possess a rare talent for persuasion. It’s akin to the compulsion Underlings are capable of, but it doesn’t require that I have direct access to the Manan in human blood, making it far less powerful. And less intrusive,” he adds, somewhat awkwardly. “You slept for two weeks aboard the ship because as long as you were asleep, I could keep you safe. Only the True King knows what you’d have attempted had you been awake.”
I can’t argue—if I had been awake, I would have done everything in my power to wreak havoc on Will and the remaining crew. Still, when I was finally released from his persuasion the day we came ashore, it felt as if I was drugged, and I’m not eager to feel that way again any time soon. “And my bracelets?” I press. “Why not give them back to me that day on the train?”
He hesitates, looking away from me, his gaze fixed on the thrashing flames. “I sensed human magic on them,” he says quietly. “I wanted to inspect them further before returning something that could have had you accused of sorcery.”
“Sorcery?” I rub my arms against the sudden chill. Nightweavers outlawed the human practice of magic six hundred years ago, but it was humankind who considered it an abomination. Some even blamed sorcery for the reason we humans were cursed—that it was our ancestors’ quest for more power that led them to ruin and subjected us to the Nightweavers’ reign. Father and Mother warned us about the dangers of human magic when Lewis looted a book of sorcery from an abandoned ship when we were children—told us that it was forbidden for a reason, that we were never to engage in it, and burned the book for good measure. But not before I read a few pages.
There were cleaning charms to help with chores, enchantments to enlarge the inside of a pouch so it could hold the contents of an entire room, spells for mending broken items—even healing broken bones. I couldn’t understand at the time why sorcery was forbidden if it could make our lives so much easier. But when I mentioned it to Father, he told me stories about men and women who were willing to do awful things—sacrifice the people they loved, slaughter the innocent—for dominion and power over the world around them. I know now that he spoke then of the same dominion the Nightweavers possess. The same power the Underlings wield.
I shake my head. “That’s outrageous.”
“Is it?” He cuts a glance at me. “Why were you instructed never to take it off?”
I wince against the throbbing pain in my head, hardly able to think straight. “To remove your trinket is to renounce your clan.”
Will nods. “Interesting,” he murmurs, rubbing his chin. “Have you ever taken it off before?”
I make a fist, my nails biting into my palms as the pain migrates from my head into my left shoulder. “Not by choice.” I grind my teeth, remembering the pile of trinkets kept aboard the Deathwail as trophies. When Captain Shade rescued me, only a small portion of the crew was on board. He kept one of them alive to show him where they stored my trinket, and he made sure it was secure on my wrist before he took me to the Lightbringer . I still don’t know why he saved me—or how he knew where to find my family—but the care he showed in recovering my trinket… only a pirate would have done that.
“How do you know where to look?” I ask. “The Deathwail never stays in the same place for very long.”
“I have an informant of sorts who found the Deathwail once, but most of the crew was aboard a different vessel. He’s been tracking them ever since.” He blows out a tight breath. “Or rather, attempting to track them.”
My heartbeat skips. “Is your informant a captain?”
He gives me an odd look, but he doesn’t answer.
“Do you know him?” I whisper, my pulse kicking into a gallop. “Captain Shade?”
Will looks over his shoulder at the door to the study, his expression hard. “Well enough,” he admits. “How did you—”
“I took a wild guess,” I lie, my mind racing. If Will knows Captain Shade, then it might be possible for him to send a letter to the captain from me. I could still be free. I could join Shade’s crew. He promised I would be safe— safe , where Sylks and Shifters couldn’t find me.
Maker of All. What am I thinking? I can’t leave Bludgrave. Not until I’ve brought Owen’s killer to justice. Maybe not ever…
“Aster?” Will turns to face me, closer now than he was before, his breath the only warmth on my icy skin. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”
“I’m fine,” I groan as the pain in my shoulder flares. “I’m so tired of everyone asking me that.”
“You just look—”
“I look like what?” I bite out. “Like I spend my days toiling away in a stuffy kitchen? Not all of us get to parade around the manor in fancy suits all day, my lord .”
Will exhales sharply through his nose. “I only meant—”
“I don’t care what you meant!” I’ve turned as if to storm out of the room when the pain in my head and shoulder intensifies in such a way that I stumble a few steps forward, then backward. I reach for something solid, grabbing at the iron tools near the hearth, but they slip from my grasp and topple onto the rug with a loud clang. Will throws out his arm, steadying me just before I tumble into the hearth.
He guides me to the armchair at Lord Bludgrave’s desk, pushing loose strands of dark, wavy hair out of my face like a fussy nursemaid. “Aster?” his voice warbles in my ears. “Are you ill?”
I’m fine , I want to say, but I’m afraid if I open my mouth, I might vomit.
“William?” Lord Bludgrave hastens into the room, his crimson dressing gown tied somewhat askew, his hair ruffled as if he just rolled out of bed. He takes in the sight of me sprawled in his armchair, my face wan—of Will hovering over me, the back of his hand pressed to my sweaty forehead. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I ran into Aster in the hall,” Will says, his deep voice even and firm, leaving no room for doubt as he withdraws from me, sliding his hands into his pockets. “She felt cold, so I brought her here. I thought the fire might help, but she’s clearly unwell. I was just about to take her to Miss Margaret.”
Lord Bludgrave’s eyes narrow on Will, but he nods. “Of course. See to it that she’s looked after.”
Bless the Stars, the pain in my shoulder fades to a dull ache, and I manage the strength to stand on my own. “I’m all right,” I insist, straightening my apron with shaky hands. “I apologize for the intrusion.”
Without looking back at Will, I exit through the door from which Lord Bludgrave entered. The moment I make it into the main hall, my knees threaten to buckle, but I lean on the wall for support, feeling as if I’ve been caught at sea in the midst of a violent storm.
“… a human , William!” Lord Bludgrave’s furious whisper carries through the open door as I stumble down the hall. “You put us all at risk!”
Human. In a way it never has before, that word stings like a slap to the face.
Tears burn my cheeks. I’m not sure how I make it to my bedroom without fainting, but I collapse onto my cot just before exhaustion finally overtakes me. As my eyes drift shut, I glimpse the brass grille overhead.
Two glowing red eyes peer down at me from the darkness, watching me from above.
“Why did no one wake me?” I scramble off my cot, my heart threatening to beat out of my chest.
Margaret pulls up the blanket to her chin, her eyes already closed. “Lord Castor insisted you get some rest,” she says with a yawn. “He told Father that you looked ill and that he gave you the rest of the day off. Said that no one should disturb you.”
Pain stitches my shoulder, and I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying out as I stagger across the room. How I managed to sleep, I don’t know. But I suspect it has something to do with Will’s talent .
“Where are you going?” Margaret asks, her eyes still closed. “It’s past midnight.”
“Nowhere,” I say, lingering in the doorway. “I just need some fresh air.”
I wait until I exit the house to peel back the collar of my dress and examine my left shoulder. For the pain it’s causing me, I expect to find myself hideously burned or mauled—something to explain the stinging sensation. But there is no evidence of a wound. Not even an insect bite.
Groaning, I trudge across the lawn. When I reach the pebbled bank of the pond, I strip down to my underclothes and wade into the moonlit water, letting it cool the ache in my shoulder. I float on my back for a while, staring at the moon overhead.
The True King sees. Can he see me now? Does he look down on me with pity, or with shame?
After a while, the pain in my shoulder subsides. When I draw breath, I don’t wince. In fact, I breathe more clearly than I have since I stepped foot on dry land, as if the water revives something vital in me.
Above, a raven flaps its wings, dappled silver in the moonlight. It lands on the opposite side of the pond and perches atop the domed roof of Hildegarde’s Folly, watching me with knowing eyes. Beyond the folly, the woods loom like a dark, impenetrable wave. The raven stirs, diving into the woods, and for the briefest moment, I feel compelled to follow it.
“You’re up late.”
Mother’s calm voice beckons me from the rocky shore. I turn to face her, treading water with practiced ease.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Again?” She unfolds a towel and holds it open for me. “Father says you haven’t been getting much rest.”
I swim toward her, savoring the feel of the water gliding over my arms. “I’m having a hard time adjusting.” A half-truth. “The house is so… still.”
Mother grins, and my heart breaks. “It is, isn’t it?”
I don’t say anything as I emerge from the water, and Mother wraps me in the rough linen towel. But something has been nagging at me since my conversation with Will in his father’s study.
“Our bracelets,” I say, fidgeting with the band of braided leather as Mother picks wet strands of hair from my face. “Will— er —Lord Castor mentioned that he sensed human magic on them.” I bite my bottom lip, my voice barely a whisper. “But that can’t be true… right?”
Mother’s eyes flicker with some unknown emotion as she cuts a glance at the bracelet, but her expression remains innocently blithe. “Of course,” she says, her tone light. “Our people’s laws forbid the practice of sorcery. You know that.”
Something in me deflates. “I know.”
Mother cups my cheek in her calloused palm, her sapphire eyes reflecting the moonlight like two sparkling gems. “Your siblings are worried about you.”
A cool breeze ruffles my hair, and I pull the towel tighter around my shoulders. “They shouldn’t be.”
“We have nothing else in this world if not our family. If something is troubling you—”
“Nothing troubles me, Mother,” I lie, leaning away from her touch.
A challenging smirk tugs at her lips, and I know she sees right through me. “Come on now, out with it,” she says, folding her arms over her chest, looking more like a pirate captain for the first time since we arrived at Bludgrave. “Say what’s on your mind.”
Hot, angry tears spring to my eyes. “How do you do it?” I ask. “How do you just pretend to be someone you’re not? How do you just forget who you are?”
Mother looks toward the sky, where clouds conceal most of the stars, her smile somewhat sad. “ Who I am is not defined by where I am.” She fixes her gaze on me, and for a moment, her eyes appear lit from within, as if she were made of starlight. “I know this is difficult for you, Aster. But there is nothing you aren’t capable of. Give it more time.”
I want to argue, but I know it’s no use. She won’t give me any answers I want to hear—not tonight, at least.
As if she can sense I’m holding back, she presses: “Is there something else? If there’s anything you want to tell me—”
“There isn’t,” I say, not wanting to lie to her any more than I already have. “Like you said, I just need time.”
Mother nods, her expression as soft as it was the day Captain Shade returned me to the Lightbringer . Then, she wrapped me in a tattered blanket, her calloused palm stroking my cheek. “ The True King sees ,” she said as the sun peeked over the horizon. As if the True King was responsible for sending Captain Shade to rescue me. As if he saw my suffering and for once acted. But I know now that while the True King bears witness to all our misery, all our tribulation, it is not for him to act. If there is to be justice in this world, it will not come from above.
It will come from below.