Chapter Two
Bands of iridescent magic shoot out of me, healing me instantly and sending the knife at my throat flying, while targeting almost every enemy within close range.
It’s not enough, however, as more enemies slink from the shadows.
Maintaining my control, I let out a growl of rage when I see two of our guards get taken out by successive blasts of fire from one of the mercenaries, and I instantly restrain the man, knocking his crossbow from his fingers with a savage flick of my magic.
Easing backward, I dodge a sword coming at my head, fire magic enveloping the entirety of the blade.
I pull my dagger from my waist and send my starlight along it.
Metal crashes against metal, and I relish the skill of the soldier before his much weaker weapon snaps in half.
He begs for his life, so I crack him in the temple with the hilt of my blade.
I might be powerful, but I’m not a murderer.
A shrill scream from one of the hostages in the tavern has me swiveling, and I cry out in horror as a glowing mace cleaves through a woman’s sternum.
It’s the fox-faced prick who’d stood over Cyrill.
Rage pumps through my veins, but I know if I break, if I lose control over myself, I’ll never be able to come back from it.
I inhale, focusing my center . . . and leaning into the brimming wellspring of akasha.
My simurgh shrieks and lances a silvery whip at Fox Face, snapping the weapon from his hands and cinching around his neck like a noose.
His eyes bulge as she drags him toward us like a fly caught in my shimmering web.
Gods, the power is intoxicating, darkness hovering on the edge of the light, whispering for me to end them all. I can’t bring myself to kill anyone—not even Fox Face—without a fair trial for their crimes, but I won’t lie: His screams of terror are music to my ears.
No time to celebrate, though, because more armed men pour out of hiding and into the room, fresh weapons at the ready.
My father wastes no time crashing his fist into the nearest mercenary, and magic flies from Aran as he mutters offensive spells while clutching the jādū crystal at his neck.
Holding my web of magic firm, I rush over to Amma, who assures me she is unharmed, and nod urgently to Cyrill.
“Get them out of here to somewhere safe,” I tell him. “We’ll handle this.”
“I’ve been wielding this pot longer than you’ve been alive, child,” Amma chimes in, lifting a blackened iron pan at her side.
I snort and give her a kiss on her lined cheek. “Fine. Just don’t get hurt.”
My eyes bulge when she takes out a mercenary with a fair whack to the head and a vicious chortle of glee, then immediately turns and sneaks up on another. In seconds, he’s slumped down to the floor.
I suppose I get my temerity from both her and my mother.
Within no time at all, most of the enemy are disarmed, incapacitated, and rounded up.
The majority are alive, groaning as they wake groggy and angry.
Roshan instructs his remaining kingsguard to take the assailants into the middle of the square, where I belatedly notice that a crowd has gathered—people who’d been in their beds and ventured out after the sounds of battle.
“You dare,” Roshan roars to the bound men, his voice ringing across the silence. “Attacking your king without provocation is a crime.”
I send a wink to Alderman Rubias. “How do you like my little light show now?”
“You are an abomination,” he says, but fear flashes in his eyes. “And you’re no king of ours,” he adds to Roshan, and spits to the side for good measure.
“Ouch, such cruelty, sir,” I say, putting a hand to my chest. “I’m a person, too, you know.”
Unamused, he glares at me.
“For the crime of treason and murder as well as intent to kill, I sentence you all to death,” Roshan says. Twisting in shock, I stare at him. That is not what I expected him to say. He turns, the usual gentleness in his eyes eclipsed by fury. “Execution by starfire.”
His words are a detonation as blood thunders between my ears.
Every eye in the square falls upon me, and I hurry to his side.
“Ro. They deserve a trial,” I whisper. “A chance to explain and atone for their crimes. You can’t just slaughter them in the middle of the square!
There are children probably looking through their windows. ”
Roshan bares his teeth, fire simmering in his stare. “They tried to kill you. Kill me. This is war, and I will give no quarter.”
“The war is over. We should talk to them,” I say quietly. “Find out who they’re working for first. Someone ordered this. There’s a leader. This oracle. Aran heard it, too.”
His jaw tics, but then he turns to Hamid and Clem standing at attention behind him. “Secure the one with the braid,” he commands. Hamid hauls the man called Sandar away from the others. The king gestures imperiously to me, but my feet are frozen to the ground. Everything is frozen. “Sura, now.”
The knot in my throat thickens. “I . . .”
Roshan’s mouth descends into a scowl. “They were going to kill your family. These mercenaries would have no mercy if things were reversed. They deserve death. This is treason, you know that.”
With a tremor of hesitation, my eyes rove blindly around the square, settling on Amma, my father, people I knew growing up.
I don’t want them to see me as a monster, as some kind of horrific weapon of the king—but that is exactly what I will be if I do this.
“Please, Roshan,” I beg. “We should take them back to Kaldari for interrogation. It’s the right thing to do. ”
He pulls me close, but the act is not meant to comfort; it’s for privacy.
His low words are emphatic, his grip on my arm just this side of firm.
“No. It has to be now. Sura, I need your help to keep the peace, you know that. We need to send a clear message that any attacks against the crown will not be tolerated or the houses will run roughshod over us.”
“Then tell Hamid and your men to do it. I can’t murder innocents.”
A muscle clenches in his cheek, that fire in his eyes darkening. “They’re not innocent. And the message has to come from the Starkeeper. The houses and the dissenters have to know that you stand behind the crown, that your magic is behind the Imperial House. Behind me.”
“Ro, you know I am, but . . .” My voice wavers. “Not in front of my family . . . please. I’m begging you. Don’t do this.”
Gods, his expression is so cold, so disappointed, that I feel a small part of me wither.
“You agreed to stay by my side, Suraya. That’s what this means.
That you might have to do a small evil to fight for the greater good, to defend the throne we fought so hard for against my brother and the queen, against the Scavs. ”
“I know,” I whisper.
Sighing audibly with a look of regret as though he understands my qualms, he presses his forehead to mine, voice softening.
“It’s what Laleh died for. These men are not good men.
They came here to hunt us all down, held your father, aunt, and my cousin at the ends of their weapons, and murdered villagers and loyal guards who protected you with their lives.
Don’t fail us now. We need to defend the people. They need you. I need you.”
Defend the people . . .
Gulping past the boulder in my throat, I bury the small voice inside that wonders who defines the greater good when the history of wars is always recorded by the victors.
But maybe Roshan is right: they hurt us first and drew first blood, and I made him a promise to help him usher in an era of peace as the Starkeeper. Head down, I don’t look at anyone as I make my way to stand in front of the men, fighting the coils of horror snaking through me.
What should I do? I beg my simurgh, desperate for clarity.
Whatever is in your heart of hearts.
With a silent sob, I wonder if she’s channeling Vena. Not helpful.
She gives a soft chirp. As we are not seers, we can only make a decision with the information we have at the time.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Clem says when I walk past her.
Am I?
My simurgh gathers inside, the magic coalescing into a bright ball in my chest and blasting from the runes on my arms. I hear the gasps of awe and fear, and the subsequent cries for mercy.
Glancing over my shoulder, I meet Roshan’s hard gaze. For a heart-stopping moment, I imagine I see deep purplish whorls clouding his eyes, but then it’s an arrow to my own heart when he gives me a curt, emotionless nod.
I bite my lip so hard I taste blood as my starlight ignites in white-hot, iridescent ribbons of flame.
“Burn,” I whisper.
***
MY DREAMS ARE brutal.
I toss and I turn, but they have me in an inexorable grip, relentless and punishing.
Gods, their faces. The terrified cries of the villagers who’d known me as a child and saw me as one of them . . . and now see me as a stranger. An executioner.
Even though I’d been quick in actuality—my magic barely a flash before the two dozen armed assassins had crumbled to ash, borne away on a wind I’d summoned—in my nightmare, I smell their charred flesh and hear their pleas on an endless loop.
Eventually, no evidence of them remains, except for Sandar, who stares at me like I am a demon incarnate.
I am, after all, the monster he believes me to be.
My eyes fly open, the first light of dawn slanting through my glass windows. The weight of their souls is a crushing burden. How many of them had been convinced that what they were doing was right? That attempting to assassinate the king was their purpose?
They brought the judgment on themselves . . .
Roshan’s words from last night are little comfort. He’d ordered the death sentence, but I had fulfilled it. I draw my knees up to my chest, holding them tight with my arms. The remnants of my argument with the king do not offer any consolation.
“How does this not make us as bad as them?” I’d asked Roshan.