Chapter Three
The essence of an ancient god skitters over my skin like a thousand spiders seeking entry, scuttling, burrowing, and binding me with bloodred skeins of webbing even as they crawl into my eyes, my nose, my mouth.
I can’t move. I can’t see. I can’t scream.
I can only lie there in frozen horror as I feel myself being slowly devoured.
The godslayer will rise . . .
Magic rips through the dark in bursts of starlight.
I wheeze, fighting for breath, a phantom chokehold on my throat and air trickling into my lungs as the snare of shadow dissipates from the glow of my simurgh.
Vena’s words reverberate like a gong in the hollow silence.
I rub my neck with numb fingers and press a fist to my too-tight chest, reaching with my free hand for the man lying asleep beside me.
Deep, even breaths signal Roshan’s undisturbed rest.
Heart still racing, I stare at the ceiling, the feeling of dread weighing like sludge in my veins. My palms are warm—akasha swirling through the runes patterned on my skin in an echo of battle as images from the fresh night terror linger in my mind. I shudder.
Fero’s gone, I tell myself.
The god of death has been banished for good. We are safe. I’m safe.
It’s not the first time I’ve had this dream, nor will it be the last. And between qualms of a resurrected Fero and the forewarning of Vena’s mysterious godslayer, coupled with pervasive dread at Roshan’s ruthless expectations of me, sleep is the last thing I’ve been getting for the past month since Coban.
Curling onto my side, I bite my lip. A sleepless night or two is a small price to pay to keep peace in the realm.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself, though the mounting cost feels unforgivably hard on my soul.
And each day, the king seems to slip further and further away from the prince I fell in love with.
Ever since our return, he has been increasingly distant, as though something has irreparably fractured between us.
Trust, perhaps? Or maybe something even deeper.
The subsequent trips to Jaxx and Veniar had been harrowing. As he’d predicted, the story of my actions in Coban had spread far and wide, sowing seeds of fear and reverence in equal measure. The king demands obeisance and his dissenters kneel, and when they don’t, I am commanded to punish.
I’ve turned more assassins to ash since then.
Murderers, mercenaries—evil men, certainly, but taking a life is taking a life. I fear a part of me dies each time Ris, the god of the afterlife, receives a new arrival at my hand. But the houses need to be brought to heel, at least according to the king’s war council.
Maybe these constant nightmares are atonement for my sins.
With each brutal tithe on my magic, the akasha coursing through me feels different.
My simurgh has been growing stronger and fiercer.
There’s a primal wildness to her that unsettles me.
When I’d addressed my worry with Aran, he’d explained that in ancient times of the magi, ascending magic had to be anchored because of its potency, usually via the bonding of a soul-fated pair.
There’d been no information as far as he knew of such an anchor for the Starkeeper, but power like mine would only evolve if there was the possibility of a soul-fated union. It was baffling, to say the least. Because magic matching mine doesn’t exist, at least not in Oryndhr.
Roshan isn’t my soul-fated, that much I do know, since he possesses no magic, despite both of his parents being magi. Aran maintains that any inherited akasha might still be dormant, especially after my starlight had essentially resurrected Roshan from the brink of death.
Admittedly, I’d harbored an infinitesimal hope that he could be my not-yet-awakened soul-fated, but alas, my simurgh senses nothing but minute traces of me in his blood.
However, magic or not, I’d still chosen him.
My parents hadn’t been soul-fated, and they’d lived happily together for years.
Roshan’s father, the former king, had been soul-fated with Roshan’s mother: the only soul-fated pair in centuries.
As far as Aran remembers, they had never performed the bonding ritual to anchor their magic—there’d been no time to do so before Nihira had been jealously murdered by her sister, Morvarid.
Soul-fated pairs are so rare, they’re practically myth.
And if I had one anywhere in this realm, I’d know.
My simurgh would know.
There has to be a way to anchor myself and to stabilize whatever this latest ascendancy is.
I just have to figure it out before my magic becomes more feral and puts us all in danger.
Perhaps Vena will be able to shed some light on the matter .
. . if she ever actually shows her face again, that is.
Apart from her cryptic premonition, the Royal Star has been frustratingly absent.
Quietly, I push the covers off and ease from the bed, grabbing the dagger in its sheath on the bedside table.
My mother’s blade that I reforged with my own hands is a comfort more than a need.
The polished golden head of the simurgh on the hilt is a reminder of where I came from as well as what I am, and a symbol of the magical entity that lives inside of me.
I feel her ripple in response, a gentle brush along my senses.
It took weeks of training with Aran before I felt even capable of summoning the simurgh’s incandescent presence—a majestic, winged spectacle that was everything the king needed me to be.
And the moment I had manifested her as a demonstration of my magic in the Oryndhrian court, Roshan’s closest naysayers had gone quiet.
A king with the powerful Starkeeper as his right hand was invincible.
It’s no wonder your keeper doesn’t let you out of his sight, an inner voice taunts. You’ve become the very thing you said you never wanted to be—weaponized.
I don’t know if it’s my conscience or my magic speaking.
My simurgh has communicated with me before, but this doesn’t sound like her.
No, it sounds like the lingering bitterness I’ve kept at bay since Coban.
Exhaling harshly, I push the warning away and swallow the knot rising in my throat.
I have to believe that Roshan will keep his promise that this isn’t forever.
On silent feet, I pad from the bedroom to the balcony beyond that overlooks the palace courtyard.
It’s a moonless night, only the barest sliver of a curve visible.
No stars wink through the clouds, though I know they’re there.
I can feel them like part of the living tapestry of my soul.
Once, Vena had offered me a chance to join them in immortal rest, but I’d chosen to return to the mortal world for Roshan .
. . for a chance at love and a future together.
I’ve never regretted it, but lately, I find myself wondering if I made the right decision.
Shivering in the cool air, I wrap my arms around myself, peering up. It’s been months since Vena spoke through Amma. None of us had been able to discern what she’d truly meant.
I peer up into the sky. “Vena? Are you there? I could really use a friend.”
But there’s no answer. Again.
A sad sigh leaves me. I used to resent when she appeared on a whim in the guise of a crone with her esoteric advice on how to master my Starkeeper gifts, but now, I’d give anything to see a familiar face.
Has she abandoned me? Have my actions and the abuse of my gifts sickened her?
I would not be surprised: I’ve sickened myself.
My eyes burn with unshed tears for what I’ve done in the name of the Starkeeper.
In the name of a man I love.
Is this how villains are born? With the best of intentions?
“Sura,” a drowsy, deep voice says as two thick arms band over mine and a heavy body crowds mine from behind. “What are you doing out here?”
Desperate for any comfort, I lean back into my king’s tall frame, breathing in his earthy iron-and-bergamot scent.
Emotion swamps me. Stars, I’ve missed him.
Missed this. Being held by him for no reason at all.
One would think sleeping in the same bed would mean something, but most nights, he collapses after hours spent arguing with his council on matters of the realm, or he’s gone for days to other cities to meet with the houses or the Dahaka.
“I was watching the stars,” I murmur.
Roshan nuzzles my neck, and I sigh at the unexpected caress.
Court life leaves little room for affection, not in public anyway, and especially not when I’m now the king’s most prized weapon.
Keeping up appearances as rulers to be feared is worth more than indulging ourselves in any stolen moments. “It’s cold out here. Come back to bed.”
Not wanting to give up whatever this tiny moment of connection is, I sketch the rune for fire in my mind, feeling my magic flare in response.
Suddenly the crisp air around us heats to a balmy temperature.
I’ve mastered most basic elemental runes working with Aran—fire, ice, air, and earth—but I’m still working on more complex magic, including wielding my own starlight.
“Better?” I ask Roshan.
“You’ve become adept,” he says with fond amusement.
“Practice makes perfect, as Aran says.” Twisting, I turn in his arms to face him, his handsome features still softened from sleep.
Thick-lashed tawny eyes peer into mine, a half smile curling his full lips.
A lock of inky hair falls onto his brow, and I reach up to sweep it away. “I miss you,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so often. House Antares is proving to be difficult and unwilling to sign the terms of the latest tax and tithe treaties.” Warm lips brush my brow. “Perhaps you can accompany me to Eloni in the coming days.”