Chapter Thirty-Two
I sleep like the dead for three full days before my body—and simurgh—recovers from whatever it was that happened on that mountain.
Despite the toxin I’d foolishly ingested, it had felt like some kind of augmentation .
. . like an amplification of my magic, almost as if both my simurgh and I had become stronger.
The power I felt in that moment had been staggering in its intensity.
I think of the way my depleted wellspring had hunted the magic of the traitorous Aspa?anā like a soul-eating vampire, how their bodies had turned into empty husks as I drank down their life essences, how the revenants had melted to sludge, and I shiver with equal amounts of fervor and dread.
Gods, the recollections make me want to never open my eyes, to stay gone and safe forever.
The world would go on as it is meant to.
People will survive. Unless the realms are ravaged by war—a god war—one they have no hope of winning.
Then everyone I love will die. And everything I have done will be for nothing.
A groan escapes my lips.
“Starbright?”
The deep voice is a tether that I grasp on to.
Darrius is my anchor, and yet, we still haven’t completed the bond.
Is he still afraid? Or am I the one wavering because of what we might become?
He’s the son of a god . . . and I possess monstrous celestial abilities that no one should have any right to.
Monstrous cannibalistic abilities. I shiver and squash down those feelings.
“My father?” I rasp. “Is he alive?”
Soft footfalls reach the bed. “He’s here, and my best healers are with him.”
I let out a relieved noise. “And Aran? Your shadows didn’t pulverize him, did they?”
“Not yet.”
I almost snort at the dangerous edge in his voice.
“What about Raz? Any word? I haven’t been able to talk to him myself, though I can sense he’s peaceful, with no pain or sickness.”
“Still asleep but mending. Indira is beyond grateful.” Darrius kisses my forehead and pours me a fresh glass of water from a nearby pitcher. I smile at him and drink it. “I retrieved your dagger.”
“Thank you.”
He moves behind me to drape his mother’s necklace around my throat. The pendant rests comfortably in the hollow between my breasts. “This has protections in it.”
“Dare, we need to complete the bond,” I say softly before I lose my nerve. I feel the mattress dip as he sits at my side, his warm oud-and-smoke scent filling my nostrils. “If war is coming, we need to be prepared.”
My eyelids flicker open, starved for that strikingly beautiful face. His wealth of silver hair is loose and curtains us from the world as he leans over me. “What happened up there?” he asks.
I inhale. “My magic . . . went feral.”
“I felt it here,” he says, rubbing his chest. “But you stayed in control.”
“Barely. I . . . stole power from others. I drained Masi?ta and his men.” I stare at him, reaching up to wind my fingers in his hair as if the small connection can keep me from fracturing apart at the admission of guilt. “Have you ever heard of anything like that?”
That inky gaze of his darkens even more. “I’ve only heard of magic sharing between soul-fated. But you’re also the Starkeeper, so the depth and breadth of your power is unknown.”
“It wasn’t sharing,” I whisper. “I took it. Forcibly.”
His face goes hard, ruthlessness taking over. “Your magic defended you.”
“Darrius, what do your legends here say of the Starkeeper?” I ask, thinking of the old Oryndhrian divination that has hung over me like a shroud.
The fear that the weight of responsibility has thrown upon me.
This feels a thousand times worse. “Indira told me that the sidereal rank is the same as what Oryndhrians call Setareh Framātāram. Master of the star. Is there a similar prophecy here?”
He shakes his head. “More of an old fable. A forgotten myth.”
“Tell it to me, please.”
His mouth firms. “Suraya, it’s not—”
“There is power in myth, Dare. Even if it’s bad, I need to know what has been written and what has been told.”
“Very well.” He kisses me, lips feathering softly over my chapped ones.
“When the lightbreaker falls, darkness will abound, a king lost to chaos by star-cursed song. Such is the long shadow of day and the bright star of night, a soul-blooming spark tethered to both earth and sky. By the chosen’s own hand, the ill-fated shall die .
. . And as the night sky bleeds, a godslayer will rise. ”
Despite the knot in my belly, I roll my eyes and force a wry grin. “That makes everything so clear. Glad to see your Everlean ancestors were just as much assholes as mine. Who are the ill-fated? And am I this godslayer?” I swallow and frown. “You’re a god. What if I am fated to kill you?”
“The fates are fickle,” he says. “And you can’t kill me, Starbright. You’d miss me too much.”
Smiling unhappily, I ponder the fable and his words about the fates. “What if I’m just like your father? Monsters aren’t born. They’re made.”
Darrius cups my face in his warm, strong hands.
“Trust me. You’re nothing like him. And you’re wrong about that.
Some monsters were created to be monstrous.
Things that thrive in the darkness do so for a reason—they feed on foul thoughts and foul actions.
They are not redeemable. They are not meant to be saved.
They are meant to test you. To test your faith in yourself. ”
“What if I fail?” I ask in a small voice.
“The very fact that you are asking tells me that you will do everything in your power not to.” Darrius pulls me up and situates me in his lap, his lips ghosting over my forehead. “If you want to complete the bond, we can.”
“What about the curse?”
His expression softens. “You were right about what I needed to do with the manticore. I embraced that side of me, and I can feel him now, more than ever. He senses me, too. And that’s all because of you.”
“So is the curse broken?”
Those dark eyes flash gold. “No, and I’ll never be free of it. My father thought he could break me by denying me my soul-fated and finding love, but what he didn’t realize is that even a monster can be worthy of being loved, too. He didn’t bet on you.”
Chest swelling, I stare at him, knowing how much he has struggled. “I’m glad you’re choosing to love yourself as you are, Dare.”
He swats my ass and sighs with equal amounts of exasperation and affection. “I’m saying I love you, Starbright.”
“Wait. You love me?” I whisper, and he nods.
“I was lost from the moment you told me I have too much, and I quote, grumpy, asshole energy,” he says, lips quirking. “I have never wanted to laugh, fuck, or punish someone more.”
My cheeks heat as butterflies explode in the pit of my stomach. “Who knew that I’d fall in love with the grumpiest god of all?”
“You did?”
“Unlucky me,” I say teasingly, and kiss him.
He mutters something vaguely threatening about bad girls getting fucked against my lips.
Stars . . . yes, please—but I fight my surge of arousal, pulling back before he can deepen the kiss.
“Wait, no tongue. I need to clean my teeth. And bathe before you get any wicked ideas about punishing me.” His eyes glint mercilessly as I push off his lap. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Only to get you something to eat,” he says, standing to his full impressive height.
I try very hard not to stare at the obvious bulge at his groin, but fail miserably.
A vicious, moral-smelting smile breaks over that gorgeous face when I nearly stumble over my own two feet.
“You’ll need your strength, Starbright.”
My core trembles, warmth filling every space inside of me at the promise and the threat tied into one.
Sands, I love him. I don’t even know when it happened .
. . when I stopped hating him and when he became the air in my lungs, the hope in my heart, and my whole starsdamned night sky.
For a second, I rub at my sternum, feeling the oddest hollowness that doesn’t seem to belong in the midst of my happiness, like something—something vital—is still missing.
My magic, in its new ascendant form, feels untethered.
It doesn’t take me long to feel refreshed after a quick bath. When I’m done, I clean my teeth and comb my wet hair, leaving it loose to dry. I grimace at the pile of my sweat-soaked garments, then wander into the nearby closet and grab one of Darrius’s white tunics.
It fits me like a dress, so I don’t bother with pants and roll the sleeves slightly. I suppose I could easily magic a set of my own clothing, but the idea of wearing his is just too tempting . . . and strangely soothing.
He must think so, too, because when I emerge from the bathing room, his eyes go wide and then darkly possessive. “Nice shirt.”
“I thought so.” My stomach growls, and I meet him at the table near the window, where there’s a spread of different foods.
To my surprise and delight, apart from fresh cut fruit and a basket of pastries, there’s a dish that looks and smells suspiciously like my aunt’s roasted and mashed tomato, eggplant, and herring, served with pieces of hot flatbread.
I glance over at Darrius. “What is this?”
“Thought you might appreciate some comfort food. It might not be exactly like your aunt’s, but I hope—” I don’t even let him finish before I throw myself into his arms and plaster my mouth to his.
Once I’m done showing him my deep appreciation, I don’t waste any time settling cross-legged into my seat and inhaling the deliciousness, sopping up every last drop from my plate with the flatbread.
I lick each one of my fingers clean, making a noise of satisfaction in my throat, and look up to the other side of the table to see Darrius utterly mesmerized.
“What?” I ask self-consciously, wiping a drop of tomato juice from my mouth.