Chapter 4
UP IN SMOKE
LEILANI
THE NIGHT OF my binding announces itself with a hard knock at the outer door to my chambers.
Elvi steps into my bedchamber and motions to the door. I shake my head.
Another knock. Louder this time.
She sighs and scurries away to answer it.
Muffled voices reverberate the wall: Elvi’s, oddly high and fast, and a drowsy, deeper voice.
I draw the coverlet to my chin. I suppose Astrophel will be at liberty to visit my rooms – our rooms – after tonight’s ceremony, whenever the fancy takes him.
I stand by my decision not to receive him ahead of time.
Court customs be damned. For a few precious hours, these chambers are still mine alone.
I stifle another moan and flop against my pillows.
Dots of light crowd my eyes.
The moment approaches, my brandsong whispers.
Not now, for Stars’ sake. My nerves can’t stand the cryptic warnings, these uninvited intrusions. I drag myself out of bed, blink back the spots and wrap a mantle around my shoulders. Perching on my window seat, I wipe the fog my breath mists on the ice-rimed diamond glass.
Lavender moons hang low and overlarge in a darkening sky freckled with stars.
On any other night I’d find them beautiful, but tonight, these Flowering Moons are starbingers of doom.
After the Sickening decimated birth rates, it was decreed royal bindings could only take place under their auspices.
The starscribes believe this will ensure the future of the Stellarion dynasty.
So tonight, they’re reminders of my nuptial bed, of the terrible fate that awaits me, of the monsters I might spawn.
‘Princess, it’s time to get dressed.’ Elvi crosses the threshold, a heart-shaped jewellery casket in one hand, my gown in the other. Her eyes are swollen and bloodshot.
I nod to the casket. ‘From Astrophel?’
‘A diadem for tonight’s ceremonies, and a pair of binding bangles. He expected you to receive them yourself.’
‘People expect too much.’ I snatch the casket, cross to my study and set it down on my writing desk.
I’ll open it later. My fingers linger on the carvings of the ten constellations etched across the starcrystal.
Did Noelani ever trace these furrows, the sleek and rough planes, when the desk belonged to her?
My eyes flick to its left-hand drawer. I should surrender the last forbidden book to Elvi, let her destroy it.
I can’t risk it being found, and I’ve accepted defeat, accepted the stolen pages won’t provide deliverance, that there’s no way to end my curse. But something stays my hand.
Elvi is laying out my gown when I return to the bedchamber. She straightens as I approach and winces. She hasn’t let me see the weals on her back, but I know they’re there.
I wish she’d never reported me missing, but she acted with good intentions. More than anything, I wish she hadn’t been hurt.
‘Do you like it?’ I nod towards the gown.
Elvi’s eyes shine as she smooths the lace, delicate as gossamer, lavender to match my eyes, the Stellarion nine-pointed star woven into it as a repeating motif. Elvi has always had a weakness for the finery denied her as a Highlander by my father’s sumptuary laws.
‘I had the seamstress edge three nightgowns in the same material. I thought – in the privacy of your rooms – where no one will see…’
Elvi’s lips quirk up. It’s the closest to a genuine smile she’s come in the ten moonsrisings since my failed escape.
‘I ordered a tray of mooncakes for you as well. In case you don’t get a chance to eat any tonight.’
The pastries at the binding feast will be reserved for the coterie. Precious honey stores won’t be wasted on the servants, least of all the mountain-born among them.
Elvi folds her arms. ‘It’s enough to know you’ve made peace with the ceremonies, Radiance. Accepted your duty to the realm.’ There’s a bite, a touch of frost in her voice.
Elvi would give anything to switch places with me.
In the Lustrous Age, her peak-born forefathers played a role in creating the Starfields, risking their lives to excavate fragments of the fallen Wishing Star from the Astral Mountain, so the beneficial effects of Estelia’s Sister-given Aether core could be better felt through the realm.
As a result, Elvi enjoys superior living conditions to most air-refugees.
She was spared the Gaspings, the detainment camps to the north of Meissa, and permitted to live at court, even granted a brief education at the Asteum befitting her position as liegemaid to a future Stellarion queen.
But hers is still a life of indentured servitude.
I chafe my wrists. It’s no accident my gown for tonight’s ceremonies is long-sleeved.
The bruises from the manacles have faded, but sickly tidemarks remain.
‘What choice did I have?’ I murmur.
Tears prick my eyes and panic rises, crushing the breath from my chest. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. I resolved to bear it. But now the moment’s arrived, I find I can’t.
‘I don’t want this. I don’t want to bind myself to anyone.’ My voice cracks, and the world tilts. I slump against Elvi’s shoulder. She stiffens, but after a moment, enfolds me in her arms and holds me till I’m quiet, rocking me gently, as she has through so many of these attacks.
I wipe away the glitter of my tears as Elvi holds up the gown so I can step into it, helps me into its voluminous pendant sleeves, and fastens the multitude of tiny buttons, imprisoning my body an inch at a time.
Once she’s finished, I don tottering silk slippers that pinch my toes.
They taper even more than usual, and I wonder if my father ordered them specially – running away is not an option in these.
Elvi takes up a silver comb from my bedside table.
‘I wish they’d let me cover my hair,’ I mutter as we cross to my bureau where Astrophel’s diadem awaits.
My father insisted I renounce the veil I ordinarily wear for the ceremonies, ensuring my humiliation will be complete.
My eyes flick again to the left-hand drawer, as I lift paper sculptures from the seat of my desk chair.
Three more folded last night from carefully collaged fragments of the last outlawed book.
I place them on the nearest shelf and lower myself into the chair.
Elvi combs my opal-white tresses, gently smoothing the snags, while I draw Astrophel’s gift towards me.
The pin fastening the casket bears the engraved monogram AV.
Astrophel Vesparion. Wrenching it free, I open the lid, revealing the pair of silver binding bangles and diadem.
I turn my attention to the bangles first. One for him, one for me.
I toss them aside. It’s tradition to wear them, but not a requirement of the rite, and I’ve had my fill of fetters.
I’ll have to wear the diadem though. It’s set with milky opals and moonstones to resemble a glistening garland of starflowers.
Its jewelled blossoms are punctuated by the Vesparion emblem, a tapering, six-pointed Evening Star.
Just like him to mark his territory.
Elvi gasps and sets the comb down. I don’t need second-sight to read the longing in her eyes as she lifts the diadem and studies it. Only members of the coterie are permitted to wear jewels, though I’d gladly give it to her if I could.
She positions the diadem, weaving silk ribbons through my hair to secure it. She steps away.
‘Won’t you look at yourself – just this once? The stones match your hair beautifully.’
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter how lovely the gown is, how twinkly the diadem, I’ll only see a monster staring back at me in the glass; the outward defects a physical manifestation of my twisted nature.
‘I told you Lord Astrophel can be thoughtful.’ Elvi pauses, worries her bottom lip. ‘I wouldn’t have survived my training at the Asteum without him. I’ll never forget how he stood up for me to defend your honour, to safeguard the reputation of his lady’s liegemaid.’
‘If I’d been allowed to go, I could have protected you,’ I say. I don’t add that Astrophel likely stood up to her bullies not on my account, but because their taunts touched a nerve for the bastard-born king-in-waiting. ‘They never would have dared torment you in my presence, and if they had I—’
‘Would’ve rushed in without thinking and got us both in trouble again?’ Elvi cracks a wry smile, reaches for my hand. ‘All I’m saying is, given the choice of consort was never yours to make, you could have done a lot worse…’
I’m about to snap that there should never have been a consort to worry about – not for me – when pinpricks of light splinter my vision.
I’m assaulted by a glimpse of Astrophel through the lens of Elvi’s heart: Astrophel the Avenger, protecting her from jibes about her peak-white hair, coarse accent and humble ancestry.
I jerk my hand away, keeping my eyes carefully lowered, as giddiness and momentary blindness wash over me. This is new. I’ve never seen inside another’s mind in this way before. More evidence of my growing powers, the threat those powers represent…
So little is known of the Dusk Sister’s magic.
Only that we Branded can wield it once we come of age and step into the fullness of our Sister-given abilities.
Using Light Lore, the brandmagic gifted to me by the Dawn Sister, drains the body.
There’s always a price to pay for scrying – keeping things in eternal balance.
But it’s only a temporary weakening. Shadow Lore, the Dusk Sister’s blood-bound magic, grants greater mastery over the Aethers, but it feeds on a person’s spirit, breaks it, along with their minds, and unlike Light Lore, its effects are permanent.
The Elemagi proved that, under its dominion, our powers can twist, become monstruous – a ravenous force we can’t control, eating through all restraint, all consideration of right from wrong, till we burn worlds. Till we become Arden Incenzo.