Chapter 7 #2
So long as you are careful, I do not believe the darkness will overwhelm you, as it did Arden.
The rest of us never fell under its spell, not in the same way.
And I am not asking you to perform an incantation of such dread power as our Blood Bond – a pale imitation only.
You need not wait for the Triclipse, and while we drained our forfeits from our brands, a single drop of blood from each of the four members of your Quaternity will suffice, whether they are Branded or no, so long as the offerings are freely given – for I foresee a dearth of our kind in your Arcelia.
I know I am asking you to take a leap of faith, to place yourself in danger, but you have more within you, Leilani, than you realise.
Be brave. Shine bright,
Noelani.
The pages slip through my fingers, settling like cinders in my lap. Apt, for those self-same pages have just incinerated everything I thought I knew about history and my place in it.
How can Noelani ask this of me?
I remember the stories of the Scouring, my childish dream of finding the lost relics, then shake myself. Not like this. Never like this.
‘I won’t do it.’ I look up at Orthriel. ‘Not if it means embracing the poison inside me, wading into Shadow, and seducing our sworn enemies. No good can come from that.’ I shake my head.
‘It’s not for me to tell you what to do, Leilani. You must decide that for yourself. But if you want to know what the inscription says, I suggest you follow Noelani’s instructions before Astrophel arrives.’
I open my mouth to tell Orthriel to stop ordering me about, that I haven’t decided if I want to follow Noelani’s instructions, that I’m not sure I can trust her, that the last thing in the four realms I want to do is embrace my magic or the Outrealmers, but I’m all too aware my betrothed will be knocking at the door at any moment.
Orthriel is right, I don’t have time to waste.
Noelani’s inscription will only reveal itself under the light of tonight’s moons. If I want to know what it says, I have no choice.
Folding the letter and storing it in my reticule, I take a deep breath and cross to the rose window, bearing the Celestial Chain aloft.
‘What am I supposed to do?’
Orthriel lifts their eyes to the heavens. ‘Hold it to the moonslight. Try to summon your magic.’
I swallow. Every part of me rebels from that idea. ‘And then?’
Orthriel shrugs.
I cradle the starstone in my left hand, trembling as I raise it higher, shifting its position to allow it to catch the moonslight.
I close my eyes, take another steadying breath, and grope in the darkness until silvery threads weave across my mind’s eye.
For the first time, instead of pushing them away, I reach for them, tugging softly.
I open my eyes, stare up at the starstone. Nothing.
Hope shrivels in my chest.
I could kick myself for believing that letter. How could I possibly hope to save my mother, my people, my realm, when I can’t even save myself? I should have known better than to trust one of the Branded.
Orthriel is very still. I stare at the floor, focus on the layer of dust coating the flagstones, anything to avoid watching the disappointment and confusion crystallising on my Guardian’s face as they realise they were wrong to put their faith in me – a scourged creature that can’t even use their cursed magic properly.
I cup the starstone tighter in my palm and begin to wind the chain, taking care not to damage it. I’ll hide it before Astrophel arrives, or Orthriel can spirit it away, back to wherever they were concealing it before.
I don’t pretend to understand the enchantments which allow Orthriel to transport objects, to convey messages, despite lacking the means to grasp them. I’m told Noelani possessed the art too, but only after the Blood Bond.
One peculiarity I’ll be safe from, Stars willing.
As I coil the chain a final time around my wrist, a slant of moonslight kisses the heart of the stone.
Shards of milky light burst forth, so dazzling I have to shield my eyes with my free hand.
The other, gripping the starstone, starts to tingle.
That strange crystalline pulse beats harder and stronger against my palm.
Silver threads zigzag my vision, like the painted constellations spangling the ceiling of Izarius’ chambers in the Observatory.
Instinct tells me to push the threads away, but I reach for them, latching on, allowing my Starborn magic, and the power of the starstone, to flow through me.
My hand flares with that same milky light.
The glare dampens after a few seconds. I stagger and clasp the window tracery for support. A sharp pain blooms in my skull and I swear I taste ash.
I snatch up the starstone, hold it close to my face.
There’s a single line of silvery script etched across its surface.
I don’t recognise the strange round letters, yet somehow, I can still read them.
Is this Prismscript? Izarius once told me of an ancient code last used to exchange strategic messages during the Plunderings – a spate of violent raids that broke out in the wake of the Sickening as resources dwindled and only brought to an end by the signing of the Partition Treaties and erection of the Barriers – which divided the realms and outlawed all communication between them.
But, if memory serves, Prismscript requires a gem-lens to be legible, its letters appearing blurred, rather than orbed, at first glance.
Cool fingers rifle my thoughts again.
Orthriel chuckles. ‘Moonrunes. Clever of Noelani. Only the Starborn can read them.’
The inscription disappears when a cloud passes in front of the moons. But I’ve committed the ten words to memory.
Seek my sister in the caves, beyond the Fallen Star.
That can only mean the Crystal Caves. But they’re deep in the bowels of the Astral Mountain, unscaled for generations. Since the Sickening, everyone’s been slowly driven from the peaks.
Orthriel stiffens. Their eyes flit to the doorway. ‘Astrophel.’
‘But what am I to do?’ I whisper.
‘That’s up to you now. I am only a messenger.’
They lock eyes with me. So much lies unsaid between us, but a vortex of opal flame serves as my Guardian’s only farewell.
Three raps at the door, measured and precise like their maker, send my stomach reeling.
I wrap the Celestial Chain around my left wrist once more, nestling the starstone against my palm, where it can’t be seen.
My pulse drums my throat as I cross to the pedestal, take up the replica Starlight Staff in the same hand, then hurry to the door.
There’s no time to think, to decide how to react to any of this.
I school my face blank and crack open the door.
A faint scent of warm hay and soft leather swirls the air.
Astrophel is holding himself needle-straight.
He’s grown several feet since he left for the Asteum.
I’m tall, as all Estelians are, but I have to crane my neck to look at him.
He’s broader too, thanks to the military training he received there.
The wadded sleeves of his doublet and jaunty angle of his cloak, which he wears slung over one shoulder, reinforce the impression of added bulk.
The silver hair he was fortunate to inherit from his father hangs to his collarbones in accordance with current court fashions, gleaming like starlight. Handsome. The model coterie nobleman.
Except he isn’t. Not by full blood. Not in the only way that matters.
Astrophel presents his arm. I extend my right hand, will it steady. He dips his head and presses cold lips to it. A shiver passes through me.
Stupid treacherous body.
‘You look very fine this evening.’ A flush steals over Astrophel’s cheeks and he looks away. I realise this is the first time my betrothed has seen me uncovered since his return. The first time he’s seen me as a woman grown.
He speaks in the cut-crystal, nasal drone the coterie cultivate now, all traces of his former peakish accent buffed smooth.
Silver-tongued, I’ve heard him called. But though his words may be courteous, there’s little warmth in them, and his pale-grey eyes are hard as agate.
They remind me of my father’s, and the resemblance doesn’t stop there.
The lines of discontent graven on the King’s face have yet to etch themselves around Astrophel’s eyes and lips, but it’s only a matter of time.
There’s already a disdainful edge to them, his mouth permanently curled between a smirk and a sneer.
Astrophel’s eyes settle on the diadem I’m wearing. He nods towards it. ‘It met with your approval, I trust?’ The flatness in his voice gives me to understand he doesn’t particularly care either way.
I try to discern a glimmer of sentiment in his eyes, something to prove he’s finding this as awkward and difficult as I am. But he’s gazing at some far-off point in the distance, nostrils flared, jaw set hard.
I thread my free hand through the crook of his arm. As he turns, drawing me into the hallway, a shaft of jewelled moonslight from the rose window drapes across him, catching on something. Stars above, he’s wearing a Crescent Sword.
At twenty, Astrophel is surely the youngest recipient of this honour. Oh, how he must have loved that. Pathetic, the pair of us, the way we crave the scraps of my father’s approval. But I’m the bigger fool – I should know by now Astrophel takes all the crumbs. There’s never anything left for me.
I grit my teeth and nod towards the blade. ‘I see congratulations are in order.’
Astrophel can’t contain the look of pride that spreads over his face. ‘Best not keep the King waiting.’ His spit-shined boots turn down the Long Walkway.
I hate him. Stars, how I hate him.
I’m forced to lengthen my strides to keep up with Astrophel, easier said than done in these ridiculous slippers. The walkway seems to narrow as we process towards the central staircase, the gleaming starcrystal walls closing in on us.
I’d pinch myself, to make sure everything that just transpired with Orthriel in the Reliquary wasn’t a fever-dream, but there’s no need. Noelani’s letter weighs down the chatelaine around my waist and the crystalline pulse of the starstone is steady against my palm. Faint but irrefutable.
My mouth is dry as we descend the glistening steps in silence, walking at a dirge-pace because of my train.
A cool draught circles the stairwell. It bites my exposed collarbones, carrying with it a familiar honeyed scent cut with musk.
I crick my neck. Delicate garlands of white starflowers rope the domed vestibule.
One’s fallen loose, a noose of white petals dangling in mid-air.
Astrophel stops abruptly before the entrance to the Watching Chamber. I almost trip over my feet. He turns, looks down the long bridge of his nose at me, and his serene, courtly facade splinters. His eyes narrow and sharpen, his jaw locks so hard I worry he’ll crack his perfect teeth.
‘There’s no need to overexcite yourself, Princess.’
He’s noticed my racing pulse, then?
His lips twist as though he’s eaten something foul. ‘Once I’ve sired an heir, we need only see each other at public engagements. I shan’t bother you.’
My stomach clenches. I tighten my grip on the Celestial Chain.
Silver-tongued? More like forked.
Astrophel bends towards me, lips grazing my ear. ‘I know you tried to run. That you don’t want this binding.’
My skin crawls at his throaty whisper.
‘I would not choose it, either. But unlike you, I’ve been preparing to shoulder my duty – my responsibilities – for as long as I can remember. I suggest, for once, you do the same. Think of the realm before yourself.’
I twist my upper body to escape his warm, tickling breath.
A way out – that’s what Orthriel called Noelani’s letter. And in this moment, there’s nothing I want more.
The consequences of interrupting the binding ceremony flash through my mind, rising along with the phantom scent of rosemary: I’d be forced to join the Veiled Sisters, permanently banished, denied even the right to visit my mother’s deathbed.
But what if there doesn’t have to be a deathbed?
Everything within me recoils at the thought of embracing my curse, of setting any faith in Noelani’s last prophecy.
The prospect of revoking the Sickening might be an impossible fiction, as plausible as the more fantastical creation myths within the Book of Starlore.
But I can’t ignore Noelani’s letter… I’ll have to at least tell my father of its existence.
Because what if I can save her? Perhaps countless others too…
Astrophel parroting my father’s slurs about my dereliction has decided me. The letter gives me a chance to prove myself, to show the King I do understand the meaning of duty. That I am fit to rule.
Maybe this time, I’ll be the one to get the scraps.
It’s all I’ve wanted. Acceptance. Approval.
I meet Astrophel’s steely gaze and try to keep my voice level. ‘Just as you say, my lord.’
A smirk tugs at Astrophel’s lips, deepening the slight cleft of his chin.
If I had any residual qualms about telling my father about the prophecy, they melt away at the sight of those curling lips.
Orthriel was right. They’re always right.
Even if Noelani’s bequest proves false, even if all comes to naught, it can at least offer me this: a way out of this binding. A stay of execution.
The space of a sunring.
Four hundred moonsrisings where Astrophel won’t be sharing my bed.
He tightens his grip on my arm.
I could tell him right now, break the bad news that he won’t be joining the family – won’t be receiving the seal of legitimacy he so desperately craves.
Not tonight anyway. Nor any night if I have anything to say about it.
Stars know, I’d love to wipe that self-righteous expression off his face.
But I hug my secret close, press my palm tighter around the concealed starstone.
Vengeance is a dish best served cold. And, as the pariah heir to a dying ice-bound realm, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s withstanding a chill. I’ve known nothing but cold shoulders my whole life.
I nod at Astrophel, then stare at the points of my slippers to hide my smile.
Just you wait, little lordling. Just you wait.