Chapter 15 #3
Astrophel is quiet. He’s drinking more than usual and seems distracted, bouncing his feet beneath the table. Occasionally, he and my father exchange that same knowing look I observed earlier.
Beware. Beware. Beware.
I’m tempted to open my second-sight, try and discover what they’re up to, but don’t want to draw attention to myself. Someone’s bound to notice my eyes misting over.
The sense of looming threat chokes me again, dampening my appetite. I scarcely touch my pie, and it’s an age till attendants appear to clear the tables again, and the Master of Ceremonies heralds the commencement of the Thaw Rites.
My parents lead the procession to the palace gardens. I draw my mantle close against the bitter night air as we glide down an avenue flanked by coloured lanterns shaped like Estelian wildflowers. These light our way to the great starflower tree.
We congregate beneath its wide-spread boughs, silvered bark cast lilac by the moonslight.
White ribbons festoon the thickly-budded branches, an ancient custom, steeped in superstition.
Each ribbon represents a wish the courtiers hope the Dawn Sister will grant them.
Legend holds she planted this tree herself, watered it with her tears, singing ballads beneath its shade for her Beloved, lost on the other side of the Veil.
The tree is the reason this site was chosen for the palace, when Meissa replaced Talini as Estelia’s capital.
There’s a crunch beside me, someone treading heavily on the frosted ground. I glance left, then right. Nothing. No one. But dots of light storm like glowflies before my eyes.
Beware.
I shudder as my outer vision rights itself.
Our guests are ranged around my father like a scythe. He raises his hand for silence, and I will my pounding heart quiet, reach for the steadying comfort of the starstone.
‘Thawtide is a celebration of hope, and we are fortunate to usher in this new sunring armed with more hope than in living memory. I would like to take this opportunity to bid farewell to the foreign delegates we’ve sheltered these past moons.
The evidence you collect as you tour the realm, the ideas you exchange, may have far-reaching implications for Arcelia’s future.
’ He looks purposefully at each of us in turn, silently acknowledging our shared secret about the true purpose of our journey.
‘You go with our blessings and our gratitude.’
Something is definitely wrong; he’s being too polite.
‘What better occasion than Thawtide, a salutation of new beginnings, to bear witness to an event nineteen sunrings in the making. One which represents its own new beginning.’ He takes a step towards me.
Extends his hand. His eyes glitter in the way that terrifies me. ‘Your chain, daughter. If you please.’
I start back. ‘What for?’
A cruel smile blossoms on my father’s lips. ‘Your handfasting.’
My legs tremble. The crowd’s confused murmurings register dimly as I watch Elvi’s eyes widen, her face pale. Astrophel is at my shoulder. The answering smirk on his face confirms my earlier suspicions. This is not news to him.
Fear bleeds to rage.
Izarius approaches my father, wrings his hands. ‘But the auguries, Radiance? The next Flowering Moons are long cycles away—’
‘Fret not, Scribe. The full rites will be observed. But I would see them bound, one way or another, before they travel beyond Meissa’s gates. It’s unseemly otherwise. Lacks propriety.’
My throat’s a vice again. So, this is Astrophel’s doing. Payback for what I said in the Armoury. That wrongness weighting the air, the whispers, it all makes sense now. I’m caught in a trap, and I can’t do a star-damned thing about it.
My father dips his head. ‘I told you I’d make you pay.’
No, no, no. This can’t be happening. After this, I can never lawfully bind myself to anyone else.
A handfasting can’t be dissolved. It’s a sacred promise.
I tighten my grip on the starstone; its faint thrum echoes in my veins.
I hate the idea of something so beautiful being used to do something so monstrous, wish there was some way around it, but my father and Astrophel have backed me into a corner this time.
Threads of fury and terror lace between my fingers and the starstone as I draw the chain over my head, careful to keep the stone hidden. No one can know it’s not the replica. With a deep sigh, I lower it into my father’s outstretched palm.
He yowls and snatches his hand away. There’s a collective gasp and the courtiers closest to me retreat several paces.
My father’s palm is split and bleeding.
The chain lands with a wet crunch on the frosted grass. Sharp pain cleaves my skull, the taste of ash brims my mouth, as I gather it up and quickly restore it under my bodice.
‘What have you done?’ Astrophel thunders, pushing past me to attend his king.
I raise my hands. ‘Nothing, I swear!’
It’s true, in a way. I did nothing. To avoid scandal, my father is already claiming he only sliced his hand on the stone’s sharp facets.
But I can’t escape the nagging suspicion I somehow infused the starstone with my anger, my frustration, my fear.
I made it injure my father. My splitting head, the taste of death swirling my mouth, it all speaks to my guilt. My curse.
I glance at the shocked faces surrounding me, feel the weight of their mistrustful eyes – one pair more piercing than the others: Blayze’s face is twisted in horror. My body cringes under the judgement of his gaze.
He thinks me a monster.
Well, I know myself one, can already imagine the vicious whispers that will circulate the court, the names they’ll call me. Just as well I’m leaving in the morning.
‘Tis a sign, Radiance. The proper rites must be observed,’ Izarius whispers.
My mother cradles my father’s hand. ‘We should heed the scribe. Not anger the Sisters. Not with our only living child about to leave our sphere of protection. Forgo the handfasting, my lord. Proceed instead with welcoming the Thawlight back to the realm.’
My father looks at her, his jaw tight with pain, and something more than pain. Fear.
At length, he gives a curt wave of his uninjured hand. ‘Light the fuses.’
Astrophel’s face falls as attendants lower torches to the icy ground.
He quickly rearranges his features, disguising his disappointment, but the wilted expression lasts long enough that Blayze and Maris both notice it. They whisper to one another, laugh.
Blayze claps him on the back so hard, Astrophel jolts forwards. ‘Chin up, Peacock. That’s twice she’s jilted you, isn’t it? Third time lucky then, eh?’
‘Unhand me!’
Blayze draws close to Astrophel, thrusts out his jaw, and grins. ‘Make me!’
Stars and Spheres! I’ll have to step in before this night is ruined twice-over. I open my mouth to intervene, but the fire-flowers silence them first.
There’s a loud hissing as fuses ignite and showers of crackling, jewelled light rain down on us. I start and cover my ears, watching until the bursts of colour give way to a thick veil of smoke.
I shudder. The sight of smoke, the stench of burning. It never gets any easier.
Silver speckles my vision again, but it’s not a fire-flower this time – just another whisper.
Beware.