The Sky Called Her Home (The Song of Stars Trilogy #1)

Chapter One

I take the route I’ve traced thousands of times through the slums of Virellin that allows me to slip from shadow to shadow with practised ease—this time, not for thieving or raiding, but for Ronyn.

I glide across thatched roofs, down walls blackened by soot, slowly making my way through narrow alleyways that twist like veins through a corpse. I need to get to The Black Stream markets—they stand between the slums and The Barrier District.

The Black Stream is notoriously difficult to cross—oily, enchanted, corrosive. It’s the sole access to the other side, and the unspoken boundary between the privileged and the forgotten.

After dark, The Black Stream markets are a pit of anguish.

Smoke curls in the air, clinging to my skin as desperately as I cling to survival, and the murmurs of deals for lives, steel, secrets, and flesh drift between the shadows.

I keep my hood low, my hand hovering near the hilt of my favorite blade at my thigh, and my gaze steady and scanning for a way across the bridge.

The Black Stream churns below, dark and venomous, a warning to anyone reckless enough to cross without permission.

Fortunately, I’m reckless. And the thought of Ronyn in danger is all it takes to steel my resolve.

Then I see it—a line of wagons, heavy with crates and covered cages.

One wagon inches forward, its caged passengers unmistakable beneath flickering torchlight.

The faces of women, their eyes hollow, their lips pressed into silent fear.

My stomach twists, but this is what The Black Stream markets are known for, and it is also my only chance.

There’s no other way across. Not unless I want to swim through flesh-eating sludge.

The wagon master is easy to spot—a hulking man with a shaved head, a jagged scar splitting his left brow.

He moves with the arrogance of someone who trades in things he doesn’t care about—lives, virtue, innocence.

He’s standing by the lead wagon, counting coins that clink against his ostentatious rings.

Fitting.

I adjust my cloak, pulling it lower to reveal the curve of my collarbone and the swell of my breasts. My heart pounds, but I shove the fear down. I’ve been prey before; this time, I’ll make them believe I’m willing.

I walk seductively towards Jagged Scar, forcing confidence into my voice. “Good evening, sir,” I lilt, fluttering my eyelashes and averting my gaze. “I hear you’re heading across the bridge tonight.”

The man doesn’t even deign to glance up. “And what of it?” He sneers.

I drop my voice, lowering my hood just enough to show my face. I graze my teeth lightly over my lips—just enough to look tempting. “I’m looking for passage. A face like mine could fetch a fair price, don’t you think?”

That gets his attention. His head snaps up, his indecent eyes locking on mine. They roam over me, slow and deliberate, and I fight the urge to flinch and recoil.

“You think you’re clever, don’t ya, girl? Listen up—they won’t care about your face, love. I’m not selling faces. I’m selling bodies. You hear me?” His voice is thick with disdain. “I’m lookin’ for girls who can spread their legs. Clever gets girls killed around here.”

I let out a soft laugh and draw my cloak lower, exposing more of my frame, letting him know I am no stranger to what he is selling, and that I consent to it—not that my consent is a prerequisite for him.

“I’m not here to be clever. I’m here for an opportunity.

Take me, and you’ll have one more beauty to sell. ”

The silence stretches, his suspicion hanging in the air between us. I hold my breath. Don’t blink. If he says no, I’ll have to find another way—and fast.

But finally, he grunts, his lips curling into a smirk that makes my skin crawl.

“Fine. Climb in. But if you cause trouble, I’ll throw you in the stream before the guards even get a look at you.”

I nod, keeping my face neutral as I move toward the last wagon. My hands tremble beneath my cloak, but I don’t let him see.

Inside, the air is suffocating. The women glance up—wary, dulled by resignation. I take a seat in the corner, folding into the shadows. The wood beneath me is splintered, digging into my thighs through the thin fabric of my trousers.

A girl next to me—I doubt she’s seen sixteen summers—leans closer. Her voice is a shaky whisper. “Did you come here... willingly?” She drops her voice even lower. “Like them.” She tilts her head subtly to the others.

I glance at her—her cheeks are hollow, her wrists thin enough to snap, and her eyes are a mirror of every nightmare I’ve had. I lower my voice. “No. I’m here for passage. What’s your name?”

“Tess,” she whispers. “My father sold me. Said the money would feed my brothers.”

My jaw tightens, the urge to run my blade through every man near this wagon rising hot and sharp in my chest. But I force my voice to stay soft. “Stay close to me, Tess. Don’t speak. Don’t make a sound.”

She nods, her small hands trembling against her lap.

The wagon surges forward, and the creak of wheels mingles with the steady clop of hooves. The bridge is close, I know it. I close my eyes, the reek of smoke and sweat clogging my lungs, willing myself to stay still. Stay calm. Just get across.

I note the change in sound of the hooves as we move from cobblestone to wooden bridge, and exhale. I’m on my way, Ronyn.

The wagon draws to a stop. We’re here.

My breath catches as voices rise outside.

“Open the wagons,” a guard demands, his voice gruff. “We need to see what you’re haulin’.”

The driver grumbles, but the sound of boots climbing onto the wagon silences everything else. A torch swings into the air, throwing flickering light across the faces of the women. I shrink deeper into the corner, pulling my hood low, trying to avoid attention.

The guard grins. An invasive grin that makes my skin prickle. “Well, what do we have here?” His gaze sweeps over us, landing on me, but swiftly moves to Tess. “This one’s new. And young. Probably still intact, eh?”

The other guards laugh, as if he’s just told a light joke at the tavern over a pint of ale. Pig.

I stiffen as he steps closer, his boots thudding against the wagon floor. Tess whimpers beside me, and I press my hand gently over her leg—a silent plea to keep quiet.

The torchlight flickers over our hoods, illuminating the edges of our faces.

He leans down, close enough that his acrid breath blows a strand of hair out of Tess’s face.

My hand moves to hover over my blade out of instinct, and I hold my breath.

If he places a single hand on this poor girl, I won’t lose a single moment of sleep over his death.

“Pretty thing,” he murmurs, his voice low and vile. “Bet you’d fetch a good price behind The Barrier. What do you say I test you out first? Break you in, eh?” His hand slides up her thigh—clammy, deliberate—and something inside me snaps.

Before I’ve even registered the decision, I’m moving—blade out, hand steady. His blood is warm as it runs over my fingers, blade embedded in the side of his neck.

It happens so fast, the scream never even forms in his throat. I swiftly sheathe my blade back at my thigh with the din of laughter from the outside guards nothing more than background noise.

No one has seen the blood yet. But they will.

“Oi!” Jagged Scar barks from the front of the wagon. “What’s going on in there?”

The guard stumbles, clutching his throat, eyes wide with shock, so I help him along with a firm boot to the chest.

My eyes meet Tess’s as I urgently whisper, “Stay quiet. Follow my lead. Keep up!”

Her eyes are wide and wet, but she nods. I pull my hood back up, and launch out of the wagon, stumbling and screaming hysterically whilst pointing towards the wagon in horror.

The guards attempt to climb in against the current of screaming women trying to get out, and I use the chaos and clambering to disappear into the market crowd, hoping to every god I’ve never prayed to that Tess has heeded my advice and kept up.

My heart hammers louder than the screams, the chaos battering my thoughts as I force my feet to move.

But I have to move—Ronyn needs me.

I vanish into the shadows. Because tonight, I’m the hunter.