The Stargazer (Embers of Distant Suns #1)

1. An Exhaustive Study in Disappointment

An Exhaustive Study in Disappointment

Maybe romance was dead.

My heart skipped. My knees went weak. But the searing kiss of a blade at my throat was not nearly as swoon-worthy as the books made it sound. And like the velvet-deep voice shattering my delusion of being alone, it was a plot twist I hadn’t seen coming.

In hindsight, a big, fat failure of imagination on my part.

“Who are you?” His words vibrated against my spine in the clammy dark.

Between stutters of panic-breathing, a sound slipped out—so pathetic it was practically a sob.

The man’s breath curled hot against the back of my neck. “You have three seconds to tell me who you are and why you’re down here before I slit your throat.”

The brute with the truly awful knife etiquette pressed just hard enough to make his point without actually making one in my jugular. I didn’t dare swallow. The professional hold suggested this wasn’t his first hostile icebreaker.

“I’m no one.” Not technically true, of course. But only in the way a smudge wasn’t technically a stain. Even so, being a useless anomaly made “no one” feel painfully accurate.

“Your name!”

My eyes nearly jumped out of my head.

The bark ricocheted down the maze of catacomb corridors, bouncing off ancient bone and the spirits of the long dead.

The words dragged themselves free. “Wren. My-y name is Wren.”

My eyes fell shut. Of all the ways to die, following a stammering introduction felt especially undignified.

“And…” The malice rolling off him seeped through the wool of my robe and crawled up my spine.

“I… I come down here at night. Didn’t know anyone else knew about this place.” I cringed at my flawless impression of a shaking leaf.

I needed to pull myself together. It’s been just me and the skulls having a pleasant, judgement-free hangout for months now. Then, this guy shows up and acts like he owns the place.

His grip on my ribs loosened, only to catch the lock of hair falling over my left shoulder and lift the iridescent strands up to the light. His grip faltered.

“You’re Sideri.”

Give the man a prize.

The knife disappeared as he shifted back a step. I spun around and backed into the cold, damp wall. No way was I taking any chances. He wasn’t currently adding my skull to the collection surrounding us. But the way he continued to loom made it painfully clear he could change his mind at any moment.

With a hood casting his face in darkness and clearly committed to the mysterious man aesthetic, he was a study in black.

Coat. Boots. And definitely intent. Amid the deep shadows, the only obvious details were the sheer size of him and the flash of the dagger down by his side, reflecting the white glow of the lumin rock.

“You’re too old to be a charge of the Citadel,” he said.

I winced. My trophy for Most Useless Sideri is lying around here somewhere if he wanted a closer look. And just when I thought stating the obvious was the highlight of the night, he dropped the most dreaded question in existence…

“What’s your ember?”

“I don’t have one.” The answer came fast, like pulling off a bandage. With every ounce of my being, I hated all four words as they exited my mouth.

Because an ember wasn’t just some parlor trick—it was power. The gift that defined all Sideri. And I would be the first lucky one to reach nineteen with only a shiny lock of hair and an ever-growing collection of pitying glances.

He took a half-step closer. The slight movement made him loom even larger as he raised the blade. Pale light from the lumin rock speckling the walls caught the blade’s edge, sending a sliver of reflection across the skulls lined in neat rows behind him.

“Don’t lie to me, girl.”

“I have no ember. Absolutely none.” Holy stars, what would it take to convince this man? If he gives me a couple of minutes, I’m sure I could whip up a quick presentation. I could call it: Wren, an Exhaustive Study in Disappointment.

In the silence of the catacombs, the groaning creak of shifting leather filled the narrow corridor. It was my only warning before his hand shot out and fisted my robe. Then he pinned me into the wall, knocking the air from my lungs.

“Don’t doubt for even one second that I won’t use this blade to cut the answer out of you.”

Oh, he needn’t fret. I was quite confident in his willingness to commit casual homicide. But apparently he felt I needed more convincing, because the blade flashed again. This time, dangerously close to my face.

I grit my teeth hard enough to hurt. This was just getting ridiculous.

For the love of pointy objects and regrettable last words. “I. Don’t. Have. One.”

And because this night couldn’t get any more humiliating, heat pricked behind my eyes.

This relentless man was forcing me to admit to my greatest shame over and over again.

As if I had to convince him I was, without a doubt, defective.

My skin grew tight as the hold on my temper slipped.

It hummed and crackled just beneath the surface.

I leaned into the fist gripping my robe, my hands curling tight at my sides.

“Why, in the bloody welkin, do you think I’m still here?

” Much to my shame, my voice cracked. Because at twelve, when flames began to dance in children’s palms, and shadows started bending to their will, I’d waited.

At thirteen, when the Citadel’s tutors marveled at embers of combat and healing and foresight, I’d pretended not to notice the way their eyes skipped over me.

And at fifteen, when the last of my peers had left for training, I’d smiled and clapped and ignored the way my hands shook.

“They’ve kept me here out of pity,” I spat. “Or maybe just desperation. Like if they wait long enough, I’ll suddenly start spouting prophesies or turn invisible or...stars forbid, actually become useful.”

He paused as if assessing the answer. I locked my muscles and stared into the darkness of his hood where I expected his eyes to be. Willing him to see the truth in mine. Yes, I’m the Citadel’s resident cosmic joke.

My stomach twisted at the humiliation, the anger draining faster than I could blink. I took a ragged inhale of the stale, earthy air as it echoed off the stone walls. It must’ve convinced him because he went still.

“Impossible,” he muttered in what seemed like genuine confusion. Though I wasn’t sure which of us he was speaking to.

Finally, with a sharp exhale of frustration, he shook his head and leaned closer. “You go nowhere until I'm gone.” He shoved me once more for emphasis.

Then he turned and stalked into the main chamber, his coat sweeping behind him, as though I’d been just another interruption in his night.

I stood there in the dark long after his footsteps faded, my back against the cold stone, my heart still making its case for immediate evacuation.

Impossible, he'd said. It wasn’t directed at me. Not in the way everything else had been directed at me—the knife, the questions, the shove. That word had been different. Like something that escaped before he could stop it.

Like he was genuinely confounded.

I'd spent years watching people react to what I wasn't. Pity. Discomfort. The particular awkwardness of people who didn't know where to look. I knew all the variations.

Confounded was new.

The skulls, as ever, kept their opinions to themselves.