Chapter 1
CORYNNE
There were only two things in this world that I hated more than men: bog water in my stockings and limp vegetables.
At that moment, both would’ve been preferable to the pair of white-wigged imbeciles glaring down at me from the college steps, their noses lifted like I’d fouled the very air after throwing me into the dirt in front of the gods and anyone with leisure enough to watch.
"Women cannot be astronomers," one sneered. "Women are incapable of learning to read, much less clock the stars. Even if one could, they’re not permitted at the college."
"Unless she’s a witch," the other chimed in, delighted with himself. "Well? Are you a witch, Miss Godwin?"
I rolled my eyes. Of course we’d arrived at witchcraft.
"You’re both remarkably imaginative," I said, brushing grit from my palms as I stood. "Especially for men who’ve never looked at anything beyond the end of their own quills."
"Miss Godwin," the first one said. He was a little taller than his companion, not that it amounted to much.
"You were neither admitted nor enrolled.
You are not—" his eyes flicked pointedly to my worn, threadbare skirt, my mannish boots, and the leather satchel at my hip that had followed me since my time at the orphanage. "—appropriate."
I wiped the dirt from my skirts, my cheeks heating from the anger and embarrassment seeping through my pores. If I couldn’t get patronage or education on my own, well…
No, I didn’t have another option. Not if I wanted to remain autonomous.
"Very well, then," I quipped. If I’d had a limp vegetable in my hand, I might have thrown it. "Suit yourselves. But I’d be determining sums if I were you."
"Sums? Whatever for?"
"So you can fight over my patronage after I find the Stella Mortis."
I gathered the papers that had scattered from my satchel: pages of star charts, diagrams, calculations I’d written by candle and moonlight under the night sky.
They both snorted obnoxious laughs, and my anger was nearly intolerable.
"Miss Godwin, the Stella Mortis is but a mere myth."
I’d crossed half the county to bring my findings here, to a college that didn’t know my name and, more importantly, didn’t know his.
That had been the whole point.
This town was not mine. This college was not mine. But neither did they belong to him.
As I stuffed the last page back into my satchel, the taller white-wigged man straightened, smoothed the front of his coat, and said, "Don’t come back," as he turned and walked away.
The other’s lip curled. "Unless you’re prepared to admit what you are."
"A woman," I muttered. Of course he didn’t hear me. Or, if he did, he didn’t deign to retort. I cursed under my breath, wishing I’d learned a little bit of witchcraft so I could turn the tall one into a frog and shove him up the other one’s—.
"Miss?"
"Oh!" I jumped and turned to find a porter in a faded blue coat smiling at me sadly. "Has no one ever taught you not to startle a lady?"
"I’m so sorry, milady, it’s just—" he cut off as if trying to find the kindest way to say what he was about to say.
I didn’t need his kindness. I was far from a lady.
"Well, don’t sugar coat it," I chastised. "Get on with it, so I can go about my day."
"You’ll want to mind yourself," he said, nodding toward the building. "They don’t take kindly to… oddities."
"I noticed," I replied in my most saccharine voice.
He nodded, lips thinning, something still obviously weighing on his mind. I sighed, ready to tell him to shove off when he spoke again.
"I heard your petition. It was very learned, miss." He scratched his jaw. "A pity. They already had a letter about you."
"A letter," I repeated, and tried to keep my voice neutral.
"Aye." He shrugged, as if letters simply blew in on the wind. "It came yesterday, it did. Sealed and everything. Very important."
My mouth went dry.
"What seal?" I asked too quickly.
The porter frowned, thinking. "Black wax with a crest stamped into it. Some sort of star, I think? No, not a star. Like a little… compass rose?" He pinched his fingers together, miming a shape in the air, then added with a certain satisfaction, "Had a crown atop it, all fancy-like."
Godsdamn it all.
That seal had been following me for what felt like a lifetime: on neatly lettered invitations not meant for me, on orders delivered to the orphanage that determined whether we ate meat or broth with moldy bread, and finally, as I got older and excelled in my studies, on correspondence that spoke about me as if I were a tool to be loaned.
Or, as fate would have it, a prized pig for purchase.
"Bloody dammit," I whispered. I’d trudged miles over to this city to get away from that damned seal. I forced a tinkling laugh. "And what did this letter have to say?"
The porter leaned in closer, his rancid breath on my cheek as he whispered, "That you weren’t to be accepted or encouraged, miss."
My fingers tightened around the strap of my satchel until the leather creaked.
Of course he’d been polite about it, making it seem as if I were some patient ripe out of the madhouse that needed constant care rather than a woman trying to pave her own path.
That was his favorite sort of cruelty, written in ink, stamped with wax and always delivered with a smile.
Not Do what I say or else, but No one will help you without me.
I turned away before the man could see my hate-filled tears, and walked with purpose toward anywhere that wasn’t that damned college.
Silly me for wanting more out of this godsforsaken life.
No matter.
If men wanted to lock me out of the heavens, then I would find the stars another way. Even if it meant traversing the sea.
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