Feet halted, and heads whipped from side to side.
Another scream had Astraia’s hair standing on end as she forced her way through the crowd that was gathering a few yards from her in front of a bakery. Standing on her toes, she could see the door of the bakery was open, and two royal guards stood on either side of the door, forbidding anyone to enter.
Shoving past a man gaping at the commotion, Astraia was able to see more of the bakery entrance just as another guard exited the building, his hands grabbing the shirt of a younger man.
The guard threw him to the ground in front of the spectators. Astraia’s breath hitched, recognizing the baker’s son. Leolus was maybe nineteen and had helped his mother run the bakery afterhis father’s death. The young man knelt on the ground as the guard behind him unrolled a scroll of parchment.
“By order of the King of Astradeon, King of the Celestial Court, His Royal Majesty King Maelrik.” The guard’s voice boomed through the square, now eerily quiet except for the weeping of Leolus’s mother, who now stood in the doorway, watching her son with horror on her face. “You, Leolus Pyces, are hereby arrested and shall stand trial for high treason against the Crown of Astradeon.” The guard rolled up his scroll, and produced manacles from beneath his cloak.
“No! Please! Not my son!” his mother screamed, desperately trying to break free of the two guards detaining her.
Leolus rose from the ground and looked at his mother, a small smile on his lips. “It’s okay.”
He turned calmly to face the guard before him, his stare filled with loathing.
Astraia’s pulse quickened. She recognized the implications of such a stare—all of which led to destruction.
He stretched his hands out in front of him, offering his hands for the guard’s shackles. The guard took a step toward him, shackles prepped for his arrest, when a pale blue light shimmered from Leolus’s fingertips.
Astraia whipped her gaze to his eyes to find them alight with a blue glow—just before the entire street flooded.
Water came rushing from all directions of the square, pulled from the fountains, rivers, alleyways, gutters, and wells. It moved in unnatural arcs through the air and wove its way through the buildings and crowd of people now screaming and retreating from the streets.
Astraia hurried to kneel behind an overturned cart as she watched the baker.
Leolus flicked his fingers, and with a simple turn of his wrist, carved the water into deadly whips and struck the main guard.
The guard was slammed into the side of the bakery, the windows shattering upon impact.
The remaining guards drew their swords, rushing Leolus with a battle cry—but he was ready.
Another slight turn of his palm, and the whips of water joined into a wave behind him. Both of his hands flexed, his palms facing his attackers, and the wave descended on them.
In a breath, the two guards had been knocked off their feet, and the wave pushed them further down the street. The guards tried to stand against the wave, gasping for air, only to be knocked down once again.
Leolus forced the guards into the river next to the town, but just as he finished disposing of the two guards, the one remaining had crept up to Leolus and within seconds, slapped the shackles on his wrists.
The baker blinked rapidly, the blue glow of his eyes snuffed out. Water fell from the sky around them where it was just suspended mere seconds ago.
“Enough, Starborne!” the guard snarled, unsheathing his sword and pointing it at Leolus. “There is no use fighting me now. Those chains are meant for vermin like you.”
Staring down in disbelief at the chains now holding him and his bond prisoner, the baker hung his head in defeat. Astraia’s pulse quickened at the sight of the shackles. A way to dull Starborne abilities—a way to control the connection with the Constellations.
Panic flooded her mind, triggering tumultuous waves of uncertainty in her thoughts. She needed to get out of the square—or there would be more than one Starborne bond smothered. Cautiously, she retreated from her spot behind the wagon and made for the opposite side of the square as some people dared to reenter the flooded street. She passed in front of a building when she felt it.
The familiar warmth that tingled in her spine. The bond was warning her.
She came to the alleyway between two shops, and in a split second, she whirled on her pursuer, pinning them to the alley wall. Her dagger pressed to his throat before he had the chance to speak.
He did not flinch. Did not blink. The man before her stood still, a wall of calm wrapped in shadow and a composed smile on his face.
His skin was sun-warmed bronze like his hair, which was pulled back into a knot. His jaw sharp beneath the rough stubble of a few days’ travel. He smelled of smoke and pine, like he belonged to the wild more than the city.
But it was his eyes that caught her breath in her throat. Amber. Not just golden. Not soft. Molten. They watched her—not with fear, but with a quiet calculation that made her pulse stumble.
“Bold of you,” he murmured, voice low and rough. His breath warmed her wrist. “Holding a blade to a stranger before introductions.”
She tightened her grip. “Bold of you, following me.”
