“Yes, please. His name is Orion,” she replied, handing him Orion’s reins.
Glancing around, the stables from the Capri Inn in Aquarian flashed in front of her eyes. A memory of burns and sloughing skin and butchered men in furs roared to life. Her pulse jumped, and she felt the world fade to black around her.
“Breathe. You are safe,” a soft low voice whispered in her ear.
She took three deep breaths, closing her eyes, and focusing on the scent of pine and wood smoke that lingered behind her. Her heartbeat slowed, and blood returned to her face as she blinked.
Draven was handing his reins to the stable boy, eyeing her warily. He nodded at her, then walked out of the stables.
Astraia followed, focusing on the movement of her legs, the feel of her toes in her boots, anything than on the memories that threatened to consume her. As they rounded the corner of the stables, she noticed people hurrying up the street ahead of her.Several children ran, shouting for their friends to follow, and her skin crawled with uneasiness.
Daven shot her a warning glance, but it was too late.
She veered off the path leading to the inn and followed the throng of people congregating at the end of the street, in front of an old temple.
“Traia! Stars help me!” she heard Draven shout, but she paid him no mind as she marched toward the ruckus.
The closer she came to the temple, the more congested the street became, bodies pushing together to get as close as they could to a man perched on the temple steps.
The temple was in ruins, columns crumbling, and the ceiling half collapsed on one side. Dust coated the once pristine white marble floors, stardust fainting glittered on the entire structure’s surface. It was an homage to the Shattering—faith faltered when the Stars fell. There were few priests left who still honored the Stars and spoke of a second coming, one of retribution and restoration. Most forgot the Stars as much as the Stars had forgotten their own.
The man standing on the highest step of the temple was shouting, moving his arms wildly, pointing to the crowd and to the temple around him. His hair was shaved along the sides, but longer along the top and tied back on top of his head. He wore a white linen shirt and brown linen pants with a sash tied around his waist, and a curved saber sword dangled from its sheath on the side of his hip. A white bandanna appeared to have been pulled down from his face and was looped around his neck, revealing years of exposure to the elements. His expression was cold, calculated, and fierce.
She tried leaning forward in the crowd to hear what was being said, but something else caught her eye.
A figure stood in the shadows of the ruined temple, leaning casually on a worn column, eyeing the man and surveying thecrowd. A woman with skin as dark as the starless skies, her head and face shrouded in a dark green cloth, revealing only her mesmerizing eyes. A few black curls of her hair peaked from behind the shroud, bouncing in the breeze. On her back, Astraia could just make out the hilt of not one, but two swords, the gold inlay in the hilts subtly visible. She was clothed in similar garb as the man speaking—a linen shirt, pants, and sash around her waist. The casual demeanor of the formidable woman was a farce, that much was certain. Her aura screamed ruthless, killer without remorse.
As she studied the warrior, her brown eyes locked on Astraia’s, and she froze, fearful to move too suddenly. But the woman only nodded and resumed scanning the crowd.
Astraia shifted uncomfortably, just as the man shouted louder. She was finally able to hear what he was preaching to the people.
“We cannot continue to wait for the Stars to save us! We do not know when they will awaken!” He looked up to the heavens then back at the crowd.
Several people murmured around her, agreeing with the man, while others scoffed and spat on the ground in disgust.
Raising his voice again, he bellowed at the masses, “We must take action against those who seek our ruin, who sit behind stardust walls and slumber with full bellies, while our own starve!”
Several men and women yelled in agreement, and townspeople around her clapped.
“For too long we have allowed the Celestial Court and the upper class of Volpes to dictate our lives, to determine who lives and who dies. The king now demands those chosen by the Stars to be imprisoned or killed. He thinks himself higher than the Stars while his people shed blood for his coffers!”
More roars from the crowd echoed in the street. They were becoming more animated and restless with every word that poured from the man’s mouth—words that sounded similar to rebellion.
Shardborne.
They were members of the Sharborne rebellion. A league of bandits that lived in the Shardlands as desert nomads, seeking to overthrow and dismantle the monarchy.
She broke out into a cold sweat as she backed away from the crowd. Lowering her face and pulling her hood over her head, she edged away from the congregation of rebellion sympathizers. She gritted her teeth, silencing her bonds that sensed her wariness and retreated until her back hit a wall.
Twisting around, she came face to face with an irritated bounty hunter. “It never ceases to amaze me how efficiently you can put yourself in danger.”
“I was not in danger,” she snapped, brushing dirt from her cloak.
He scoffed. “So says the one who has nearly died more times in my presence than soldiers do in a lifetime.”
“Insufferable.” She glared at him, fighting the urge to flare her Power bond and knock him halfway across the courtyard.
He only smirked at her, then his eyes hardened as he looked over her shoulder. His body tensed, and he grasped the hilt of the dagger at his side.
