She nearly flared, yanking hard on her tether to keep from burning the entire town to the ground. “I am tired of the half-truths. So, tell me how you know the language, or I’ll finish what I started in Tenebris.”
“There you go again, making demands when you have no leverage.” His voice was low, rough, intentionally riling her.
Her eyes flared white as she let the gates to Power open, pouring into her hands and down into the Celestial blade.
“I am tired of the games, hunter. You told me once you would protect me from the world. How am I supposed to trust you when you withhold information?” Her voice wavered, her eyes pulsing steadily as she gazed at him. The small voice of hope she had rekindled was shrinking back, her walls threatening to rise once more.
“Some truths cause more harm than good,” he countered, his own eyes glowing with a faint golden light.
In a flash, he gripped her wrist holding the dagger, the same one he had broken before, and twisted. She stifled a yelp as her grip released, and the dagger was thrown into the dirt, still glowing.
Furious, she formed a fist with her other hand and flung it at his face, but he was too fast. His hand clamped down on her attacking wrist. She cursed and tried to force her knee up between his legs, but he dodged her assault. A smile pulled on his lips as he pulled her wrists toward him, their bodies dangerously close.
“Good, but remember who your opponent is, Starborne,” he taunted, glowing eyes fixed on her own.
She scowled, flexing her hands in his grip, and licked her lips. His eyes flickered to her mouth, golden rays pulsing from his stare. He leaned in toward her, mere inches from her face. The pine and smoke aroma made her knees weak, and her heart pounded out of her chest.
Her spine was bursting with energy, bonds begging to be set free. She needed only to push up on her toes, and she would finally discover what she had only dreamed—the feel of the hunter’s lips on hers.
Taking a slow breath, she tensed her legs, ready to let him claim her, when the door to the mead hall burst open.
Two drunk patrons stumbled out onto the steps, falling down and laughing.
Astraia pulled on her tether, forcing her bonds back down, the glow of her eyes vanishing in a breath. Draven did the same, his amber eyes cooling, and dropped her wrists. His eyes lingered on hers, a flicker of regret on his face, then he stepped backward.
“Let’s go meet the Bear,” he said, turning and walking up the stairs to the mead hall.
Steeling herself, she took a deep breath before following him. The cloud of doubt still loomed over her. She would either lose herself or lose her life to this man—maybe both.
Chapter 35
The consensus of Shattering scholars, including the esteemed Paxtus Libras, was that the realm not only implicated the Stars for the destruction of its lands, but also, for the desertion and degradation of the people post-Shattering. The result of this abhorrence was absent prayer, pitiful dedication, and ultimately dismissal of the Stars.
The Decline and Fall of the Constellations
“WHAT IN THE STARS?” ASTRAIA gawked at the mead hall, trying to digest the scene unfolding around her.
In the center of the hall was a long firepit that was sunk into the ground. A boar was being roasted on a spit, the alluring smell of meat mixed with mead clinging to the walls. There were several long tables on either side of the hall with patrons drinking and laughing. On one end of the hall was an open space where two burly men were shirtless, circling each other as others jeered. One man landed a punch, knocking the other to the ground with a loud crash. The entire room cheered, raising their mugs of ale in congratulations.
Her boots stuck to the floor as she walked, caked in mead, and she stifled a gag when she noticed a man vomiting into a bowl at one table.
Draven strode through the crowd without hesitation, making his way to the barkeep at a counter on one side. Several men were sitting at tables gambling while serving girls sat on their laps, wearing clothes that left little to the imagination. A few of the women ogled Draven as he passed, batting their lashes and smiling at him.
It took all of Astraia’s restraint not to melt their faces off. She glared at each of them, flashing a speck of Power in her eyes. The women paled, shrinking back in their chairs or falling off the men’s laps. Astraia smiled, keeping her head held high as she walked behind Draven.
After speaking to the barkeep, Draven turned to her and shouted over the loud pandemonium, “He’s there, in the pit.”
He nodded toward the fighting ring at the end of the hall just as a roar went up from the onlookers.
Astraia took off toward the fight, pushing past drunkards and bar maids until she was at the pit. The crowd pressed around her, but she managed to wiggle between two men in furs who smelled of stale ale and urine. She scrunched her nose, but it barely bothered her—compared to the smell of rotting corpses from Plague, it was a perfume.
There were two men sparring, using nothing but their fists and intuition. Neither men wore shirts, their muscular frames exposed for the Stars and everyone to witness. One of the men was slightly larger and moved with the grace of a lame horse, his footwork sloppy and unsteady. The other man, a behemoth in his own right with longer dark hair that fell just below his shoulders, tattoos and scars riddling his tanned body, took advantage of the other brute’s weakness. The dark-hairedwarrior sidestepped punches and spun out of reach, far quicker and more agile on his feet than his opponent.
The crowd goaded them both, screaming for one to finish the other. She could not decipher what they said, but she did pick up “Bjorn” being shouted multiple times toward the dark-haired man—the same name she heard Draven speak to the guard. The Bear was clearly the more proficient fighter in the ring.
The oaf opposite him sprang forward, throwing a side punch, but the Bear was too fast, evading his punch and rebounding with an uppercut to his jaw. A blood-curdlingcrackrose over the howling crowd as the man’s jaw broke and blood splattered the ring. The injured man groaned, falling backward with the force of the punch, and hit the ground with a thud.
The Bear did not waver. He jumped on top of his opponent and began to punch him relentlessly with the force of a hammer driving in nails. The man tried to shield his face, but it was no use. Blood sprayed from his eyes, mouth, nose as he took the beating. The crowd was in a frenzy, some shouting for the oaf to move while others were cheering on the Bear.
