She might only be ten, but Eimarille had been drilled in etiquette since she knew how to walk. The Rourke bloodline bowed to no one but the star gods, and she wouldn’t do her family’s memory a disservice if she could help it.
Innes held up a hand to stop her. “Sit, child. There is no need for that.”
Eimarille retook her seat slowly, chewing on the delicate skin on the inside of her bottom lip, a habit that turned her lips white. Her mother always told her it was a terrible facial tell, something she needed to stop doing. Except the queen was dead, and Eimarille still chewed on her lip, with no one to admonish her otherwise.
She thought she should feel something, anything other than the numbness that came with every breath she took, but she didn’t. Innes might have struck the killing blow that took her mother’s life, but she would still pray to the stars. It was the way of life on Maricol, habit turned into culture, and the star gods knew the roads everyone must walk. Perhaps this was meant to be, after all, if a fallen star was seated across from her.
Innes did up his clothes, the star god looking all too human to her eyes, despite the starfire she knew ran through his veins. Scripture was clear the six were blessed by the aether, that its magic manifested itself in their living forms. What burned inside her resonated in a way she was still too young to fully control, but she knew the truth of him, as all Rourkes did.
Innes pushed a plate of scones and honey butter closer to her. “Eat, my dear. I’m sure you have questions, but one must be well-nourished to hear the answers.”
Eimarille obeyed him how she would never obey the Daijalan ambassador. She picked up the scone and broke off a piece, carefully dabbing some honey butter on it before popping it in her mouth. Innes nodded, pleased, so Eimarille ate another bite.
“Tell me, child. Are you good at keeping secrets?”
Eimarille raised her chin. “Of course.”
Matters of state were to be spoken about only within the family or with their closest advisors, her mother always said. Eimarille had been groomed to rule since she was born. She’d been taking her mother’s teaching to heart since she was old enough to understand what it meant to be a princess and an heir.
“Then you and I will keep one between us.”
Eimarille glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder at the Daijalans at the other end of the train carriage. “Just us?”
“Look at me, my dear.”
She faced forward again, setting down the butter knife, the taste of honey sweet on her tongue, washing away the hideousness of ash.
Innes didn’t blink, his gaze never leaving hers. When he smiled, his teeth were unstained by whiskey, smoke, or spice. “There is magic in you, and it burns so very bright. You were made for so much more than a single country, Eimarille. I will watch you make history of a future I shall build across the continent, and you will be glorious.”
For a moment, it felt as if she wasn’t in her body but floating outside it. All that existed was Innes and the starfire that burned in them both, the mark of gods and royalty alike.
When Eimarille came back to herself, she discovered the train was idling on the tracks, the curtains drawn over all the windows. Innes still sat across from her, but the table had been cleared of food. The bustling sound of a crowd reached her ears, and she twitched aside the curtain just enough to peer out and see they were finally at a station.
The fashion of the people waiting on the platform was distinctly Daijalan, the jewel tones capable of standing out against the vast forest she knew covered the western half of the continent. Her attention drifted from the richly dressed citizens to the debt slaves that trailed after their masters, bank numbers tattooed in stark black ink on their necks. The clothes they wore were drab and functional as they tended to luggage and small children, gazes never drifting far from the ground.
Eimarille’s stomach clenched at the sight, knowing it was her mother’s attempt to keep debt bondage out of Ashion that had brought her here. She might be young, but she still knew it was wrong.
“Just the one?” a deep voice asked from the train carriage entrance, catching her attention.
“I only need the one,” Innes replied.
Eimarille let the curtain go and straightened up, watching with wide eyes as a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in dusty leathers with a gunslinger’s belt around his waist approached their table. The Bear constellation tattoos inked across the back of the Midnight Star’s hands were familiar from scripture books, even if his face behind the thick beard was not.
Behind the star god followed a girl who couldn’t be more than a year or two older than Eimarille. She was thin, the features of her face lending themselves more to Urovan heritage than Daijalan or Ashionen. Her thick black hair was braided back in a single plait, and the gown she wore was functional for travel. The bottom of her skirt was embroidered with the six constellations of the star gods, while her shawl was pinned in place by a brooch only Star Order initiates were given.
“I hope you know what you’re doing, brother,” Xaxis said.
Innes smiled thinly. “Don’t I always?”
Eimarille folded her hands together in her lap as she stared at the star gods. Xaxis studied her in silence for a long moment before finally turning toward the girl who had followed him onto the train. He placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her forward.
“One Blade, as requested. She is no magician, and still requires continued training, but she will do.”
“I asked for a Daijalan.”
The smile Xaxis gave Innes made Eimarille want to shrink in her seat, but she didn’t. “I will play this game with you only so far. If you wanted one of yours, then you should’ve done the job yourself.”
Innes stood, and Eimarille watched him loom over the other girl, whose expression never changed as she dropped into a deep curtsy.
