It’s Blayze who breaks the silence. He steps close to Maris and takes hold of her chin.
‘Look, I was as angry as anyone about not being told the sceptre’s location. Made my feelings pretty clear at the Council of Four, and none too politely if memory serves.’ He snorts. ‘But we’ve gone past the point of pettiness, Mar. So, let’s back off, give Sparkles the space to do whatever needs to be done to give us the best chance of finding it, eh? Because that’s what we all want, isn’t it? For this to be over.’
Maris scowls. ‘Fine, side with her. You do live in a pit, maybe you like being kept in the dark.’ She storms into the receiving chamber.
Her words strike a nerve, and I don’t know where to look. Not because I haven’t shared the sceptre’s location with them – I stand by what I said, it is safer not to tell them about that – but Maris is right: I am keeping them in the dark.
I still haven’t told them the truth about the Sister-Stones, and I haven’t voiced my suspicions about the Faceless Woman either, nor discussed my plan to use the mooncrystal tonight. Blayze just defended me and upset Maris in the process, and I’ve been lying to them – to him – the whole time.
I turn away to hide my blanching face, but I’m an instant too late.
Blayze sees. He cocks one brow, the golden flecks in his eyes glittering as his lips lift into a smirk.
He’s seen, but not understood.
Well, let him think I’m embarrassed he defended me – giddy as a schoolgirl about it. It’s better than him knowing the truth.
He already thinks me an abomination. He doesn’t need to know I’m a liar too.
A NIGHT FOR ANSWERS
LEILANI
THEGATESTOthe Starshrine are rusted and choked with brambles, but not locked.
How many times have I dreamt of walking the star-path? Of entering this most sacred of spaces? But it’s a pilgrimage I must make alone.
I turn to Blayze. ‘We agreed you’d escort me to the gates. I can take it from here.’
He arches a brow. ‘Astrophel won’t like it. I’ll see you to the door.’
‘Astrophel doesn’t have to know. If he felt that strongly, he should have come himself.’ I yank my hood lower. ‘Instead, he sent you so he could sulk inside and accuse me of not trusting him. He’s being a child. You can see for yourself there’s no one here.’ I gesture to the silent streets to prove my point. ‘Scout the perimeters if you must, but I have no idea how long I’ll be, and it’s snowing. I can see myself back.’
He frowns, glancing in all directions. But even in his heightened state of watchfulness, which doesn’t seem to have mellowed since Galtair, the Clanschief will have to admit the city is deserted. There are no observable threats.
Though the weight of those invisible eyes is forever at my back.
‘You once told me you braved the Waste, alone, because it was your calling. Well, this is mine. My presence here is star-writ and Noelani’s letter said I’m to do this unaided.’
His eyes narrow. ‘Fine. But I’m leaving Serafine to watch over you. That’s my compromise.’
He whispers something to the emberwing and she takes flight, gliding over the gates towards the Starshrine.
‘Be careful, Sparkles. Any sign of trouble and you call for Serafine. She’s instructed to protect you with her life.’ His throat bobs. ‘And I’ll speak to the others. I know the burden it is to lead, how a throne can be the loneliest place to sit. I’ll make them understand.’
With that, he turns to start his inspection of the boundary walls.
I lean against the gates; they creak open, and I slip inside. Thorns snag my cloak and hands as I squeeze through the gap. There’s a ripping sound as I wrench myself free, beads of blood welling from my fingers like chips of moonstone. I suck them clean, iron coating my tongue, hoping this doesn’t bode ill for my pilgrimage.
The path continues straight at first, but then I reach a fork. The first of the seven-points of the star-path. I could stay the course – the wider central route leads straight to the Starshrine – but I need all the luck I can muster for the task ahead, so I follow the snaking pilgrim route instead. Snow scrunches beneath my boots, carpeting the mosaicked walkway, rendering its intricate designs all but illegible. I draw my cloak closer and tug my hood lower still to keep the flurries from my eyes. A faint whiff of the Arx Magnum’s pungent incense still clings to the fur. I shudder, my resolve wavering.
Perhaps I should have listened to Tansy’s advice, put this off till I’m feeling stronger? But I shake the thought away like the snow settling on my shoulders. My head is still woolly, my muscles strained and tender, but it’s not far to walk and Noelani’s letter promised details about the lost sceptre’s whereabouts await me here.
My hitched breath curls in a plume above me. I’ve completed the sacred circuit, and there – directly in front of me – stands the Starshrine, its seven silver points glinting in the late morning light, the tarnished metal just visible through the dusting of snow that blankets the city. Perched on the highest spire, and screeching to announce her presence, is Serafine. I hate to admit it, but my chest eases knowing the emberwing is nearby. I lower my head and press forwards.
Ivy and dead-vine strangle the twelve columns that portico the Gates of Creation. I gasp and stop as I approach them. Despite a murky patina, the silver panels on the closed gates reflect my image. With shaking fingers, I pull back my hood, revealing the dark streak snaking my hair. I trace it, this mark of corruption, but though the reflected fingers echo my movements, I don’t recognise the face staring back at me. Haggard. Harsh. My eyes are larger and deeper than before, bottomless lavender lakes in a spindle-thin face. We’ve been travelling for a little under two moonscycles, yet I look sunrings older. This journey has taken a greater physical and emotional toll than I ever expected… or perhaps these ravages are the price I’ve paid for carrying a cursed object around my neck.
I will myself to look away from the strange reflection, to focus on the eight rectangular reliefs that make up the silver gates – one of the lost wonders of the ancient city. Izarius used to read to me about them. Flanked on either side by statues of the Sisters, their outstretched arms reaching for one another, the panels depict scenes from the Arcelian creation myths, to which this building is dedicated. The carvings are every bit as beautiful as my tutor described. I trace a finger over the cold, uneven surfaces, but can’t afford to linger. I rattle the handles, but the heavy doors don’t budge. For a moment I regret sending Blayze away; his strength might have come in useful. But eyeing the hefty locks, this is one gateway I doubt even he could breach.
