‘It’s not for me to tell you what to do, Leilani. You must decide that for yourself. But if you want to know what the inscription says, I suggest you follow Noelani’s instructions before Astrophel arrives.’
I open my mouth to tell Orthriel to stop ordering me about, that I haven’t decided if I want to follow Noelani’s instructions, that I’m not sure I can trust her, that the last thing in the four realms I want to do is embrace my magic or the Outrealmers, but I’m all too aware my betrothed will be knocking at the door at any moment. Orthriel is right, I don’t have time to waste.
Noelani’s inscription will only reveal itself under the light of tonight’s moons. If I want to know what it says, I have no choice.
Folding the letter and storing it in my reticule, I take a deep breath and cross to the rose window, bearing the Celestial Chain aloft.
‘What am I supposed to do?’
Orthriel lifts their eyes to the heavens. ‘Hold it to the moonslight. Try to summon your magic.’
I swallow. Every part of me rebels from that idea. ‘And then?’
Orthriel shrugs.
I cradle the starstone in my left hand, trembling as I raise it higher, shifting its position to allow it to catch the moonslight. I close my eyes, take another steadying breath, and grope in the darkness until silvery threads weave across my mind’s eye. For the first time, instead of pushing them away, I reach for them, tugging softly. I open my eyes, stare up at the starstone. Nothing.
Hope shrivels in my chest.
I could kick myself for believing that letter. How could I possibly hope to save my mother, my people, my realm, when I can’t even save myself? I should have known better than to trust one of the Branded.
Orthriel is very still. I stare at the floor, focus on the layer of dust coating the flagstones, anything to avoid watching the disappointment and confusion crystallising on my Guardian’s face as they realise they were wrong to put their faith in me – a scourged creature that can’t even use their cursed magic properly.
I cup the starstone tighter in my palm and begin to wind the chain, taking care not to damage it. I’ll hide it before Astrophel arrives, or Orthriel can spirit it away, back to wherever they were concealing it before.
I don’t pretend to understand the enchantments which allow Orthriel to transport objects, to convey messages, despite lacking the means to grasp them. I’m told Noelani possessed the art too, but only after the Blood Bond.
One peculiarity I’ll be safe from, Stars willing.
As I coil the chain a final time around my wrist, a slant of moonslight kisses the heart of the stone. Shards of milky light burst forth, so dazzling I have to shield my eyes with my free hand. The other, gripping the starstone, starts to tingle. That strange crystalline pulse beats harder and stronger against my palm. Silver threads zigzag my vision, like the painted constellations spangling the ceiling of Izarius’ chambers in the Observatory. Instinct tells me to push the threads away, but I reach for them, latching on, allowing my Starborn magic, and the power of the starstone, to flow through me. My hand flares with that same milky light.
The glare dampens after a few seconds. I stagger and clasp the window tracery for support. A sharp pain blooms in my skull and I swear I taste ash.
I snatch up the starstone, hold it close to my face. There’s a single line of silvery script etched across its surface. I don’t recognise the strange round letters, yet somehow, I can still read them. Is this Prismscript? Izarius once told me of an ancient code last used to exchange strategic messages during the Plunderings – a spate of violent raids that broke out in the wake of the Sickening as resources dwindled and only brought to an end by the signing of the Partition Treaties and erection of the Barriers – which divided the realms and outlawed all communication between them. But, if memory serves, Prismscript requires a gem-lens to be legible, its letters appearing blurred, rather than orbed, at first glance.
Cool fingers rifle my thoughts again.
Orthriel chuckles. ‘Moonrunes. Clever of Noelani. Only the Starborn can read them.’
The inscription disappears when a cloud passes in front of the moons. But I’ve committed the ten words to memory.
Seek my sister in the caves, beyond the Fallen Star.
That can only mean the Crystal Caves. But they’re deep in the bowels of the Astral Mountain, unscaled for generations. Since the Sickening, everyone’s been slowly driven from the peaks.
Orthriel stiffens. Their eyes flit to the doorway. ‘Astrophel.’
‘But what am I to do?’ I whisper.
‘That’s up to you now. I am only a messenger.’
They lock eyes with me. So much lies unsaid between us, but a vortex of opal flame serves as my Guardian’s only farewell.
Three raps at the door, measured and precise like their maker, send my stomach reeling.
I wrap the Celestial Chain around my left wrist once more, nestling the starstone against my palm, where it can’t be seen. My pulse drums my throat as I cross to the pedestal, take up the replica Starlight Staff in the same hand, then hurry to the door. There’s no time to think, to decide how to react to any of this. I school my face blank and crack open the door.
A faint scent of warm hay and soft leather swirls the air. Astrophel is holding himself needle-straight. He’s grown several feet since he left for the Asteum. I’m tall, as all Estelians are, but I have to crane my neck to look at him. He’s broader too, thanks to the military training he received there. The wadded sleeves of his doublet and jaunty angle of his cloak, which he wears slung over one shoulder, reinforce the impression of added bulk. The silver hair he was fortunate to inherit from his father hangs to his collarbones in accordance with current court fashions, gleaming like starlight. Handsome. The model coterie nobleman.
