I was right before: anyone sane can see this is a chance worth fighting for – our only chance. But my father isn’t sane. I was right in the Sanctuary, too. His fear has turned to madness. He’d rather hide behind crystal walls than fight.
I have to show him he’s wrong, make him see reason before he damns us all.
And if he won’t summon the enemy realms, if he wants to continue turning a blind eye to the truth of the Sickening, I’ll have to do it myself.
My life hasn’t been easy, yet it’s always been privileged. But as the last Starborn Seer, turning a blind eye is one luxury I can’t afford. Not anymore.
SKY-SIGNS
LEILANI
THEWATCHER’SBREATHis warm on the back of my neck as I rap on the door to Izarius’ chambers the following night. I straighten my mantle to better cover my hair and reach for the Celestial Chain, looping it around my fingers for ballast. The Observatory’s scent of rosemary used to conjure the warmth and ease of my tutor’s rooms, but after my imprisonments in the Sanctuary, it only makes my stomach clench, transporting me back to the dark vaults beneath my feet.
I place an ear to the door, listening for Izarius’ shuffling footsteps. Hearing nothing, I push against it and find it unlocked.
‘You can go now. Come back in two hours,’ I say to the guard.
Two hours should be enough. Any longer would rouse suspicion.
The Watcher nods and turns for the entrance, white cloak billowing like smoke. Along with the Bindery, my tutor’s rooms remain one of the few places I’m permitted to visit, provided I’m escorted there and back. Thank the Sister they didn’t question my coming here before dawnrise.
The musty scent of old parchment drowns out the bitter aromats as I cross the threshold. Craning my neck, I search the double-height domed ceiling, painted a deep shade of indigo, my gaze lingering on the star-atlas chased in silver across it.
According to the origin myths so beloved by my mother, Arcelia’s ten constellations are pictures traced by the Dawn Sister in the diamond-dust left over from her creation of Arcelia’s sun on a cursed veil, the barrier separating the old world from the new. They tell the story of the Dawn Sister and her Beloved, remembrances of the love lost when her jealous twin cast her from the Cradleworld hoping to keep their helpmeet – Want – for herself. My eyes linger on my favourites: the twinkling circle of the Troth Ring, the constellation I was born under, and the dense spread of the Jewelled Orchard, herald of Thaw – Estelia’s growing season – and the place the divine lovers once met in secret. If you choose to believe the old stories, to view them as more than allegory, as creed rather than cautionary tale, the stars may be beautiful, but they were also our undoing. The holes those diamond shards tore in the Veil were the means by which the Dusk Sister’s shadow creatures entered Arcelia.
The start of all the troubles.
As I edge past slumping piles of manuscripts and diagrams covered in my tutor’s untidy scrawl, my elbow knocks a forgotten goblet. I catch it before it spills over a deck of lunar oracle cards. Izarius is woefully absent-minded. It’s one of the quirks I love best about him. I hope my tutor knows what his lessons have meant to me – bright sparks in my benighted subsistence here.
Despite the early hour, I expect to find Izarius sitting before the fire in his wingchair, a book in one hand, a mooncake in the other. But his chair’s empty, the mooncakes untouched. I peer around an astrolabe and there he is, by the window, consulting his star-glass.
He straightens, smudging a page of freshly inked notes with a rumpled sleeve, and frowns. ‘How fares the Queen?’
‘No change.’
The healer’s confirmation last night that my mother’s lungs are failing hardened my resolve. It’s time to put the idea that came to me in the Orbium into action.
Izarius covers my hand with his, pats it gently. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure?’
‘Officially, I’m here to practise my star-scribing. Unofficially, I need to ask you something…’
Izarius eases himself into his chair, motions for me to take the one opposite, and offers me the plate of mooncakes. I shake my head. Those two hours will be up before I know it.
I meet my tutor’s level gaze. ‘I need the key to the Flarestone.’
Izarius flinches. ‘Leilani, no. You know I hold that key in trust. Only your father is allowed to use it.’
‘I can’t ignore Noelani’s letter. I have to use the stone to summon the leaders of the enemy realms.’
Izarius leans forwards. ‘The King refused with good reason – the Outrealmers are dangerous. I’d not put you in harm’s way.’ His eyes dart to the window. A shadow passes over his face.
‘What is it?’
He sighs, threading gnarled fingers through his beard, then heaves himself from the chair, and shuffles back to his star-glass. ‘There’s something I ought to show you, if only to convince you of the folly of this idea.’
From a small table, he lifts a sky-disc charting the Flaming Hellebore constellation – named for the burnished bloom gifted to the Dawn Sister by her Beloved at the start of their courtship, a secret token of his ardour.
‘A comet, here.’ He points to a location on the star-map. ‘Given its appearance in the fire constellation, the portent surely relates to the Eastern Realm. The stars whisper of fresh troubles among the Fire Clans, but it could just as easily be a warning against summoning the Clanschief to our borders.’ He motions towards the star-glass. ‘Take a look for yourself.’
