Loss, so much senseless loss.
Horror turns to rage.
I lift my chin and search for the Astral Mountain through the trees. Something hardens when my eyes light on its wan glow piercing the darkening horizon; as if the star-laced blood running through my veins has turned to ice.
I may be the last Starborn Seer, but I’ve been blind.
Finding the Starlight Staff, finding it quickly, it’s the only thing that matters. And not because it could save my mother’s life and earn me my father’s forgiveness. I’ve been approaching this all wrong. Only thinking of myself, about how this quest could benefit me. But it’s so much bigger than that. The realms are broken; this is a chance to do more than repair rotting threads. We can weave our world anew, spin new patterns.
This is more than just a way out. This is the chance to fashion a better Arcelia.
To change our stars.
I care about my people. I care about the Outrealmers too – and I care what happens to their homelands.
I have to stop what Arden put in motion. Stop it, or die trying.
With new purpose crystallising my resolve, I’m about to hasten through the glade, to ensure I make it back to camp before darkness shrouds the woods, when a clacking sound splits their shaded hush. I turn, and immediately wish I hadn’t.
It’s the hoarclaw, and this time its tar-black eyes are fixed on me as it snaps its teeth together, spittle foaming and stringing on its tusks. The instructions Astrophel issued in the Armoury ring in my ears. I fall to the ground, pine needles sharp against my cheek.
Die trying?
Famous last words.
THINGS YOU CAN’T UNSEE
ASTROPHEL
HOWLONGDOESit take to harvest a few starfruit? I scan the glade again. I should never have let Leilani go, should never have trusted her with that healer. If anything happens to the Princess, Hyperion will have my head. I adjust the last of the tent pegs, stop to brush the dirt from my hands. Damn that girl, we ought to have stayed on the ship.
The crunch of boots sends my stomach swooping, but it’s just the Clanschief and his doxy.
Blayze hefts a bundle of kindling from his shoulder. His brow furrows as he scans the glade.
‘Sparkles not back yet? Couldn’t wait to get away from you, eh, Peacock?’ He smirks. ‘Better work on that kissing technique.’
Ribs tightening, I turn my attention back to the tent pegs. The hazy memory of soft lips beneath my own, the close press of Leilani’s body, the lingering scent of crushed violets… cold, consuming rage giving way to something warmer but just as heady. Then, blinding light striking my chest, forcing me back. I was sunk in my cups, riled by the sorry excuse for a man now standing before me. But it’s no defence. I’ll regret my actions at Thawtide till my last breath. It’s not how our first kiss ought to have been.
A sickly scent stirs on the breeze. I whirl towards it. Peak’s sake! We’re not supposed to meet the cielsylph till dawnrise. Opal flames flicker, shaping into the approximation of a human figure, though the illusion is oddly hazy. Orthriel searches the campsite, eyes flashing.
‘Where is she?’
‘She insisted on going to the fields to forage. I tried to stop her.’
Blayze turns on me. ‘Why didn’t you go with her?’
Orthriel’s withering stare resembles Leilani’s with unnerving exactitude. ‘And to think I defended you. What use are you if you can’t keep her safe?’
I widen my stance, facing them both down. ‘The healer accompanied her. I didn’t let her venture out alone.’ I’m about to add that Leilani can look after herself, surely Thawtide was evidence of that. But before I can form the words, Orthriel’s gaze flits over my shoulder. They go very still. I turn too, but see nothing. Not at first. My mortal eyes not as sharp as the cielsylph’s. Then a figure appears.
Only one. The wrong one.
Tansy spreads her hands once she’s within shouting distance. She bears a heaving bag of starfruit, but not the Princess. ‘She would not be convinced to return to camp. She needed a moment to clear her head.’
Orthriel flares. It lasts barely a second, but I start back from the opal sheen. Tansy and Blayze nudge each other, and laugh. Laugh at me. I clench a fist. Never trust an Outrealmer.
‘I’ll find the Princess,’ Orthriel says, levelling me with another cold stare. ‘The horses will be arriving soon, along with supplies. The plantation master readied things ahead of time. Perhaps you ought to receive them.’
