The graveled earth is rough—sharp stones cutting through my delicate wedding garments that offer little in the way of padding. There’s no light to guide my path as I thump to a graceless stop, my elbows and knees battered by the unforgiving ground.
But I don’t feel much of anything as I lurch unsteadily to my feet and run in the opposite direction. I don’t feel the wet, warm blood dampening the silk or the sting of abrasions lacerating my exposed skin or the soothing heat of my magic as it begins to heal me. I feel nothing but the blade of betrayal lodged in my back. I trusted him.
You fell in love with him, too.
That admission cuts worse than the stones. Groaning, I stare up into space. The eclipse of the blood moon is no longer visible from this part of the palace, but parts of the ravaged sky are fraught with fire and shadow. Chaos and fury. Morvarid was right. Turns out I don’t know a starsdamned thing about love.
I love you.
I scour the agonized whisper from my brain.
It’s all a fucking lie. I thought Roshan had wanted to help me, but all he’d wanted was to keep my magic close and out of his enemy’sclutches. I’d been a valuable pawn to him—a piece to be played at his whim. I feel the storm start to build in the pit of my stomach. Roshan had once said that my starlight gifts were linked to my emotions, and now as the creature inside shrieks with rage and agony, I feel myself crumbling to its pain.
All I want to do is roar and punish.
Javed. The Scavs. Morvarid’s death magi. Any one of them will do.
Magic drenches my core, flooding through me like wildfire and demolishing anything that resembles reason in its path. Time to let my vengeful beast fly. But first, I have a tower to burn.
I skirt through the gloom of the outer palace walls until I’m near an archway. I look up at the scalloped turrets. They bear flags of different colors depending on their location. Pushing my palms upward, I spear a beam of starlight toward the cupola resting at the peak of the spire. The flags whip in the breeze. Emerald. I’m on the south side of the palace, not that far from the crumbled tower and the maze that leads to the main courtyard.
Good.
The outer quadrant of the palace is deserted but for a few terrified faces peering out of darkened corners of the servants’ quarters. I slip past the stables and then retrace my steps to go inside. I’m in need of some other clothing. These voluminous wedding garments are more of a hindrance than a help. But the stable isn’t empty. An assorted group of servants and groomsmen are huddled in the front stalls. One of them brandishes a rake, while the horses in adjoining stalls nicker restlessly.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I say gently. “I need clothes.”
They stare at me with huge orbs for eyes. I’m sure I must look a sight in my half-torn, dirty wedding dress. I slip the heavy embroidered jacket from my shoulders and place it on the ground. It’s a fortune for them. The pearls alone would fetch a huge sum.
“Fair trade,” I say, watching them confer among themselves. Aplump woman nods to the man holding the rake. He gestures to a tack room on my left, and relief fills me. I don’t want to have to hurt any innocents. Only the guilty will burn.
Inside the room, I find several pairs of loose trousers hanging on a peg, along with folded shirts and tunics. They smell clean, but they’re all at least three sizes too big. Then again, anything is better than these useless pieces of silk. I lift one of the shirts from the shelf, and then I catch sight of the burnished leather riding gear hanging nearby. It’s similar to the ensemble the queen had worn when we’d first met in the main courtyard, after Laleh’s veil had decided to make a break for it.
Funny that a piece of cloth made by my best friend had had the right instincts. I should have run, too. Maybe she would be alive still.
My thoughts turn to the smirking gardener from the courtyard who had prevented its escape. In a way, he’d caught me then, too.
And he’d lied. The prince of lies.
He is nothing to you.
With grim purpose, I strip off the tattered remnants of my wedding clothes and pull on leggings and a soft gray tunic. I knot the back so the fit is snug and then pull on the queen’s leathers. Morvarid is obviously much thinner than I am, because it feels like a hardened corset is cutting off all my airways. I loosen the side buckles and suck in a much-needed breath. With the adjustment, I can breathe, and it will keep me from getting an arrow to the chest, so it’ll serve its purpose.
I strap on the wrist cuffs and, lastly, the armored leg coverings. I rummage through the lower shelves of the tack room to find a pair of sturdy boots that fit. Finally, I tuck a knife into my belt. It’s not my dagger, but it will have to do.
A flicker of light catches the edge of my vision, and I swivel, ready to fight, but it’s only my favorite crone sitting in the corner.
“Making a last stand, Vena?” I ask her.
“Careful, Starkeeper,” she says in a singsong voice that scratcheson my nerves. I’m not in the best mood to deal with any of her over-the-top doggerels. “You tread in the path of the abyss, of the unseen.”
And there she goes.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” I say, spreading my arms wide. “With all your long-winded ramblings? Me to become a master of the star? To take control? Well, that’s what I am doing.”
“No, child, the star masters you.” She raises a hand, and all the light winks from the room. Except me. I’m glowing, but the glow is tinged with shadows creeping along its edges. Tendrils of smoky ink slither inward like sandworms, poisoning the pearly luminescence of my aura. She sweeps her palm toward me. “If the lie wins, you will be lost. All will be lost.”
“You wanted this,” I say. “You told me that I would be the bitter, beautiful end.”
