My eyes lift to my numb fingertips entrapped in Prince Javed’s tight grip, and I push through another smothering wave of revulsion. Without thinking, I snatch my hand from his and cradle it to my chest. Something protective rears inside of me as my palms heat. Without looking down, I fist them.
“No felicitations, brother?” the crown prince jeers. “I suppose I should thank you for finding her.”
Roshan doesn’t respond to his brother’s taunt, although a muscle hammers to life in his rigid jaw. He doesn’t look at me, but the tension in his body is a clear sign he’s hanging on to his composure by a thread.
“Of course not,brother,” he says in a dead voice. “I wish you—”
But the words are snatched from his lips when a tremendous explosion rocks the palace, slamming us all to the ground.
Chapter Eight
Dust and debris rain down from the ceiling as an army of palace guards swarms in to safeguard the royal family. I gasp for air, deafened and shell-shocked, and force my body to move to avoid being trampled by the herd of people trying to escape.
“The Dahaka!” someone shouts amid the screams as another ground-shaking blast makes my ears ring, this one closer than the last. A giant crack fissures along one of the walls. The ground rumbles, and I’m nearly thrown to my ass. Another quake makes me stumble, and I fall hard, knees buckling and elbows smacking to the floor. Agony ricochets through my bones, and I fight back tears of pain.
“Secure the girl,” Prince Javed roars, and I know without a doubt that he means me.
Dust fills the room in a thick cloud, making it hard to breathe. I can already smell the metallic taint of blood saturating the air. Before I can rise, hands grab me, drawing me back into the darkness. I struggle in earnest, my elbow slamming into hard, unyielding flesh.
“Enough, don’t fight, it’s me. Suraya, it’s me, Roshan.”
Relaxing, I nod, a frantic breath hissing through my teeth when he loosens his hold.
“Come with me. We don’t have much time,” he whispers as he moves along the wall and tugs me behind him. “I have a carriageready at the south end of the city to take you to a portal. A runecaster loyal to me will be waiting. This is your chance. You have to go.”
“Go?”I stare at him, my mind whirling with terror as I force my feet to stop. “Go where? The prince knows where I’m from. I won’t put my family in danger by leading him right to them!”
“Then anywhere but here until you’re safe.” Roshan pulls us into a small alcove and shakes his head, his expression clouded. For a moment, I can’t help wondering what kind of court intrigue I’m caught up in, but I know that if it’s a choice between Javed and Roshan, I’d side with the younger son in a heartbeat. The way Javed had looked at me and licked my skin make my flesh crawl. I scrub my hand on my clothes as if I can scour his touch away.
“Why are you really doing this?” I ask. “Did you tell him about my dagger?”
“No, of course not. I wouldn’t betray your trust like that.”
Roshan steps closer, breaching the space between us, and my heart skips a beat. I can smell the warm scent of his skin, hear the harsh cadence of his breath, and time stands still for an eternal minute. His knuckles flutter in midair beside my cheek, and for a moment, I’m certain that he’s going to touch me as he had in the ballroom, but then his hand falls away at the last second, regret stealing over his features.
“Because Javed is dangerous.” Schooling his expression, Roshan doesn’t continue for a moment. “And I don’t want him to hurt you. He and the queen have designs—” He cuts off with a shallow growl at the sound of marching feet and blocks my body with his in the alcove.
“Designs on what?” I whisper after the guards go past. “Tell me the truth now or walk the fuck away.”
He grinds his teeth, and I can sense his frustration, his desire for us to keep moving. But I refuse to go one step without an explanation. “I told you. It’s a prophecy, an Elonian prophecy,” he says urgently. “About the one with magic from the stars.”
Goose bumps prickle my skin as my mouth falls open in utterdisbelief. “The story of the Starkeeper? That’s no prophecy, it’s a children’s tale. A starsdamned fable.”
“Is it?” he says. Something in his voice stops me from scoffing.
“So what? Javed thinks the Starkeeper is one of the women here?”
“No, Suraya, he thinks that’syou. That’s why he chose you.” He reaches for my clenched palm and gently pries it open. The lines aren’t glowing, but my eyes trace them all the same. “Javed and the queen have been searching a long time for one wearing the marks of the Starkeeper.”
“Those are just regular palm lines,” I snarl, snatching my hand away.
“Not in the shape of a magi rune.”
At that, my mind folds in on itself.
When the first king of Oryndhr had proclaimed himself the only god-king a thousand years ago, revering any other had become heresy. The Order of the Magi—those born with akasha in their veins—had been rounded up and executed. The few who survived the king’s purge escaped into the Dustlands. Some say they were the first Scavs—heretics who ingested distilled jadu to become closer to the gods and only ended up addicted and twisted. As akasha waned, so did old beliefs, and the Order of the Magi died.
“I’m not a magi,” I whisper weakly.
