When Roshan inhales deeply and his eyelids flutter shut, I try to do the same. But when I close my eyes, all I see is the soldiers disintegrating under my power. I see the deadcrown prince of Oryndhr. They fly open again, and I peer at the barren earth around us and worry that we’re heading to our deaths. Restless, I shift my gaze to my palms instead.
I trace the odd shape of the mark on my left hand. I can see the rune so clearly now, almost like a five-pointed star. The one on my right isnearly identical, its edges pale and shimmering. They’ve never been this visible before, but then again, I’ve never wielded magic. At the stroke of my fingertip, the star starts to glow with a luminous milky color.
“Setareh sar lokkar.”
The familiar voice is a croak, and when I look up, instead of seeing the men in the driving seat, the hunched crone with the starlight eyes has taken their place on the bench opposite me. I blink rapidly, but the old woman is still there, staring at me.
“Where did you come from?” I ask wildly. “Who are you?”
Brilliant eyes meet mine. She cocks her head to the side, her finger tracing an invisible path in the air. “The stars have spoken, and one of their own awakens. Flee, child, flee. For death travels in your wake.”
Frustrated, I bare my teeth. “Stop speaking in riddles and tell me what I am.”
“You are the final falling star. The supernova. The bitter, beautiful end.”
“I don’t know what any of that horseshit means,” I snap.Fuck,can’t diviners say anything in a normal, ordinary way? I stand, closing the distance between us. “What in the rotten pits of DroonamI?”
“Servant of the star,” the old woman replies, her eyes burning bright. “But you must become its master, Starkeeper.”
Thatword. It makes a bone-deep shiver ripple through me, giving a strange credence to Roshan’s prophecy. I move toward her. My fingers reach for her shoulders, wanting to rattle some sense out of her, but instead they close upon a thick very male neck.
Reality is like a shock of ice-cold water. My eyes widen as the soldier I’d grabbed shouts and elbows me backward. Roshan lurches awake, but a vicious kick from the man has him crashing back into the seat. I hear him groan as the sharp tang of blood fills the air, but I can’t take my eyes off my attacker, who now has his blade in hand. “Crazy bitch, you’re dead.”
“Stop, I’m sorry,” I gasp, twisting in the small compartment and wondering if my mind has finally given up. “Where’s the old woman?”
“Are you sick?” he yells, glaring at me. “Droonish brain fever?”
“No! There was a woman... a crone.”
But there’s no evidence of anyone else but the four of us here. The man only growls as his partner steers the coach to a wild stop and leaps from the driver’s seat. Dimly, I see Roshan spring from the carriage, but my brain is still confused, my body slow and uncoordinated.
“I knew we should have killed you,” the soldier snarls.
Heat surges to my palms, but I force it back. Lunging forward, I use the bench for leverage and jab him in the throat with my knuckles. His head snaps back, but he’s bigger than me and quick. He vaults easily over the front lip of the coach, and his kick punches into my gut, sending my breath emptying out in a painful whoosh. I wheeze for breath, and all I see is his ugly face as he straddles me and holds me down.
I block his attacks as best as I can, but as he presses down, stars blink across my vision and pain flowers in every vulnerable spot he connects with. I won’t last much longer at this rate. Nor will he, I realize, as my body starts to fill with whorls of violent energy.
Oh, flaming sands, no.
Voices trickle through the haze, and then suddenly the man’s weight is dragged off my chest. Moments later, Roshan’s bloodied face fades in and out of the blackened edges of my vision. I force myself to calm, sucking great gulps of cooling air into my aching lungs and focusing on memories of my family.
Better. My teeth feel loose and my ribs ache, but I’m alive.
I blink and turn my head slowly, looking toward the prince. “Roshan, you’re bleeding,” I say hoarsely.
“It’s worse than it looks,” he says, but I can hear the pain in his voice. “You’re safe. The men can’t hurt you.”
“Are they dead?” I whisper.
His lips flatten, and he doesn’t answer. If it’s a choice between them or us, I’d rather it be them.
My gaze flicks to my open palms. The lines there—heart, head, life, and fate—look nondescript and ordinary.
Starkeeper,the crone had called me. More likestar-killer.
Still, something sizzles to life along the inside of my skin as if even the name carries power.
Roshan’s concerned gaze collides with mine as he lifts me to the bench and scans me for injuries, but though my beaten body screams in pain, thankfully, I’m not bleeding out anywhere.
