Page 10 of Fallen Stars

The woman’s face was ashen as she shook her head.

Elara pulled one of her new blades from the bag.

“Pity,” she said, admiring it in the dim glow of the streetlamp. “He can’t say I didn’t try this the civil way then.”

Chapter Five

The rain poured in sheets, trying to hug Elara’s figure like a lover. This pissing rain—gods, she could not wait to get back to Helios. She stalked the dark streets of Castor, her new suit clinging to her skin. One look in the mirror had revealed everything she had hoped for. She looked like a walking nightmare.

Her hair was scraped back from her scalp, sitting high on it as one long, black braid snaked down her back, falling to her tailbone. The leather moulded perfectly to her, allowing complete movement, and the gauzy skirts billowed in the storm.

Elara had wavered a moment as she had changed in the inn. She’d teetered on the edge of her decision, nearly heading straight back to the hypnom den to avoid the grief and pain and anger she felt. But that look in Enzo’s eyes… She couldn’t erase it. Nor could she his words, ones that had haunted her all day.Your tears will do me no good. Your grief neither.

And so, she had nodded to Isra and Merissa, the two raising their eyebrows as Elara had walked out in her suit. She’d disappeared before they could ask her where she was going, and she feared that their judgement of her plan would have stopped her from seeing it through.

The moon was bright in the sky, signalling the lateness of the evening, and she took one deep breath, not giving her fear an inch, before walking into The Remains.

The main square was crowded, and she kept her hood up as she weaved through it. Luck was on her side—not many had ever looked upon the face of Princess Elara of Asteria. They would soon enough though. But for now, for once, she thanked her father for keeping her behind palace walls—only the Stars knew what she looked like. And that would serve her just fine in a moment.

Three souls.

That was all she needed to carry her plan through. Three utterly irredeemable souls. And what better place than The Remains to find them?

Her finger ran along the handle of one of her knives, its silver cool beneath her touch, anchoring her.

She let her shadows drift conspicuously, trying to pick up snatches of conversation, noticing how the crowd seemed to be moving in a certain direction.

“Roddy lost two full midans last night,” one man guffawed to another.

“Fucking hell, the man needs banned from the fighting dens,” his friend chuckled back.

Elara’s eyes narrowed. Fighting dens. So that’s what made Castor spin ‘round. She couldn’t stand the places, hadn’t set foot anywhere near one in Asteria. She could think of no better place to find three pieces of shit who wouldn’t be missed by the world.

She followed the movement of the crowd as they made their way into what appeared to be a tunnel, the arch ominous like the maw of a great serpent. She fought back a shiver, squaring her shoulders before entering.

The tunnel sloped down, a gradual decline that made the air around her start to feel close and musty. She began to hear the trod of footsteps above her and realised she was underground.

She avoided a few drunkards swaying together. Some kind of muffled roar was growing louder and louder as she descended. She twitched her hood further over her as she strolled before candlelight suddenly erupted into the space.

She smelled the room first. Sweat, piss, and blood.

Then she saw it—a cram of bodies, intoxicated and greedy. The room was hewn into the rock of the underground. Large ceilings arched above her head, questionable sludge trailing down them. It was dimly lit with firelamps, which did nothing to disguise the dirt that seemed ingrained in the place.

She heard roars and groans and turned, seeing thick ropes cordoning off a sunken pit that she had no inclination to look into.

She didn’t even spare it a glance. Fucking animals. With a sigh, she turned and made straight for the bar that she could see, lit up in grey against the side of the wall. She could really use a glass of honeywine right now, but something told her it would taste like piss in a place like this. So she motioned to the tender for a beer instead, taking the warm, bitter liquid down her throat as she assessed the people surrounding her.

Perhaps the ogre of a man in front of her currently bearing upon a young courtesan was an option. She tilted her head, watching the smile the woman had plastered onto her face drop an inch as his hand hitched further up her skirt.

Yes, he would do.

A movement caught her eye, and she zoned in on a slimy pickpocket, his hands in a man’s pocket as the fellow was none the wiser. Who would miss him, she wondered.

Elara really had her pick of people to kill in this shithole.

She had hoped that she’d bump into Eli himself here, if the slippery god even frequented these places—she had every faith he did. Yet there was no whiff of his charm. As she’d said earlier to the woman in the marketplace, it was a pity. Blood and death could have been avoided if Eli had simply shown his face. Yet she couldn’t ignore the thrill that leapt in her veins at the notion at what she was about to do. Her anger was whispering in her ear, encouraging her.

Him,it seemed to whisper.Him, him, him. Look at how he takes what he thinks is his. Gut him and delight in his blood as it drains from his body.

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