Page 15 of Starchaser
I meet Owen’s gaze, trying to pull from that same well of power I accessed the night I caused blood to stream from Percy’s eyes. But as I stare at my brother’s face, as I study the torment that twists his features into something childlike and human and so, so fragile, my power begins to fade. It isn’t his fault the Guild of Shadows turned him into a Shifter. It’s mine. If I had been faster—if I hadn’t distracted him that day—Owen wouldn’t have died. He wouldn’t have been forced to join the Underlings. Morana wouldn’t have been able to use him this way. He would have never compelled Father. He would have never tried to hurt me. And now, I’m the only one who can save him.
I can still save him.
I’m lowering my hands when Owen grabs me by the throat, lifting me off the ground.
Will must move toward me, but Owen throws out his other hand, and a blast of wind sends Will careening back. The force of Owen’s power pins Will to the wall, and the precise use of his ability—his control over his windwalker affinity—chills my blood.
“I’m disappointed in you, sister,” Owen says, a crazed, malicioussmile wiping away any trace of humanity. “You’ve become far too trusting for your own good.” He squeezes, and I resist the urge to fight back.
He won’t kill me. He can’t. Not while I’m wearing my enchanted bracelet.
“You can’t really believe you’re going to change anything?” He cocks his head, his eyes searching mine, hungry in his pursuit of fear. “Six hundred years the Nightweavers have reigned, and oneprince”—he spits the word, his voice taking on a dark, grating quality, reminding me of the assassin’s rasping voice—“with a bleeding heart has you convinced you can turn the tides?” His grip tightens, cutting off any chance of getting oxygen to my bursting lungs. “This prince of yours is using you, just as your little lord used you. Neither are who you think them to be.” I claw at his hands, my feet jerking uncontrollably as my vision fades. “Don’t be a fool, Aster. There is a war coming, and soon,whenthe venom turns you, they will cast you out like a worthless toy they no longer wish to play with. You’ll have no choice but to accept your place in Morana’s ranks.”
He releases me, and I drop to the floor, heaving for breath. Owen kneels, and for a brief second, when he looks at me, I think I see a glimmer of regret in his eyes.
“There are limitations to the protection your trinket offers,” he says, his gaze hardening. “You’ll do well to remember you’re not invincible.”
“Careful, brother,” I wheeze. “I might start to think you actually care whether I live or die.”
My words seem to strike him. “I care aboutyou, Aster,” he whispers, and the sincerity—the lack of teasing—has mesecond-guessing everything he’s said to me since Reckoning Day. “No matter what happens, that will never change.” He glances up at where Will remains pinned to the wall a few feet away and adds, almost too low for me to hear, “William Castor is lying to you. You cannot trust him.”
Before I can register the movement, darkness envelops us, an oppressive, unnatural force that bears down on me with a physical weight, and I find myself unable to move.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Owen says, his voice distorted, as if muffled by the shadows. “I’ll see you soon, sister.”
There’s a rustling of feathers, the sound of glass breaking, and as the shadows dissipate, I catch a glimpse of a raven fleeing through the shattered window. Just like that, Owen is gone.
And I feel a piece of myself go with him.
The instant Owen’s power releasesWill, his arms are around me, the sweet scent of roses enveloping me as he pulls me into a warm, unyielding embrace. His fingers tangle themselves in the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me impossibly close to him. “Are you all right?” His voice breaks. He draws back, his hands cradling my cheeks as he searches my gaze. “Aster?”
“I’m fine,” I say, wincing at the hoarseness of my voice. I rub my throat, where Owen’s hand felt like a noose.
Will doesn’t appear satisfied by my answer, a muscle in his jaw twitching, but he nods. Finally, reluctantly, he looks away, watching as Eliza crouches over her brothers’ bodies, shaking her head.
“They’re still breathing,” she says with a sigh, getting to her feet. “How did he get in here, anyway? Do you think he shifted into something small enough to fit under the door?”
“Perhaps,” Will says as he helps me to my feet, his movements stiff. He turns to face Winona, cowering beside Eliza, his expression grim as his eyes shift from green to gold. “Forget what you’ve seen here tonight.” He adds, his voice rough, “We had a lovely dinner, and you retired to your quarters for the evening.”
Winona nods, her eyes vacant, and at once, her body stills, her breathing returning to its calm, measured pace. Her face brightens, and she whispers a quick, polite goodbye to us all before excusing herself from the dining car.
Eliza inclines her head at Will, her brows drawn. “Was that necessary?”
“No one can know that Owen Oberon is alive,” Will says, and I wonder just how close the two of them are if he trusts her to keep my brother’s appearance a secret.
“I trust Winona,” Eliza says, crossing her arms.
He shoots her a look that would send anyone else stumbling back in fear, but Eliza levels him with a challenging look of her own. When it seems as if neither will concede this terrifying staring match, Eliza rolls her eyes. “Go,” she says, her eyes softening. “Get Aster to safety.”
Will dips his head to Eliza. “I’ll be right back,” he tells her. He nods at Flynn and Gabriel. “I’ll need to check their memories—ensure no one but the three of us remembers what happened here tonight.”
Eliza nods. “No need to hurry,” she says, her voice dripping with morbid sarcasm as she settles back into her seat at the dining table. “I haven’t even finished my dinner yet.”
I follow Will down the dimly lit hallways. The winter wind howls, sending tremors through the already noisy train, and as I look out the window, at the all-consuming darkness just beyond the glass, I think of Owen, alone out there in the pitch-black night. Did Morana send him to warn me? Or did he seek me out of his own accord?
My stomach twists into knots.William Castor is lying to you.
“Will,” I say quietly, “is there something you’re not telling me?”
