Page 23 of Starchaser
Just before she can throw her arms around me, Margaret intercepts, catching Elsie by the arm.
Elsie’s face falls when she sees the bruises on my throat. When Will tried to heal them this morning, I refused. If the kingdom needs to believe Captain Shade held me captive for two weeks, then it doesn’t hurt to have itlookas if I were mistreated aboard his ship.
“What happened?” Charlie charges down the steps.
“Are you all right?” Lewis asks, shoving past Charlie to reach me first.
“I’ll kill ’em,” Albert says, close at their heels. As the youngest boy, he’s never far behind, and though he’s a third of Charlie’s size, he puffs out his chest, attempting to mimic our brother’s confident posture.
Margaret rolls her eyes. “She’s fine,” she says. “Nothing a bath won’t fix.”
If only a bath could fix… everything.
Charlie grunts. “I should have been there.”
“You’ve seen the papers,” Lewis points out. “The bastard, Shade, was dealt with accordingly.”
“He was,” Will says, his smile tight. His gaze searches the grounds, as if he expects someone to jump out from behind a bush and drive a blade through my heart. “We should get inside.”
My siblings usher me up the steps in what feels like a guard formation, and Lewis places his hand on my shoulder as if to say,I’ve got you.
Once inside the manor, the knots in my shoulders loosen, if only a little.
Streamers bedeck the banisters, accompanied by a painted cloth strung above the Castors’ crest that saysWELCOME HOMEin sloppy red paint.
A chill runs down my spine. If it wasn’t for my family’s obvious involvement in the décor, I’d think the cloth was painted in blood.
I flinch when Mother places a light hand on my shoulder.
Concern flashes in her eyes as she turns me to face her fully. “Go on upstairs,” she says, her voice gentle. “You must be exhausted. Get cleaned up. I’ll have your supper brought to your room.”
I can’t imagine who would have taken up cooking in Father’s stead, and I almost ask, but it’s as if at the very mention of supper, all the air has been sucked out of the room. I can feel my siblings tense, and I realize everyone must expect me to lose myself as I did after Owen died. Then, my grief consumed me—it blinded me, and because of it, I failed to see what was right in front of me. I failed to recognize that Owen was still alive, haunting me. If only I paid closer attention, recognized the signs, I could have stopped Owen before he compelled Father.
I could have stopped Father from taking his own life.
“Aster?” I startle at Margaret’s touch on my arm. “Are you all right?” she asks.
I nod. “Fine,” I say. “Just a little tired.”
I look at each of my siblings then, noting their weary expressions, the dark circles that shadow their eyes. When we lost Owen—when we first came to live at Bludgrave—I struggled to cope with the idea that we were creating a life without our oldest brother. But now, as I recognize that same bitter grief that lines my siblings’ faces, I realize that because of what I know—because of what I have to do—this time, I can’t be clouded by my emotions.
I must become a blade forged by the hammer of grief, not shattered by it.
Someone clears their throat, and my gaze snaps to Jack as he slips his arm around Margaret’s waist, pulling her close. “Aster,” he says, tipping his hat to me, a sheepish grin on his face. “It’s good to have you back.”
I force a smile, but my eyes narrow slightly. “Jack,” I say, my tone issuing its own warning.
He cuts his eyes at Margaret and shrugs as if to say,Of course I told her about the Order.
I want to stay angry with him—I stillamangry with him—but seeing the two of them together… I understand. I know all too well what it feels like to keep a secret from someone you love. To have them keep a secret from you.
“We’re so happy you’re safe,” Lady Isabelle says, gliding toward me with that graceful air that makes her seem almost ethereal. Will’s mother takes my hands in hers, the crinkles around her eyes conveying all the warmth of a proud mother. “We owe you our thanks for saving Annie.”
“We can never repay you,” Lord Bludgrave adds. I catch a glimpse of Will’s father over Lady Isabelle’s shoulder—his black hair streaked with traces of silver, his neatly pressed suit, his kindly expression. His appearance is a stark contrast to the last time I saw him, tied to a tree, bleeding out from a wound in his leg.
I hold his gaze for a moment, wondering if I’ll see some hint of remembrance there, but it seems Will removed any memory of that night—of his involvement with the Guild of Shadows; Owen’s compulsion over Lord Bludgrave’s daughter, Annie; or my curse.
Lord Bludgrave dips his head to me. “We’re forever in your debt.” He holds out his hand, and Annie steps out from behind the doorframe, her head bowed, black ringlets obscuring her face. “What do you have to say to Miss Oberon?”
