Page 24 of Starchaser
Shyly—in a manner I’ve never witnessed from her before—she peers up at me, and I’m stricken by the haunted look in her eyes.
Will mentioned he wiped Annie’s memories of that night as well. But while Annie may not remember what happened, it seems it scarred her somewhere even Will’s magic cannot reach.
“Thank you,” she says, her voice almost too quiet to hear.
“Oh, please, you don’t have to thank me.” I turn, meeting Lady Isabelle’s adoring gaze—noting the worry there. “I was only doing what—”
“Aster?”
Henry stands frozen on the landing, gripping the banister as if it was the only thing keeping him upright.
“Henry?” I gape at Will’s younger brother—at his disheveled clothes, his mussed hair, the shadows encircling his bloodshot eyes.
He barrels down the stairs—it’s a wonder he doesn’t tumble down them, considering the stench of liquor that reaches mebefore he does—and nearly tackles me, crushing me in a desperate embrace.
“Thank the Stars,” he says, his hold on me tightening before he draws back, examining my face with a look of dread, his hands cupping my cheeks as his gaze dips to my throat. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine, Henry,” I say softly, placing my hands over his. “Really, I’m all right.”
He doesn’t look convinced. His gaze snaps to Will, his lip curling with a snarl. “How could you let this happen?”
Will just shakes his head, blowing out a weary sigh. “She’s fine,” he says, his voice low, steady. “If you’d let go, she could get cleaned up. Then you can visit with her all you like.” His expression softens. “But first you have to let go.”
Henry nods slowly. “Of course,” he says. “Of course. I’m sorry,” he adds in a whisper, his voice breaking as if he was on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” I squeeze his hands before letting them fall back to his sides. “I’m happy to see you.”
He sniffles, cracking a smile—a sad, subdued smile that breaks my heart. “Don’t tease me, Aster.”
Margaret loops her arm through mine, guiding me to the servants’ passage, where Sybil waves at me from inside the dimly lit hallway.
“That went better than I expected,” Margaret says as Sybil closes the door behind us.
“You can’t be serious?” I follow Margaret through the winding passage, the stench of burnt wood still clinging to the walls. It makes me realize just how little time has truly passed since the attack on Bludgrave.
“Afraid so,” Sybil says as we start up a narrow set of stairs. “Mr. Castor hasn’t been quite right since…”
Since he lost his love, Dorothy.
“He has… episodes,” Margaret adds, somewhat hesitant. “Sometimes he’s violent.”
I pause halfway up the steps. “With you?”
“No,” she says quickly. “With… himself.”
My heart sinks.
“I heard he lit himself on fire only two days ago,” Sybil whispers from close behind. “Hugh said the only reason he didn’t burn is because his magic protected him.”
Oh Henry.
“Just now, with you,” Margaret says, opening the door that leads out into the servants’ quarters, “that’s the most stable I’ve seen him in weeks.”
“Certainly,” Sybil agrees. “He seems to really care for you.”
I think of the way Henry cradled Dorothy in his arms after she was possessed by a Sylk and I was forced to take her life. How he was unwilling to part with her, even if it meant he would die, too. After I learned that he survived theDeathwail—after we grew close during the months that Will was with Titus on the front lines—I developed an immense amount of respect, even admiration, for Henry.
“I care for him, too,” I tell Sybil. “He means a great deal to me.”
