Page 40 of Starchaser
Lewis reaches out to place a hand on my shoulder but apparently thinks better of it, and I suppress a smile when I think about the gown Titus arranged for me to wear tonight.
The neckline of the black velvet gown cuts into a deep V, the skirt flaring out at my hips, wide enough to conceal the daggers sheathed in either pocket. Alone, the dress is nothing spectacular, but paired with the armored pads chained to my shoulders, theirspikes sharp enough to cut through bone, I look like the weapon the Order wants me to be.
I look like a warrior.
Charlie’s words give me the strength I need to take a deep breath and step out into the hall.
I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to entering a crowded room and feeling as if every head turns to find me. At sea, I never questioned myself—never doubted my stride as I leaped headfirst into battle, my cutlass in hand.Let them see me, I would have thought as my enemies realized I had entered their midst.Let them fear me.
But now, embarrassment heats my cheeks at the way my pulse races as I search for a familiar, friendly face.Pull yourself together, Aster, I chide myself. Though this might not be a battle, though I might not carry a cutlass, I am still Aster Oberon, fearsome pirate of the Western Sea. I know who I am, and that is enough.
Charlie and Lewis remain close, and their presence fuels my courage, but with the looks the fifty or so nobility give my brothers, I fight the urge to put a dagger to their throats right here, right now. We might not survive it, but between the three of us, there would be quite a few empty chairs at the dinner table tonight.
“There she is!” Henry says, toasting me with a half-drunk glass of wine. By the looks of it, it isn’t his first.
“Aster!” Lady Isabelle waves me over to where they stand near the doors to the banquet hall. The Castors all wear their House colors—scarlet trimmed with gold—with the exception of Will, who is nowhere to be seen. “You look magnificent.”
“Thank you. As do you.” I dip my head, the panic fading as Lady Isabelle stands at my side, surveying the room with a sweet smile and a subtle warning in her eyes.
With the Castors encircling me, I’m emboldened to take in my surroundings. Iron lanterns give light to the dark castle, illuminating portraits that I think could be as ancient as the stones themselves. I can’t help but wonder if this is the seat from which Hildegarde ruled when she wore the crown. What have these hallways seen? What stories could these portraits tell were they able to speak?
My gaze flits about the room, searching for Eliza, or Titus, or—
Obnoxious laughter bounces off the walls, and a moment later, Will rounds a corner, making his way down a set of stone steps with a raven-haired lady on either arm.
I’ve taken bullets that hurt less than this.
“If looks could kill,” Killian says, and I turn back to find him standing in front of me, dressed in his formal military uniform. The medals on his chest catch the light, reflecting it with a dazzling golden glow that gives his aged face a warmth that makes me think of sunsets on open waters. His kind eyes remind me, for just a moment, of my father. And even as the heavy weight of grief settles in my stomach, I find that the thought soothes me like a salve to my aching soul.
“Should I be afraid?” Killian says, cutting a glance at my shoulders.
“Should you?”
The ghost of a smirk touches his lips. “I fear for my nephew, yes.”
The doors to the banquet hall open, and Will and the two women pass us as if we aren’t even here—as ifI’mnot even here.
“After you,” Killian says, urging me forward into the flow of traffic as the nobility swarm the banquet hall, taking their seats around the dining table. Enormous windows line the wall, theamber lights of Jade reflected in the dark water surrounding the castle like thousands of tiny, flickering candles, but the nobility don’t seem to care for the view. They focus instead on the jewel-encrusted finery—plates carved from obsidian, candelabras hewn from ruby—and the black goblets marked by the scarlet sun of the Eerie.
I find myself looking up at the vaulted ceiling, which appears to have been painted over long ago, because where the paint has chipped and cracked, the image of a hand or a wing or a cup seems to tell a story—seems to whisper,I was here.
I stumble a few steps, unsure of myself and where it is I’m supposed to go, when Henry loops his arm through mine. “You’re to sit by me,” he says.
I notice it then—notice the way he chews, ever so subtly. The substance Henry chooses to poison himself with smells like honey and peppermint. It smellsfamiliar, but I can’t quite place it.
I’m grateful for Henry as he slides my chair back and takes the seat to my left, and I feel—for the first time since setting foot inside Castle Grim—as if I’m not totally alone here. Even though, as Will takes his seat across the gilded table and the two women take their places on either side of him, that familiar tang of bitterness coats my tongue. Because while sporting a Nightweaver girl on either arm is perceived by the nobility as charming, if Will were to simply take my hand—if he were to kiss my cheek—it would be our skewered heads decorating the castle walls.
This is all a game, I remind myself. Will has his part to play, and I have mine.
I’m going to be okay, I tell myself. IbelieveI’m going to be okay.
Until I see him.
Titus prowls toward the dinner table with a sort of feline grace that puts every member of the nobility on notice. I’m reminded of the first time I saw him—of the crowd’s reaction when he entered Bludgrave Manor. How they couldn’t help but stare—couldn’t help but look at him with awe.
And on his arm, her dark hair unbound, her lavender gown simple and modest and effortlessly elegant, Princess Leo appears to glide across the floor. I know that looks can be deceiving, especially when it comes to Underlings. But as the chandeliers cast a warm amber radiance over the surface of her deep brown skin, giving her the appearance of glowing from within, I see no trace of a shadow—no corona of smoke around her head, no wisp of darkness looming over her with eyes like blood and teeth like blades. I missed the signs before, when Trudy Birtwistle was possessed, but I wasn’t looking for them—dismissed any hint of a Sylk, too preoccupied with Will’s return to even consider that Trudy might not be herself.
But not tonight. Tonight, I’m determined to see what I didn’t before—to expose Morana before it’s too late and Will falls victim to the Shifter curse.
