Page 87 of Starchaser
He falls forward, grabbing me by the shoulders, the full force of his weight taking us both to the ground.
And there, stepping out of the shadows no more than ten feet away, holding a flintlock pistol—the Howler gifted to me by Killian so long ago, on the hillside of Bludgrave Manor…
“Will?”
“Aster!” Will rushes to my side, the flintlock still pointed at my assailant, sprawled out on the stone beside me, laboring for breath as he chokes on his own blood. “Get up,” Will says, extending his hand to me. “Quickly, now.”
I reach for Will’s hand just as the Underling grabs my wrist, his grip weak but desperate.
He tries to say something, but all that comes out is a wet, gurgling noise. He claws at his bandaged face with his free hand, as if attempting to remove the wrappings, his cloak of shadows now faint, barely a dark wreath of vapor around his bound form.
“Aster,” Will says again, but I ignore him.
I remove the first bandage from the Underling’s face. Then another, and another, until…
“Flynn?”I gasp, staring down at the Bloodknight’s familiar features.
He tries to speak again, but blood coats his teeth, the sound of his voice thick in his throat. He tries one more time, clutching his chest, where the bullet blew a hole through his heart. I see the moment he realizes it’s futile, see the determination there in his eyes as something shifts, as if he were coming awake.
He lifts his trembling hand and points.
Right at Will.
Flynn’s hand falls as hisbody goes limp.
“Aster.”
I hear Will’s voice from far away as I stare at Flynn’s face, at his rigid finger, still pointed in Will’s direction.
William Castor is lying to you.
“Aster?” Will pleads, gripping my arm and hauling me to my feet. “Aster, listen to me, we have to go—we have to—”
I stumble as he pulls me along, unable to take my eyes off Flynn. For the first time in months, the constant ache in my shoulder dissipates. I may still have Underling venom in my veins, but it’s as if I felt his connection to my curse severed the moment he drew his last breath.
“He was the spy,” I say, my own voice distant, muffled by the ringing in my ears. But even as I say the words, something nags at me.Flynn attacked me tonight, but the day on the train platform… the Shifter attackedFlynn, just after Gabriel ran off. I think of what Leo told me—how the two of them killed their parents together—and my stomach sours. “There’s two of them.” I nod, putting the pieces together. “FlynnandGabriel Cooper. They’re working together.”
But who could have shot the arrow that day when Flynn was attacked?
“Aster, we don’t have time!” Will grabs me, urgently spinning me around to face him. He holds me in his unrelenting gaze. “Eva Mercer’s been killed.”
“What?” I shake my head, attempting to clear the fog that descended in the moments following Flynn’s death. “By whom?”
I see it, then—the look of pure grief on Will’s face, his expression twisting, contorting into something I don’t recognize. Something raw and human and utterly defeated.
“Eliza,” he chokes out, his voice breaking. “Eliza Cooper.”
I follow Will through the servants’ passages, distantly aware of the twists and turns, his grip on my hand my only anchor to the present moment.
“Eliza’s on the run,” he explains, nearly breathless as he leads me up a narrow staircase. “The king has guards searching the city for her. They believe she’s been working for Morana, for the Guild of Shadows.”
My head swims, and I think of what Leo told me—of the rumors that Eliza covered up Flynn and Gabriel’s crimes, and I realize it could have been Eliza who shot the arrow that day onthe train platform. “But—Eliza wasn’t—” I want to argue, want to petition on Eliza’s behalf, but… Flynn just tried tokillme. “I don’t understand. Eliza is your friend!”
“And Owen is your brother,” Will shoots back, his teeth clenched. He runs a hand through his hair, and softer, he says, “You of all people should know you can’t always trust those closest to you.”
He drops my hand as he shoves through the servant’s door and into my bedroom, immediately going to the balcony doors to ensure they’re locked, then to the door to my suite. He checks my wardrobe, my bath chambers, even under my bed. Apparently satisfied, he takes me by the shoulders, forcing me to meet his eye.
“Lock this door behind me,” he says, pointing to the servant’s door. He takes my daggers from his belt—thankfully he retrieved them from beneath the bridge while I was distracted with Flynn—and gives them back to me. “I’m going to find Killian.”
