Page 105 of Starchaser
Pain slices through me. My head pounds, my vision blurs as I attempt to open my eyes. I blink, wincing at the light of the torches lining the aisle between the iron cells, struggling to make out my surroundings in the flickering glow. I shudder at the chill even as sweat rolls down my neck, my spine, my legs. It’s too bright. Too dark. Too hot. Too cold.
I can’t feel my hands. I kick, feeling for purchase on solid ground, but my feet dangle an inch from the stone floor. Chains rattle as I squirm.
“Billie, listen to me.”
Eliza’s voice warbles nearby, but my head is too heavy to lift, my neck too stiff to turn and see what direction her voice is coming from.
A low, menacing growl is the only answer.
And it comes from my cell.
“Look at me,” Eliza pleads. “You don’t have to do this. Just—just look at me, please.”
Squelch. Crack.
The choked whimper comes from my left, and I cut my eyes in the direction of the sound, gasping at the ache that lances through my skull at even the slightest movement.
Cold horror floods my veins.
Will crouches over the limp, starved body of a woman, cradling her close to his chest as he rips into her throat. Blood coats his face in layers that have long since dried under the spray of fresh, bright red from his latest victim.
Beside him, a pile of eight corpses lies in a tangled heap of shredded remains.
As if he senses me staring, his head jerks up, his gilded eyes shining bright enough to light the cell. He cocks his head, licks his lips. His gaze roves from my head to my feet, his entire body preternaturally still.
“Billie, stop,” Eliza whispers, and I see her then, chained to the floor of the adjacent cell, her hands gripping the iron bars. “It’s Aster,” she says. “You don’t want to hurt her, do you?”
Will sniffs, his nostrils flaring. His tongue darts between his teeth, snakelike.
In a flash, he discards the woman’s corpse and lunges for me.
I jolt, shutting my eyes tight to brace myself against his assault, but there’s a loudsnap, followed by the deep rumble of Will’s snarl. I have the faintest thought that he’s broken my neck, and for a moment, I consider giving in to the agony that pulses,bone-deep—consider giving up. Letting go. Accepting my fate. But when I open my eyes, I find that something stopped Will just before he could reach me. His hands grasp at the air, his fingertips grazing my flank, but the iron collar around his throat pulls tight. He snaps his jaws, his teeth clacking together, his eyes bulging.
The glow of his iris shifts from gold to red.
“Will?” I croak, my hoarse voice barely a whisper.
“Yes,Will.”
The cell door creaks as Titus enters, followed by a Bloodknight.
Titus doesn’t even spare me a glance as he makes his way to the table to my right, arranged with various knives and crude tools—the same weapons Calantha implemented in his torture. Between us, the stream cuts through the cavern, feeding into the canal that divides the cells.
I try to speak to the water—try to bend it to my will—but there is no song to be sung. No voice to be heard, as if the sea has gone silent.
“Now, Aster,” Titus says, running his hands over the handles of various weapons. “Now you see him for what he truly is.” He turns, pointing at Will with the dagger he’s selected—a weapon similar to the dagger Flynn possessed, crackling with cursed green energy. “A bloodthirsty monster.”
My head throbs as I look between Will and Titus, my mind racing. “Stop,” I plead, struggling to get the words out, “this—isn’t you. You’ve been—compelled!”
Titus smirks. “Oh, you finally noticed?” He jerks his chin, and as if obeying the silent command, the Bloodknight grabs Will’s arms, forcing him to kneel. Titus crosses the cell, squatting in front of Will, the edge of his blade pressed to his cheek. There’s a grotesquesizzle as the cursed energy burns Will’s flesh. “It’s about time. You know, your brother paid me a visit the night he appeared to you on the train,” Titus says, watching the blood bubble to the surface of Will’s skin with rapt interest. “He’s quite clever, that Owen. I see where you get your violent streak. He compelled me to send word once we reached Ink Haven, accusing Winona Congreve of siding with the rebellion.” He tuts. “Poor, wretched little thing.”
My stomach roils. Titus was compelled the night I slept in his bed aboard the train, and I didn’t know. He was forced by his father to become the Reaper, forced by his stepmother to submit himself for her depraved collection of his blood, forced by Owen to betray his friends. All this time, he was compelled to act against his own will, and I didn’t see it. I was so focused on finding a cure for Will, on overthrowing the Crown, that I overlooked what was happening right under my nose. How could I have been so blind?
“Oh, come now; no need for sad faces. There’s nothing you could have done. Besides, Owen’s compulsion was only temporary. For all his power, his brief imposition on my will was merely a test—an exercise meant only to give Morana an idea of how difficult it would be to compel me for longer stretches of time. It wasn’t until I returned to Castle Grim that Morana called to me herself. She showed me what true power looked like.” He runs a hand over the front of his jacket, smoothing the creases. “Enough power to overthrow those who might have tried to subdue me.” His expression shifts at his own words, his brow furrowing, jaw clenched. But he shakes his head, flashing his teeth in a venomous smile as he peers over Will’s shoulder at the pile of corpses, and the torchlight casts the crown atop his head in a fiery golden light. “Enough power to take what is rightfully mine.”
My chest aches, my heart throbbing painfully against my sternum. “When?” I manage to choke out.
“Just after the parade,” Titus says, tilting his head, his eyes narrowing. “I had no memory of the compulsion until after we’d said our vows, but…” He clucks his tongue. “Iwascertain Leo was possessed. Tried to tell you even. But, no—you were so convinced it wasn’t her. Even when Calantha confirmed my suspicions, you insisted it was Eliza that Morana had possessed.”
