Page 117 of Starchaser
She nods, brows raised. Her expression reminds me of the look Margaret gives me when she knows there’s more to a story than I’m letting on. “Quite the gift.”
I run my hands over the fabric, tracing the pattern of a star on my sleeve. “It’s not like that,” I say, a blush creeping into my cheeks.
“Oh, right,” she says with a wink. “Of course.”
“I mean it!” I protest, but even I don’t think I sound convincing.
Orella laughs, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “I believe you!”
But by the look she gives me, I know that isn’t true. And when I give an uneasy chuckle, she nudges me with her shoulder.
She says, her voice soft, “I’m guessing it wasn’t a gift from that boy who’s locked himself up in the brig of theStarchaser, then?”
I grip the rope, staring out at the sea, my chest hollow. “No,” I say quietly. “It wasn’t.”
Orella nods slowly. “Would you rather he’d given it to you instead?”
“I—” A breeze rustles the leaves, and I pull the coat tighter around me. Quietly, I say, “I don’t know.”
I cut a glance at her, expecting to see judgment in her eyes, butI follow her gaze to where Killian sits next to Dinah in the sand, watching the last semicircle of amber light dip below the horizon. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but it’s as if seeing the look of barely subdued longing on Orella’s face reminds me of the night Killian told me the Red Island was real—the night he gave me my daggers. He said then that a family rescued him, and I know now that he and Father have been friends since they were teenagers, but…
“You and Killian?” I ask. I regret saying this almost immediately, but Orella just grins, her eyes glassy with tears.
“I think,” she says, “that as your aunt, I’m supposed to give you advice when it comes to matters of the heart.” She rolls her eyes, sticks out her tongue, and we share a brief laugh before her expression turns serious. She faces me, taking both my hands in hers. “If you’re ever lucky enough to find someone who looks at you like you breathed life into the heavens themselves, whatever you do, Aster, don’t let them go.”
A pang of grief seizes my chest. “You waited for him? All this time?”
She tilts her head, and a tear slips onto her cheek. “There’s no one else like him,” she says.
I squeeze her hands. “It’s not too late,” I tell her. “To be happy.”
“To chase another star,” she says, nodding slowly. Gently, she pats my face before looping her arm through mine and starting down the bridge once more. She laughs, but it sounds more like an attempt to mask the quiet sob that chokes her voice. “I’m supposed to giveyouadvice, remember?”
I take another bite of the stewed goat meat, chewing slowly.
As I savor the bite, I glance about the party, at the crowd gathered among the torches and the lanterns strewn from the branches of the trees across the beach, illuminating smiling faces huddled near buffet tables boasting platters overflowing with fruits and meats I’ve never seen, let alone tasted. Whisked away by her adoring public the moment we arrived, Orella stands nearby, chatting with a group of dignitaries—fleet delegates, captains, quartermasters. Watching her from behind the roast pig, Killian smokes his cigar, his eyes filled to the brim with that same intense longing I saw from the pirate queen, decidedly unconcerned with whatever Clemson and Davina are telling him, though it seems, even from here, to be of utmost importance.
It’s only when Father comes along, giving Clemson and Davina their leave, that Killian pulls his attention from Orella. He claps Father on the shoulder, and a moment later, the two of them are snickering like two teenage boys. My heart twists when I think about Will and Titus. Can things ever be the same between them? It’s not like Titus chose to be compelled—it isn’t Titus’s fault, no more than Will’s Shifter curse is his. But still, the things Titus said, the things he did… even if Will can forget, I’m not sure Titus will be able to forgive himself.
And if what Titus said about Will is true…
The food suddenly tastes like ash in my mouth, and I’m considering making the trek back to my room when a smattering of applause draws my attention to the water.
Jack kneels before Margaret, a small velvet box in his hands. Margaret covers her face, and for a moment Jack looks as if he’s about to faint, but then Margaret nods, tackling him to the sand. Ispot my parents on the outskirts of the crowd, their hands clasped, faces beaming. Elsie squeals, jumping up and down. Albert rolls his eyes, but when Charlie and Lewis rush Jack, hoisting him onto their shoulders, my little brother chases after them, whooping and cheering.
I’m on my feet then, starting toward Margaret, when I notice Henry leaving the scene, heading down the beach in the opposite direction. In the few seconds I pause to watch him go, my sister is overtaken by a small group of women, all giggling and admiring the pearls from Jack. I’m torn, caught up in the excitement of Jack’s proposal, wanting nothing more than to throw myself into their midst and bask in their joy. This is what I’m fighting for—moments like these. But as I watch Henry trekking down the beach alone, I’m reminded that this isn’t over yet.Soon, I promise myself as I jog to catch up with him. Soon, I can be happy, too.
“Party’s that way,” I say, panting to catch my breath.
“You shouldn’t exert yourself like that,” he mutters, cutting a glance at me, his face drawn.
I snort a laugh. “Not you, too.”
He scoffs, shaking his head, his black curls dappled silver by the moonlight. “You really don’t get it.”
I don’t know what I thought was going to happen when I chased after him—that perhaps we’d clear the air after our conversation in the tunnels at Castle Grim. Instead, I snap, “Get what?”
He stops, turns to face me. “You’re always trying to fix everything on your own! You think it’s your responsibility to protect everyone. To make sure everyone else is happy, and safe, and—” He groans, a muscle in his jaw feathering, but when our eyes meet, his gaze is soft, his voice gentle. “Who takes care ofyou, Aster?”
