Page 119 of Starchaser
My heart pounds against myrib cage as I climb down the steps that lead to the brig. I woke only this morning, but it’s been three weeks for Will. Three weeks since he began his transformation. Three weeks since he was betrayed by his best friend. Three weeks since we barely escaped Castle Grim with our lives.
I steel myself as I step into the guttering lantern light. I’m not sure what I expect to find, but when I see him slumped against the bars of his cell, his hair wet, as if he’s bathed recently, an untouched plate piled high with food beside him, my knees threaten to buckle. I note the collar of Elysian Iron clamped around his neck, and my stomach flips.
“Will?”
His eyes fling wide, and his head snaps up in that animalistic way it did in the dungeons that night. I brace myself for him tolunge, taking a step back from the cell, but when he sees me, his expression twists, full of anguish. He doesn’t move from his place on the floor, but his voice is strained, and it seems as if it takes every ounce of self-control to stay seated, his hands flexing at his side.
“Gabriel told me you were awake,” he grits out. His throat bobs, and tears streak his face even as he clenches his jaw. “You need to go, Aster. Please. It’s not… safe.”
Please.At the sound of his voice, I throw caution to the wind, stepping up to the bars of his cell, close enough that if he wanted to, he could easily grab hold of me. I unwrap the compass. It glints in the lantern light, reflecting the flames in its polished brass surface. “This compass will lead us to Havok,” I explain, telling him as quickly as possible everything I heard in the war room. All the while he watches me, his brows knit, eyes narrowed. “It’s not over,” I tell him. “If we can get a drop of her blood—”
“Aster.” He sighs, shaking his head.
“Don’t,” I say, shoving the compass back into my pocket. “Don’t give up. You can’t.”
“It’s too late.” He winces as he shifts slightly, as if he were about to stand but decided against it. He clutches at his stomach, where I can only imagine the gruesome wound has festered, eating away at his flesh. “I’m dying. I don’t have long, and then—”
“Stop!” I shout, gripping the iron bars, needing something solid to cling to. “I don’t know why you didn’t turn on Holy Winter’s Day, but here you are! You’re still alive. If you want to give up, fine. But I won’t let her use Annie like this. She—” My voice catches, and hot, angry tears burn my cheeks. “She’s still in there, Will, and you know it. We… we have to set her free.”
I know my words have met their mark when Will’s jaw goesslack, his eyes glazed—haunted by memories of his time spent on the battlefield. I know he’s thinking about the troop of soldiers he was forced to execute, banishing the Sylks that possessed them.They’re still them when they die, he told me then. I don’t know what Morana plans to do while in possession of her body, but Annie deserves to be at peace. To go out on her own terms.
Will nods slowly. “When do we leave?”
Relief and fear flood me in equal measure. “As soon as possible.” I don’t tell him we don’t have a crew just yet, because I don’t want him to doubt that we can actually pull this off. “I just need to check on a few things,” I tell him, making the climb abovedeck before he can say anything to change my mind.
When I emerge onto the main deck, I expect to find Orella waiting for me, but she’s already gone. In the distance, the lights of Ember flicker, warm and inviting, the sweet scent of coconut bread and grilled pineapple wafting toward me. The faint music from the party, accompanied by the lulling cadence of the waves, almost causes me to falter. I take the compass out of my pocket, turning it over in my hands, thinking, vaguely, that it feels heavier than it had before. Here, on this island, is everything I’ve ever wanted. Freedom. Safety. Family. But knowing that Owen isn’t here to share in our victory makes it feel hollow. Even if he were here, even if I could manage to rescue him from Morana’s kingdom…
There’s still someone else who would be missing.
I peer over the taffrail, down the empty docks. How long did Orella expect me to wait while she gathered a crew and provisions? Mother and Father will discover I’ve gone soon, and then it will be too late. If they suspect I’ve left—that I’ve taken the compass—they won’t let me out of their sight.
“Going somewhere?”
I whirl at the sound of Jack’s voice and find him tangled up in the rigging. I didn’t notice him before—it’s too dark to make out much of anything—but as I scan the ship, the moonlight illuminates their figures as they step out of the shadows and into the silver light.
“What?” Charlie calls from where he stands behind the helm. “Did you really think we’d let you run off and claim all the glory for yourself??”
“Not a chance,” Lewis says from behind me. He grins, eyes twinkling with mischief, but beneath his carefree facade, there’s a steely determination in his gaze—an anger I know all too well. “He’s our brother, too,” he adds, his voice steady. “No matter what he’s done, we’re going to bring him back. All of us.”
All of us?
“Orella thought you could use some friends,” Eliza says, crossing the deck to stand beside Lewis.
Behind them I spot Margaret instructing Henry how to hoist the sail. The luff rope jams and he runs his hands over his face, clearly frustrated, but Margaret doesn’t lose her cool, her tone patient as she helps him correct his mistake. He looks up at her as she speaks, but she doesn’t seem to notice as his gaze takes in every detail of her face. When his eyes land, finally, on her pearl earrings, he grimaces, focusing once more on the task at hand.
“Well, Miss Oberon?” comes another, familiar voice from across the deck. I squint in the darkness, attempting to make out his face in the shadows. Tall, tan, he wears a plain black shirt, his dark trousers tucked into a pair of scuffed boots. It must be a trick of the light, but as he draws near his ears appear… tapered. As ifthey end in sharp, curved points. I try to place his voice—rough and quiet—but then I note the two bloodred swords sheathed at his hips, and my heart leaps into my throat.
“Gabriel?” I give him a shove before throwing my arms around his neck.
“Not what you were expecting?” he asks as he draws back, the ghost of a grin on his lips, and I’m struck by the resemblance between him and his identical twin.
I touch the tip of his ear, confirming what I thought I saw—the tapered points. Gabriel isn’t a Nightweaver. And he isn’t human, either. “You’re a Myth!”
“An elf,” Eliza says, folding her arms over her chest. “Most elves joined with Underlings centuries ago.”
Gabriel’s jaw tightens. “Those of us who didn’t were shunned by the other Myths, forced to hide because of our… similarities with the Shifters.”
“Similarities?” I ask, looking between Eliza and Gabriel.
