Page 37 of Starchaser
The instant we’re alone, I feel the parts of me I’ve barely held together begin to unravel. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and begin to stitch myself back together.
I can do this. Ihaveto do this.
My hand trembles as I take the compass, slipping the chain over my head. I grab hold of the small golden disc, now tucked safely between my collarbones, and hold it tightly in my fist—an anchor, a vow.
I will make my father proud. No matter what I must endure, nomatter what I’m forced to withstand, I will not leave Castle Grim until I get what I’ve come for—a cure, justice, and freedom for my people. Icando this. I’m going to do this.
I try to picture my father’s face—his kind eyes—but as I form the image of him in my mind, his eyes, like two wells of black ink, are not kind. Thick scarlet tears stream down his cheeks, but when I try to open my eyes, to dispel the distorted visage of my father, it’s as if my eyelids are glued shut.
My heart rages violently in my chest, and I let go of the compass, reaching for Will’s sleeve, grasping at him wildly when—
“Breathe, Aster,” he says softly, his hands cupping my cheeks. Warmth flows from his touch, and my eyes fling wide to find his gaze, calm and tender, his brow furrowed as he studies my face. “Breathe for me.”
I try to slow my breathing, but a flood of emotions I haven’t allowed myself to feel since Father’s death overtakes me, and suddenly I’m drowning in them.
“Will—” My voice breaks on a sob.
He draws me into his arms with such abandon I forget myself. I bury my face in his chest, allowing every cracked piece of me to shatter. And he holds me, even when I can no longer hold myself upright, even when he has to guide me to the edge of my bed, even when I grab a fistful of his shirt because I need something—anything—to keep me here, where I canfeelrather than fade away.
Titus was right—I was never meant to step foot on land.
Will says, his voice like a deep hum, “Just say the word, and we’ll leave this place.”
I burrow deeper into his arms, wanting to forget that therehas ever been space between us—that our lives are comprised of moments in which it is forbidden to touch each other, to hold each other. “We can’t,” I cry—hiccup. “You’ll die.”
He strokes the back of my head, combing his fingers gently through my hair. “Watching you suffer is a fate worse than death.”
I sniff, craning my neck to look up at him. “You can’t mean that,” I croak. “Your family—Henryneeds you. And Annie… you can’t—”
“Aster,” he interrupts, his gaze softening. “I have known for a very, very long time that one day, I would have to leave my family behind.”
His words pierce me like a dagger to the heart. “I never asked—” I start, my throat painfully dry. “Your curse…”
He grins, his eyes glassy. “It’s… complicated.” His thumb grazes my cheek, wiping away my tears. “I wasn’t bitten—not like you.”
“But, how—”
Will draws away enough to remove his jacket. He lifts the hem of his shirt just slightly to reveal a rotting black wound on his left side, just above the waistline of his pants. Green veins branch off from the lesion, pulsing like leeches.
“Will!” I gasp.
His only response is a broken, half-hearted laugh. “Does it look that bad?”
I try to school my expression into something other than shock but fail miserably. Gently, I ask, “Does it hurt?”
His lips form a tight smile. “It’s nothing I can’t manage.”
“For now.”
Will casts his eyes skyward as I turn to find Titus leaning casually against the doorframe that leads into my suite.
My suite!
I look around for the first time, my eyes wide as I take in the enormous space, its lofty ceilings decorated with trusses cut from expertly hewn oak, their pattern reminding me of the sails of a ship. To my left, a wall of steel-leaded windows opens onto a balcony that looks out over the city, offering me breathtaking views of the sea beyond. The polished mahogany four-poster on which we now sit is twice the size of any bed I’ve ever seen, overflowing with blue pillows and blue blankets, its blue silk sheets like a cool stream of water as I run my hands over the fabric. I quickly notice a theme—a blue canopy for the bed, blue drapes, blue wallpaper, blue upholstery. And not just any shade of blue—sapphire blue. Like the ocean. Like my eyes.
I meet Titus’s gaze to find that he’s watching me intently, his face perhaps a bit more open and vulnerable than he may realize, because the instant our eyes meet, he looks away, adjusting his sleeves with uncharacteristic piety. He’s changed into an all-black ensemble, his jacket trimmed with shimmering ruby-red thread, glistening like fresh blood. I study his face, searching for any signs of the gore that coated his chin, but to my relief, I find none. The only evidence of the vicious display at the parade are the few strands of wet hair that cling to his face from where he attempted to wash away the attack, and a speck of dried blood just below his jaw.
When he meets my gaze again, his blue eyes are hard—resigned—and my gut twists when I realize that whatever my reaction was to the Reaper’s violence, it revealed the deep distrust I intended to keep hidden, and now, there is no going back.
