Page 47 of Starchaser
My assailant laughs, the sound gritty and cruel, as he stalks toward me. “Your parents are the ones who have lied to you, fledgling.” He draws his dagger, the green energy crackling like lightning around the blade. “You know so little of the world and your place in it. It’s pathetic.”
I take a step back, bumping into my wardrobe. “Why are you doing this?” I ask, stalling for time. “What do you gain if I leave?”
My assailant cocks his head, his gilded eyes lit with amusement. “You still haven’t figured it out?” He runs a fingertip over the sharp edge of his dagger, and despite the gauze covering hisface, I know he’s smiling as he steps closer to me. “Don’t fight it, Aster,” he rasps, extending his hand. “I know what you feel. I feel it, too. Our…connection.”
Shadows cloak his palm, and I’m gripped by the sudden urge to reach out, to thread my fingers with his.
“You really don’t remember me?” he asks, gaining ground, towering over me with every step. I have nowhere to go as he closes the distance between us, placing his hand on the wardrobe, caging me in. He points the tip of the dagger at my shoulder, where an Underling’s teeth pierced my flesh, before sheathing it. “And here I thought I’d made a lasting impression.”
My blood runs cold. “You?You’rethe Shifter who cursed me?”
He bows his head, looking up through thick, dark lashes to meet my gaze. “I marked you so that no one else can have you,” he rasps, leaning in, his muffled breath hot on my neck as his nose brushes my throat. “You’re mine, Aster Oberon.”
My grip tightens around my daggers, my heart racing.
“I have been away for quite some time,” he says, drawing back, his glowing eyes boring into mine with such intensity I feel as if he can see right through me. “The others seem to have forgotten who you belong to, but Queen Morana promised me.” He grabs the hilt of his dagger, but he doesn’t unsheathe it again—not yet. “She promised I would get to be the one to kill you.”
He gives me just enough space that I’m able to kick, my foot colliding with his stomach, sending him stumbling backward.
He laughs again, the sound low and gritty, as he rolls his shoulders, drawing the dagger, its green light illuminating the dark bedroom with an ominous glow.
“Then why are you still tormenting me?” I stall, pivoting so thatthe backs of my knees hit the edge of my bed. “I know she’s here. This is what she’s always wanted, right? She has access to me, now. And when my curse finally takes me, there’ll be no reason for you to kill me. I’m already dying—I’m dying from a biteyouinflicted.”
He tsks, shaking his head. “No,” he rasps. “You’re not.”
It feels as if the ground has shifted beneath me. “But the venom—”
“The venom, if it were able to reach your heart, would weaken you to the point of death.” He stalks toward me at a languid pace. “But you would not die.” He twirls the dagger, the electric green energy crackling, climbing up his forearm. “Not unless I will it. Because my venom courses through your veins, I can make you feel however I want. If I want you to feel sick—near death, even—I can.”
“My bracelet—the enchantment—it protects me from Underlings. You can’t do me any fatal harm.” I think about the way Owen could grab me by the throat, and even though I know the level of harm an Underling can cause me is somewhat undefined, I’m confident he cannot kill me. Even Owen had to wait until the enchantment was weakened on Reckoning Day to stab me with that cursed dagger.
As he draws closer, I make to climb onto my bed, ready to launch myself to the other side, putting distance between us again, but… panic closes around my heart like a fist. I can’t move. I can hardly breathe.
He stands over me, lifting his hand to grip my chin. “Your little enchantment protects you from lesser Underlings,” he whispers. “Not from Queen Morana. And certainly not from me.”
Horror snakes down my spine. “Whatareyou?” I know I’mable to speak only because he releases my tongue from his power—power that radiates from him like darkness incarnate, his shadows filling the space so that his golden eyes and the green glow of his dagger barely cut through the gloom.
“I have been many things.” His deep, smoky voice seems to come from everywhere, as if it emanates from the shadows themselves. “Lived many lives.” He raises the dagger with what appears to be concerted effort, holding it close enough to my throat that the proximity of the cursed magic corrodes the collar of my shirt. “In this life, I am what the Fallen call a bonewielder.”
I sip at whatever air he’ll allow my lungs to hold.Of course—Killian suspected the assassin was a Changeling. This one has stolen the life of a Nightweaver—a noble with an affinity for bonewielding.That’s because your bracelet protects againstUnderlingcompulsion, Will had said.Not bonewielder persuasion.
There are limitations to the protection your trinket offers, Owen told me. Did he know about this Changeling, too? Was he trying to warn me?
“What are you waiting for?” I grind out.
He tilts his head. “All in due time. I have my own plans for you, fledgling. Morana had the opportunity to turn you on Reckoning Day, and she failed. Sending your brother to break your enchantment was a mistake. But now,” he croons, the gravelly sound grating against my senses, “I’m going to do things my way. And your presence here complicates things for me. I’ve asked you politely, but”—he leans in, whispering in my ear—“if you refuse to listen, I could be morepersuasive.”
“Then why go through the trouble of threatening me?” Sweat beads on my forehead from the effort it takes to speak. “Justpersuade me to leave—if you can.” I pray to the Stars that he doesn’t call my bluff. That hecan’tcall my bluff.
A smirk crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Watching you wrestle with that pitiful morality of yours is infinitely more satisfying.” His grip on my chin becomes painful. “You will choose to leave Castle Grim of your own accord before Holy Winter’s Day. Of this I have no doubt.”
He takes a step back, and I feel his hold on me relax, the weight of his magic lifting from my bones.
“I am trying to be merciful.” He sighs. “I would hate for your family to suffer the consequences of your disobedience.”
My lip curls, and I strain against his magic, but it’s no use. “If you touch them—”
“You’ll what?” He chuckles darkly. “You’re out of your depth, fledgling. Go now, and when I come to collect you, perhaps I’ll teach you how to defend yourself against the petty magic of the Fallen. Until then,” he says, bowing at the waist, “I’ll be keeping a close eye on you.”
