Page 50 of Starchaser
When Margaret helps me into my gown, when my brothers escort me to the main hall, as I stand outside the doors to the throne room—all I want is to go home. Home, where my family is safe aboard theLightbringer. Home, where my purpose was clear. I want to go home so fiercely it manifests as an illness for which there is no treatment. A dull ache forms in my temples, and there’s a pang in my chest with every breath I take.
Once, when I was about Elsie’s age, I asked Father if he had always lived aboard theLightbringer. He laughed then, the soundso full and rich it almost masked the sadness in his eyes.No, he told me,I had a different home, once.
Why did you leave?I remember asking.
His smile faltered as he looked out at the Western Sea, as if he was searching for something he could never find.We aren’t always given a choice. He turned to me then, crouching down so we were eye to eye.Someday, you might have to leaveyourhome. And you might miss it very much—so much it makes you feel sick. But wherever your family is—wherever we’re all together—thatishome, Aster. Home is not a place—not a ship. He pointed at my heart, his kind eyes like the warmest, safest hug I’ve ever felt.It’s here.
He patted me on the head, rising to his full height once more, but even then, I could recognize the longing in his gaze as he surveyed the horizon.
Do you ever feel sick when you missyourhome?
I thought, just for a moment, that a tear slipped onto his cheek, but he grinned, swiping at his eyes before I could see.
Every day.
Today, even as my brothers flank me, homesickness twists my stomach into knots.
This morning, as Margaret set to work on my hair, she took my hands in hers, meeting my gaze with the kind of intensity I saw from her only in battle.
Today, you become something more than Aster Oberon, she told me as the sun rose over the rooftops of Jade, illuminating my room with a golden glow, a stark contrast to the shadows that filled the space just hours before.From here on out, when the people look at you, they will not see the rouge on your cheeks or the braids in your hair. They will see vengeance and fury. They will see power. It’s my job to make them see that you are more than just a courtier—more than just a pirate—with the stroke of a brush. But onlyyoucan make them believe it in the way that you carry yourself in that throne room today.
I almost forgot that it was Margaret who would often rally us to arms. And it’s because of Margaret that, despite the homesickness I feel, when the doors to the throne room open, and my brothers depart to take their posts on either side of the entrance, I walk over the threshold and into my new life with my shoulders back and my head held high.
Because today, I am more than just Aster Oberon. I am every mother who has ever sent her child to war. I am every daughter who has ever lost her parent to the sting of a blade. I am every sister who has ever watched her sibling suffer under a burden they should never have been forced to carry. I am every human who has ever endured the cruelty of Nightweavers and Underlings alike. I am every Myth who has been driven from their home, forced into hiding. I am every Nightweaver who has met their fate at the hangman’s noose for daring to rebel against the Crown.
I am the judgment that was foretold.
I am vengeance. Fury. Power.
And I will not be silenced.
Bloodknights line the pathway on either side, and I fight the urge to search for Flynn and Gabriel, focusing my gaze on the dais before me even as murmurs trickle through the crowd of nobility and foreign dignitaries, but I struggle to conceal the smirk on my lips when someone gasps, “Her gown!”
Composed entirely of scarlet metal, my gown is surprisingly—if not supernaturally—lightweight, and it fits unlike any other inmy arsenal, hugging my hips and trailing behind me in a bloodred train. The armored dress resembles a Bloodknight’s armor, with a red long-sleeved gambeson adorned with a top layer fashioned from chain mail, but the shoulders, bodice, and skirt consist of hundreds of plated pieces all fitting together to create the appearance of dragon scales.
I might not carry my daggers today, but I feel like a weapon as whispers erupt, and for the first time since I learned that Titus curated my wardrobe, I feel I owe him genuine thanks.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot the entire Castor family, along with Killian and Eliza. My head turns of its own accord, and I lock eyes with Will. It looks as if he’s trying to say something to me, trying to convey something without words, but a moment later I’ve reached the edge of the dais, with only a few shallow steps between me and the Nightweaver responsible for countless widows and orphans. The king responsible for hundreds of mass graves. The man who has fed rivers of bloodshed so deep he should be drowning in his sins.
I meet Calix Anteres’s stare—note the glint of challenge in his eyes—as I take the last three steps, rising to join him on the dais. Today, I will not falter. I will not stumble. Titus ensured this when he had a pair of flat-soled boots crafted to match my gown rather than heels, as if he knew these three steps could either give me a chance to prove my decorum or rob me of my dignity.
It takes everything in me not to seek out Titus as I halt in front of the king and queen’s thrones and sink to one knee, even though I feel him there, standing at the right hand of his father. And just behind him, Princess Leo wears a gown of lilac chiffon—ever the demure fiancée. All soft, smooth edges in a way I will never be.
“Your Majesties,” I say, my gaze fixed on the floor.
It feels like a lifetime passes before the king gets to his feet.
“Aster Oberon, daughter of Philip and Grace Oberon, servant to the Crown of the Eerie…” The king’s voice carries throughout the throne room, full and rich, and if I didn’t know who he was or what he’s done, I might even think he sounds like someone I would follow into battle. Someone who, perhaps in another life, could have led his kingdom with fairness and humility. “Do you this day solemnly swear an oath to your king to uphold the laws of this kingdom with honor, integrity, and courage, fighting for justice, peace, and prosperity throughout the land?”
I knew this was coming. I knew I would have to swear an oath to be knighted. But now that the moment has arrived, cold sweat beads on the back of my neck. To defeat the evil that seeks to destroy everyone I love—to abolish everything I believe in—I will have to become the very thing I hate the most. And I realize, now, with my knee pressed to the dais of a king’s throne room, with my head bowed in surrender and an oath on my lips, that after this is over, no matter the outcome, if I am to create a home for my family—if I’m to give them any hope for a future—I must give up on the idea of having a home to return to.
I close my eyes, remembering home one last time. I picture Father, his arms around my mother at the helm as he hummed along to the song she was singing. I hear my siblings—hear their laughter as they chased one another about the deck, wild and carefree. It’s as if I can feel the spray of the sea on my face—taste the briny air, see the sun glinting on the open waves—and I smile then, because no matter what, in my heart, I will carrythishome with me forever.
And when I stand before a broken throne with a crown of bones beneath my heel, I will have given someone, somewhere, a chance at a lifetime of happiness that I will never know.
“Do you swear to serve your king and country in whatever capacity you might be called upon, even if it costs you your life?”
The image of my family—of my home—crumbles to dust, and I let go, casting it to the wind.
