Page 82 of Starchaser
Scrawled elegantly in red ink—at least, I think it’s ink—are the words:
You can still save them.
I crumple the paper in my fist, wishing I could set it on fire with merely a thought.
The gift the Changeling promised me—he somehow found away to influence the king to conscript my brothers despite my service to the Crown. He told me to make my decision and meet him on the bridge tomorrow night. Stay here, and if the Order fails to overthrow the king on Holy Winter’s Day, my brothers will be sent to war. Leave, and they might still have a chance at freedom. I could give them the medallion—Titus could call for theStarchaserto collect them.
They could make it to the Red Island, where they could be safe. Free.
All I’ve done is make things worse. I’m no hero. And I’m tired, too. Tired of pretending. Tired of trying. Tired of losing people I love.
Tomorrow night, I tell myself as I curl onto my side, wrapped in a blanket of midnight blue. Tomorrow night, I’m going to do what I should have done when all this began.
Since my arrival at CastleGrim, I’ve heard talk of the Crystal Atrium, but nothing could have prepared me for the lush expanse of gardens that occupies a third of the outer court, dappled with a soft orange light as the sun sinks toward the horizon. Glass encloses the various landings dispersed among the hundreds of species of flowers and trees, shielding us from the elements, with the aid of firebreather magic to warm the enclosure. The plaza appears transformed by opulent candelabras and tables dressed in white silk, and as servants hustle throughout the crowd, serving tiny dishes and fizzy drinks, I get the strangest feeling this is all an elaborate display for the Nightweavers in their pastel finery.
I stand at the top of the curved staircase, concealed by a shrub, struggling to breathe—from nerves or the corset of my elaborate green gown; I’m finding it increasingly difficult to tell thedifference. For the Nightweavers in attendance, Holy Winter’s Eve marks the closing of their festival and represents the victory of some king I’ve never heard of. This year, it is the eve of Titus and Leo’s wedding day. But for Will, it’s his last night before his curse turns him into a Shifter, and for me… tonight is the night I have to choose: my family or Will. My freedom or my family’s. The Order’s mission or my own vow to protect my mother and siblings no matter the cost.
The conversation lulls as every head turns to watch as I descend the staircase. I spot the king and queen, clothed in black and red, a stark contrast to the flowery atmosphere of the atrium, their expressions pleasantly neutral. Beside them, Leo looks as if she belongs in the garden, her petal-pink gown sparkling in the soft glow of the candlelight. The Castors stand nearby, Lord Bludgrave diligent to keep his eyes on Annie, who sits at their round banquet table, picking at her food with a vacant stare, while Lady Isabelle watches me with a look I know only as motherly pride. Eliza, dressed in a black lace gown and purple elbow-length gloves, matches Flynn’s black suit, a purple flower pinned to his breast pocket.
The two Cooper siblings talk among themselves, seemingly unaware of the party taking place around them. Flynn clenches his jaw as Eliza whispers something in his ear, and a moment later she draws back, covering her nose with a handkerchief, her lip curling as if she were disgusted. But when they catch my eye, they offer warm smiles, toasting me with their drinks. Immediately, I search for my own family dispersed among the crowd, but the moment my eyes wander, I’m trapped.
Clemson and Davina Mercer cling to Will’s either arm, glaring at me, and I realize why when Will starts forward, if only afraction of a step, his jaw clenched, as if he truly cannot contain himself. Our eyes meet, his gaze pleading—imploring me to make my way toward him.
But I look away.
I look forhim.
Ihatethat I look for him. But after everything Titus confessed to me last night—after he gave me the medallion—I need to see him. I want to see him. And I don’t know how to feel about that, especially when Will is looking at me in the way I’ve wished for him to all these months.
With every step, I scan the faces of the crowd, expecting to see Titus, but he’s nowhere to be found. My search grows somewhat frantic as I near the bottom. Just last night, I told him to leave me alone—but I didn’t really want that, did I? Maybe I wanted him to stay. Maybe I hate him more than I realize. Maybe I don’t hate him at all. Maybe…
Maybe I don’t know how I feel.
As I descend the final step, a thread of panic winds around my heart, gets tangled up in my rib cage, making it difficult to breathe.
Damn this corset.
“Aster?”
I whirl, my gown twirling, and come face-to-face with Titus, half cloaked in shadows in the alcove beneath the staircase.
“Aster?” he breathes, his gaze roving my gown to my face once more, lingering a moment too long on the place over my heart, where he must know the medallion rests, hidden beneath the fabric of my dress, before meeting my eyes. “Last night—”
“There you are!” Killian’s voice sends Titus and me careening back a step. He hesitates, looking between the two of us, and I don’tknow why guilt gnaws at my stomach, but it’s as if Killian knows more about what was just happening—what might have happened—between Titus and me than we do. He clears his throat somewhat awkwardly, tapping his foot. “Might I speak with Aster alone?”
Titus dips his head, and in the glow of the lanterns, I swear I see a faint blossom of pink on his cheeks. “Of course. I’m afraid I must be going soon, anyway.”
“But this isyourparty?” The words escape me before I can hold them back.
“Duty calls.” He shifts in his stance, seeming uncomfortable as he tugs at his shirt collar. He looks to me then, his gaze hopeful—pitiful—and the world seems to slow, the clamor of the party fading until all I hear is his heartbeat, wild and unpredictable. “Will I see you tonight?” He leans in, whispering, “One last swim?”
One last swim, I know, is his way of offering to teach me how to control my affinity one final time before his wedding tomorrow, and something about his voice, rough and soft and achingly tender, sends the butterflies in my stomach into a fit. I almost nod, but instead I school my expression into something neutral—or at least I hope it looks that way. “Perhaps.”
He casts his eyes skyward, as if petitioning the Stars, but I note the ghost of a grin on his lips. He scratches his jaw, chuckles under his breath. “Perhaps,” he echoes, clapping Killian on the shoulder as he passes.
Killian offers him a polite shrug and a quick farewell, but the moment we’re alone, he turns to me, urgent.
“I’ve spoken to your brothers,” he whispers, his gaze flitting over my shoulders every few moments. “They’re all right—you needn’t worry.”
