Page 92 of Starchaser
The invisible blade twists, and all my hope—every lingering belief that we can still find a way to save Will, to expose Morana and defeat the king of the Eerie in one fell swoop—dies with a final, gasping breath.
Killian’s eyes narrow, and Mother takes a step toward me, but Titus is already standing, gripping my arms with such ferocity I never could have guessed he was on the brink of death only a short while ago.
“Where is he?” he demands, his grip firm, almost painful. “Where is Flynn?” He lets me go, turning on Will, wincing as he hobbles toward him. “Gabriel—”
Will catches him by the arm just as he stumbles, guiding him back to the edge of the bed. His voice is soft when he answers, “Flynn’s dead.” He glances up at me, his lips pressed tight, before adding, “Gabriel’s missing. He must have fled after Eliza.…” His throat bobs on a swallow, and he shakes his head, as if he can’t bear to say what Eliza did, even if it isn’t truly Eliza but Morana acting through her.
Emotions flash across Titus’s face—rage, disbelief, sadness—before his shoulders slouch, and he lets out a small sob.
“I thought,” he says through gritted teeth, “Calantha said—” He looks up at Will, his expression twisted, tormented. “The cure… I was so sure Morana possessed Leo, I—” He chokes on the words. “We’re too late.”
Too late because tomorrow night, Will is doomed to begin his transformation into a Shifter.
“Maybe not.” Mother’s voice is quiet, her gaze fixed on the doors to my balcony, as if she were trying to spot something in the distance. “Morana clearly hasn’t found what she’s looking for, and I don’t believe she’ll leave Castle Grim without it. We should expect her to make an appearance at the wedding tomorrow. Gabriel as well.” She pivots, looking at Killian, Will, and Titus in turn, and with all the authority of a captain, says, “Send word to the Order. Tell them that plans have changed.”
Mother’s measured stare meets mine. “Will Princess Leonora stand with us?”
I try to swallow, but my mouth is too dry. I see Titus look at me out of the corner of my eye, his gaze narrowing. “She will,” I say, even though, as Mother and the others clear out of my room, hurrying down the passage to warn the Order of the Coopers’ treachery, I still don’t know if I can convince Leo that Titus isn’t compelled.
Because, after tonight—after learning of Eliza, Flynn, and Gabriel’s betrayal—I can’t be sure of anything.
Trust no one, Killian said to me only hours ago in the Crystal Atrium. And I see it in his eyes as he walks past, following Will through the servants’ door—see that same warning flickering in his gaze.
Trust no one.
Not even myself.
Water laps at my ankleswhere I sit on the bank of the pond in Hildegarde’s secret cavern. It’s hard to believe that a few hours ago I brought Titus back here, broken and bleeding. That before, I was willing to go with the Shifter who cursed me, if it meant keeping my family safe. That he was dead now—Flynn is dead—by Will’s hand. And that Eliza has been here all along—thatshewas possessed by Morana, not Leo—and we didn’t capture her before it was too late.
Ididn’t see what was right in front of me. And now I’ve not only failed Will, I’ve let the Order down—let my family down. I’ve failed Owen again.
I’ve failed them all, just as I failed Father.
Rage boils my blood, and I long for battle—for the chance to expel this bitter hatred with my blade. But there’s no one left to blame—no one left to hate—but myself.
It was my responsibility to identify Morana—to discover whom she possessed and expose her. Instead, I befriended her. I let my guard down with Eliza, Flynn, and Gabriel—I was so desperate for friendship, I overlooked every warning sign. I was so unwilling to trust Titus, but I put my faith in three strangers without reservation, and now, Will is going to pay for my mistakes with his life.
My chest aches as I run my fingers over the surface of the medallion, tracing the familiar grooves—the skull and crossed daggers. Tomorrow, though I don’t see how, the Order will carry out its attack on Castle Grim. And if I can’t convince Leo that Titus isn’t compelled before they say their vows, she plans to kill him.
All this time, Leo thought he was sneaking off to the dungeons to harvest human blood. But now that I know he was held captive by his stepmother—that he endured the same torture as the humans and Myths that occupied the dungeons alongside him—it shouldn’t be too difficult to tell Leo she was wrong. That Titus is a victim himself. That by marrying him tomorrow, the two of them will be able to lower the wards to Castle Grim, allowing the Order to launch its assault. That tomorrow, the exchanging of their vows will mark the beginning of the end of six hundred years of war and hatred. And perhaps with their combined magic, Titus and Leo could be strong enough to perform the ritual needed to force Morana to take her corporeal form. We could still cure Will before he begins his transformation.
But if I’m wrong, and Titusiscompelled…
“Thought I might find you here,” Titus says, his quiet voice so low I almost think I’ve imagined it. I turn to find him leaning against the wall at the bottom of the staircase, one hand tucked casually in his pocket. Will healed him, but I can tell by the tension in his shoulders that the pain lingers, and I wonder if that’sa result of the many years of torture—if even after the wounds mend, the ache never truly leaves.
“The sun will be up in a few hours,” I tell him, slipping the chain of the medallion back over my head. “I didn’t see the point in sleeping.”
He nods slowly as he removes his coat, his gaze fixed on the sea, spanning out beyond the mouth of the cave. “I was thinking the same thing.” He casts his coat to the floor. “Actually, I considered taking that swim we discussed.” He rolls up the sleeves of his wrinkled black shirt, revealing a host of tattoos, and I’m drawn to one in particular—the tattoo of the moth that covers a scar made by teeth.
Myteeth. My moth tattoo.
He offers a lopsided grin, but it doesn’t meet his eyes. “Care to join me?”
“You’re going swimming in that?” I scoff, gesturing at his clothes.
He smirks then, his eyes flashing with mischief, and pulls his shirt over his head.
For a moment, it’s all I can do not to stare at his chest—at the scars, at the ink scattered across his skin.
