ShatterStar

by Krista Rose

  “Something wrong, Lanya?” Aleydis asked as he took his own seat.

  “Not at all,” I managed, blinking rapidly to keep my eyes from watering. “Just surprised.”

  “Indeed.” He was grinning at me, his face more relaxed and open than I had ever seen it. “And do you enjoy surprises?”

  “Occasionally.” I pushed the darker thoughts from my mind as they attempted to intrude. “Do you?”

  His eyes remained on my face. “In this instance, yes. Very much.”

  I flushed.

  “It pleases me that you continue to wear the Aur-Ishket.” He uncovered the first of the dishes, allowing steam and the delicious smells of cooked vegetables to escape. “Have you been told the story of it yet?”

  “No.”

  “It’s both a tragic and romantic tale, and a favorite among the Cedrani.” He served me from the dishes as he spoke, piling food upon my plate. “Once, when the stars were young, there was a Vadrani boy who fell in love with a Cedrani princess. But when he sought to ask her hand in marriage, her father the Prince laughed at him, and told him that no human could ever marry his daughter.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “The boy did not think so either, and so he asked for a challenge, to prove himself to the Prince. The Prince told him that to gain the hand of the princess, he must climb to the heavens and bring back a star, to show that he was worthy of her. The boy swore that he would do it, though in his heart he knew it to be impossible.”

  I stared at him, entranced by the sound of his voice as I ate. The golden lights of his magic coalesced into shapes, a boy kneeling before a man on a throne, bringing the story to life upon the table between us.

  “The Prince did not know that his daughter had also fallen in love with the boy, and overheard his wager. She snuck away from the palace in the middle of the night, and caught up to the boy, offering to help him find the star so that they might wed.”

  I watched as the boy and the princess journeyed, hand in hand, through the realm of silver dishes.

  “They encountered many dangers and had many adventures, until they finally came to the palace at the edge of the sky, where the Goddesses of Night and Day reside. The boy asked the Goddess of Night to borrow her stairs to ascend the sky, and she agreed in return for a favor: an apple from the Garden of Eire.”

  His story wrapped around me, drawing me to the edge of my seat. I listened and watched as the boy and the princess battled across raging seas, fought strange monsters, and at last gained the apple of Eire before returning to the Goddess of Night. The golden light-boy ascended the stairs into the sky and returned with a single small star, glittering like a diamond in his hand.

  “With the star in hand, the boy and the princess returned at last to the city of the Cedrani, where he planned to ask again for her hand in marriage. But what he did not know was that the Prince had accused him of stealing his daughter away, and sentenced him to death in his absence.”

  I held my breath, dreading what was coming.

  “As the boy passed into the city, an arrow shot through the sky, and pierced his heart. He died in the arms of his princess, his last words of the love he felt for her.”

  Tears burned my eyes, falling unheeded onto my plate.

  “When the Prince learned of his daughter’s arrival, he rushed to her side, and found her weeping, still cradling the body of the boy she had loved. In her hand, she clutched the star he had taken from the sky, and the Prince at last realized his terrible mistake.”

  “How awful.” I wiped away the tears on my cheeks and sniffled.

  “Yes, mu baet. But the princess then did what the Prince had not: she rewrote the laws of our people, so that a Cedrani- any Cedrani- could marry whom they wished.”

  I swallowed as Lyrel’s words echoed in my mind. There are many who believe only a pure-blooded Cedrani is fit to be Prince of Cedralysone. “What about the star?”

  “The star was changed by the mixture of the boy’s blood and the princess’ tears. When she at last could bear to look at it again, she found that it had become a blooming flower with white petals, though its heart was red as blood. She named the flower the Aur-Ishket, and passed it to her son upon her deathbed.”

  “Her son?”

  “My father, Prince Sotiris.”

  I stared. “The princess was your grandmother?”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “She used to tell my father the story as a child, and he passed it on to me.”

  The implications of what he had told me struck me at last, and I lifted a shaking hand to the pin on my shoulder. It was not just a priceless treasure of the Cedrani- it was a family heirloom, one which represented the love of a Cedrani for a human. Aleydis had given it to me upon my first day in the city; though I had not realized it, he had been asking permission to pursue me.

  Lyrel’s insistence that I wear the pin to dinner suddenly made much more sense, and I wondered if I should be pleased or irritated at her manipulation of me.

  I glanced back up at Aleydis, and found him watching me, his gaze intent. The butterflies in my stomach stirred again, and I realized that I was grateful. My nervousness would never have allowed me to approach him without her help.

  “It’s a lovely story,” I said finally, and smiled. “It makes me treasure the gift all the more.”

  He returned my smile, and relaxed back into his seat. “I am pleased to hear it. Have you had enough to eat?”

  I glanced down at my plate, surprised to find it empty. His story had so captured me, I had barely tasted the food. “Yes. Have you?”

  His eyes lingered on my lips. “I hunger for… other things.”

  I blushed and dropped my gaze.

  “Come.” He stood, and offered me a hand. “Walk with me.”

  “Al- alright,” I stammered, cursing my fumbling tongue. I took his hand, allowing him to pull me to my feet, and walked out of the gazebo toward the lake. The golden lights followed us, flickering around us like fireflies.

  He paused beside a rosebush that grew between the gazebo and the lake. Its flowers appeared almost black in the faint light, and he plucked one, then winced.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” I asked, immediately concerned.

  “It is of no moment.” He held out the flower toward me, his eyes silvered by the moon. “It is like love, beauty and pain, and learning if one is worth the other.”

  “Love doesn’t hurt. Everything else does.” I took his hand, lifting the rose out of the way to see the tiny pinprick of blood rising from his index finger. I reached inside for my magic, drawing the pain and the injury from him. The sharpness of the thorn stabbed into my own finger, then faded to a dull throb. “Love is the one thing that makes everything else worth it.”

  Aleydis was staring at me, his eyes wide with surprise.

  I shrugged. “It’s only a small magic. Not like yours.” I gestured to the dancing lights.

  “Mu baet,” he breathed, then laughed, shaking his head. “Do you even know the wonder you are?”

  “Wonder?” I repeated, confused. “Me?”

  He drew me into his arms, his lips soft as he pressed them against my forehead. “Yes, mu ethra. You.”

  My breath caught in my lungs as the butterflies rattled against my chest, his words settling around my shoulders like a warm soft cloak. I turned my face up toward his, welcoming the kiss that wiped my mind clean.

  KRYSSA

  29 Davael 578A.F.

  Temple of Sirius, Surak

  It began as an itch in the back of my throat, a scratching irritation that no amount of water could ease. The itch built to a craving, filling my mouth with the taste of rust, clawing at my thoughts. My head throbbed; my hands shook violently.

  I needed the cattakasha.

  I had always despised the weakness of my father. His addiction to the dark potions of the Crone had haunted my childhood, turning him into a monster, cruel and uncaring. I had sworn I would never become like him.

&nb
sp; And yet it took me only a day before my will crumbled and I began to beg for the drug. I would have gladly torn the life from my siblings with my bare hands for a mere drop of it, for the sweet release a taste of it would have given me.

  My pleas were ignored.

  The taste of rust turned to blood as I bit through my tongue. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. My stomach cramped, and I vomited over and over into my chamber pot as icy sweat poured from my skin. Crushing pain gripped my head, eliminating all but one thought: I must have the cattakasha.

  I only saw one person during my days locked inside that miserable cell: the priest who had bought me from the slavers, who came once a day to empty my bile-filled chamber pot and replace my uneaten meals with fresh ones. Faceless guards stood in the hall to protect him as he performed this task- I discovered this the one time I attempted to dash past him, before I was roughly returned to my cot. My pleas for relief fell upon deaf ears; the priest cared nothing for my agony.

  But worse by far than the pain of my withdrawal was the whispering, leaking into my mind even as the drug began to flush from my blood.

  Cold. So cold.

  The voices were neither male nor female, but rather a dry rasping that crept across my skin like the brush of dead leaves.

  Lost.

  Alone.

  Afraid.

  The whispering grew as the days passed, dozens of emotionless voices pressing in around me, until the sound of them drowned out even my desire for the cattakasha, and I pounded my head against the stone walls to gain relief.

  The days blurred; I lost track of time. I curled into my cot, exhausted, weak, shaking with burning cold. All I wanted was to sleep, but my waking nightmare refused to release me into oblivion.

  I remember the priest’s face filling my vision, the usual callousness of his gaze replaced at last by concern. He said something to me, though I could not hear him past the whispering. I do not think I replied, and he left.

  Sometime later, a different man returned, who pressed cool hands against my fevered face. I stared at him dully, uncaring of anything except the pain and the incessant noise of the voices.

  A gentle warmth poured into me, easing my torment. I gasped, the sudden relief like the lifting of heavy stones off my chest. Words trickled through the voices in my head, nonsensical and broken, and it took long moments before I was able to understand what they meant.

  “Are you alright?” His eyes were kind. Though they were green rather than brown, they reminded me of Bryonis, the healer who had taken an arrow to protect me, a lifetime ago in the Camp of the Darkling Prince. The memory made me sad, and I began to weep.

  Still, the voices whispered.

  Lost. Alone. Afraid.

  Help us.

  “Help us,” I repeated. My voices was raw and hoarse from days of begging for the drug that would drown out the voices. I clutched my head against a fresh wave of pain. “Make them stop.”

  “Them?” His voice sounded faint and far away as he frowned. “Who are you hearing?”

  “They’re lost.” I stared up at him, wanting him to understand. “They can’t find the way out.”

  “Who can’t? Who are they?”

  Tell him. The Crone’s voice sounded as weary and frightened as my own, her normal vindictiveness overwhelmed by the pain we both now felt. Tell him who it is. Tell him who you hear.

  Help us, the voices whispered. We’re lost.

  “The dead,” I managed at last. “I can hear the dead, and they’re afraid.”

  KYLEE

  1 Syrthil 578A.F.

  Temple of Diona, Mejares

  “I still don’t understand. If angels are really gods, then why do they need wings?”

  Vanderys shot me a look of amused patience. “It is a badge of office, lyssen, much like how kings wear crowns, or soldiers shields.”

  “But wouldn’t wings that big get in the way?” I stared up at the massive statue of Alistair, consort of the Goddess Diona, and frowned. “How is he even able to lay down?”

  “When I meet him, I will be certain to ask.” He took my arm. “Come. The Oracle will be waiting.”

  I allowed him to drag me up the path, reluctant to leave the statue of the ArchAngel behind. Alyxen had told me a story about him once, of how he had become the God of the Moon with his daughter’s help; it fascinated me to see proof of such a tale, hundreds of miles from where my twin had told me of it.

  The Temple of Diona had been built upon a jutting promintory off the side of Mount Rhyule, offering a stunning view of the Mejaren plains thousands of feet below. From this height, the city of Contas looked beautiful, the Citadel at its center spearing upward like a beacon, though Vanderys had assured me that it was much more attractive at this distance. Apparently, the city was filled with tanneries and slaughterhouses, and they gave Contas a distinct and unpleasant odor. High above us rose the summit of Mount Rhyule, the tallest mountain in the world. Its peak sparkled in the early morning sunlight, blinding against a perfect blue sky.

  The Temple was small, but ornate. Whole constellations had been engraved on the dark stone walls, their stars marked with glittering diamonds. A king’s ransom in precious gems mosaicked the floors, and the walls were draped in soft, exquisite tapestries. The windows were stained glass, detailing the wonders of the Goddess of the Stars.

  It should have been gaudy. Instead it was gorgeous, and I gaped as Vanderys led me through it, amazed such loveliness could even exist.

  The Oracle of Diona was a small, wizened man in a dark gray robe, seated on a thick cushion within an open atrium at the heart of the Temple. His eyes were closed in meditation, though a faint smile crossed his face as we approached. “Welcome, one who is called Vanderys in this time. I see you have brought before us the one who was spoken of in your stars.”

  “How can he see us?” I whispered loudly. “His eyes are closed.”

  “It is the curse of many people to only see with their eyes,” the Oracle replied, his voice amused. “You have already learned this many times, One Who Speaks in the Voice of Wolves.”

  I gasped, doubling over as a flurry of images assualted me, like a torrent of half-remembered dreams. I was standing in the snow, facing down a wild, raging bear; I was crying in the dark, listening to the screams of the damned beyond my locked door; I was a soldier marching off to war with a heavy heart, my eyes trained on a blood-red horizon. Dozens of images like these flickered behind my eyes, layering over my vision and drowning out the world around me.

  If Vanderys hadn’t been holding my arm, I am certain I would have fallen.

  “What- what was that?” I managed, my voice weak and frightened even to my own ears.

  “The Oracle speaks your true name,” Vanderys explained. “It is disorienting to hear it the first time.”

  I shook my head to clear it. “My name is Kylee Rose.” I scowled at the old man. “And what’s with the images? I’ve never fought a bear.”

  “Your true name is the name of your soul, which returns again and again to this world. Regardless of your form in this life, your soul remains the same, and the lives you have lived have imprinted upon it. My soul has heard the echo of yours among the stars for an eon.”

  I rolled my eyes toward Vanderys. “This is going to be one of those kinds of meetings, isn’t it? Did you bring any headache powder?”

  The Oracle chuckled and opened his eyes. They were dark and warm, and filled with understanding. “I see now, you are too young yet for these truths. If it is your wish, I will call you Kylee Rose until you are ready to accept them.”

  “It is my wish, since that’s my name.” I shoved the memory-images from my mind. “In any case, we’re not here for me.” I gestured to Vanderys. “We’re here because-”

  “You fear for the heart of Cedralysone.” It was not a question. He lifted a small scroll from the cushion beside him, tied closed with a red ribbon, and held it out toward us. “I have already consulted the stars in this matter, but I fe
ar it will not be the answer that you seek.”

  I peered over Vanderys’ shoulder as he loosened the ribbon and unfurled the parchment. The words on it were printed in a precise, neat hand, and I was grateful they were written in common rather than some foreign tongue like I had feared. Still, I had to reread it several times to be certain I had understood it properly.

  Only the blood of the Eldest Star’s Chosen will offer salvation to the Lords of the Eye, and preserve them through the return of the Starless Ones, who seek to reclaim what was lost.

  “What in the name of Sirius’ armpit does that even mean?” I demanded, glaring first at the parchment and then at the Oracle. I ignored the lurch in my stomach at the sight of the word chosen. “Are you obscure on purpose, or is that a side effect of thin air and too much time on your hands?”

  “Lyssen.” Vanderys’ voice was sharper than I’d ever heard it, and I flinched beneath his disapproving frown.

  “I’m sorry,” I said meekly, bowing my head.

  “It is alright, Kylee Rose.” The Oracle was smiling at me. “Across every lifetime, your soul has ever been skeptical of the stars and the whispers they speak to mortals. I do not know what that prophecy means anymore than you do. I have merely repeated it, as I have done in five dozen lifetimes before.”

  “You say that like you remember them,” I muttered.

  “But I do. It is the duty of the Oracle to remember every incarnation of our soul, so that our wisdom can be implemented in reading the mysteries above us.” He held open his hands, revealing a small, carved statuette in his hands, made from bright green stone. “It is how I recognized you.”

  I stepped forward despite my better judgment, the statuette pulling at something within me. It was a wolf, its head raised as if caught mid-howl; somehow I knew that I had made it, could feel the weight of the sculptor’s tools in my hands as I had carved each line.

  Fear clawed at my throat, and I swallowed. “I- I don’t think-”