ShatterStar

by Krista Rose

  Standing in the midst of it was Felice.

  She was wearing a new dress, black velvet this time, and her hair had been braided into an elaborate crown atop her head. Her eyes were glowing, brilliant white even through the smoke. She had lifted a man by his throat, examining him as she might a diamond by the light of the sun. The man kicked wildly, terrified.

  “Felice!” I coughed, my throat feeling as if I had swallowed glass. “Felice, put him down!”

  She glanced at me in surprise. “Why, if it isn’t Brannyn’s little friend.” She tossed the man aside as if he were weightless. He gasped, and scrambled up, darting away down an alley. “Have you come to play with me?”

  “No.” I kept my blade between us, though I was doubtful it would do much good against her. “No, I’ve come to help you, if I can.”

  “Help me?” She laughed, and gestured to the dead. “Do I look like I need any help?”

  “Not particularly.” I stepped forward, frowning. It was hard to tell against the black of her gown, but I couldn’t see any blood on her, not on her hands, nor on her face. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t want it.”

  She laughed, and I avoided looking at her eyes. “You boys are all alike. So willing to rescue a pretty damsel, even though she’s the one causing all the damage.”

  I swallowed. “Felice-”

  There was a horrific, booming crash, shaking the walls around us, the flower cart, even the very stones beneath my feet. A screaming noise, like the sound of an over-loud tea kettle, followed it, piercing my eardrums, making me stagger and cry out in pain.

  And all the light went out.

  It was disorienting to suddenly go from orange flames to murky darkness, and I was blinded by it. I tripped, my knees slamming hard against the cobblestones. My sword was yanked out of my hand, and I blinked until I could see Felice standing over me, her eyes feral and inhuman. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t hear her past the ringing in my head.

  “What?” I shook my head, hoping to clear it.

  “Brannyn put out all my pretty fires,” she repeated, her voice tinny and distant. “But it doesn’t matter.” She grabbed me by the front of my tunic, pulling me halfway to my feet. I noticed that her nails were grey and dead, as if her fingertips were dying.

  “This has to end, Felice.” I choked, coughing, and stared up at her helplessly. “It can’t go on.”

  The white glow faded from her eyes, leaving them haunted and blue, but human. “Then stop me,” she whispered.

  My hearing was returning, but I was still dazed, and helpless. My heartbeat thudded in my throat.

  Then she dropped me. Stars exploded behind my eyes as my knees hit the street again, but I saw her back away from me, leaping to the wall of the temple and scrambling up it before being lost in the smoke.

  I shook my head, coughing hard enough to rattle my lungs, trying to overcome the ringing that continued in my ears. I could hear footsteps pounding toward me, and struggled to rise, not wanting to meet whoever was coming while still on my knees.

  Then he rounded the corner, still burning on fire, and I collapsed in a grateful heap back onto the blood-soaked flowers. “Brannyn! Thank the gods.” I grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see someone on fire before.”

  “Where’s Felice?” His voice was deeper, crackling with the flames that flickered across his skin. He offered me a hand, oblivious to the fact that it was burning.

  I prudently didn’t take it. “She ran. That way.” I pointed. “But you got the fires out! Good job.”

  “Yeah. And I brought a surprise with me.” He pointed.

  “Surprise?” I repeated, followed the line of his finger. My jaw dropped open.

  Men were marching up the street, dressed in gold-plated armor as they walked shoulder-to-shoulder. Their shields gleamed, the golden sun of Valory reflecting Brannyn’s fire back at us.

  The legions had at last arrived in Fallor.

  KYLEE

  8-11 Syrthil 578A.F.

  The Southern Road, Valory

  Is there a word that means both despair and misery, but worse? If so, that is what we felt on the long return journey to Fallor, riding in our saddles as if all our limbs had been broken. Even the horses picked up on our mood: Nightking complained about everything, from the weather to the grass, until I finally told him that I preferred him over riding the pegasus, which pleased him so much he pranced for half a day. As long as it got him to shut up, I didn’t care.

  Lanya looked terrible. Her skin was too pale, her eyes glassy and vacant. She wouldn’t speak, refused to eat, and I couldn’t reach her, even with my thoughts. After a few tries I finally gave up, and left her alone with her grief.

  Lyrel was nearly as bad, though she at least managed to talk back when spoken to. She clutched the daggers at her hips as if afraid they might disappear, and flinched at every slight noise. I realized at last that this must be her first time outside Cedralysone in hundreds of years, perhaps her whole life, and so I bit my tongue rather than comment on it, even though her constant jumpiness irritated the horses and set my teeth on edge.

  Tanner went through the motions, but I could tell it was hard for him to think of anything past the jar in his pocket. He took it out whenever he thought the rest of us weren’t looking, and stared at it for hours before he went to sleep at night. When I finally grew curious enough to ask him about it, he admitted reluctantly that it held Felice’s soul. I wasn’t sure how that was possible, but I didn’t really want to understand it.

  Even Reyce seemed to be affected by the melancholy. Once his several hundred questions had been answered, he retreated into himself, deep in thought. The few thoughts that he leaked were confusing, full of eerie images and feelings of dread and anger.

  For my part, I admit that I wasn’t much better. My twin was missing, trapped in the Abyss between worlds. I had left Vanderys behind in Cedralysone, and it felt as if I had left a part of myself with him. Worst of all, I was returning to Fallor without Kryssa, without even looking for her, despite my promise. The loss of all three of them left me with a nagging hole in my chest, a numbness to the point of pain.

  Tanner finally noticed after a couple of days, and rode his horse up next to mine. “Hey, you alright?”

  I scowled. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Well, with- with everything…” He struggled, trying to find the right words. “Look, I’m sorry for what happened with Alyxen. I never thought- I’m really sorry.”

  Part of me wanted to blame him, to cast all the fault on his shoulders and relieve myself of my own awful guilt. But he looked so dejected and heartbroken as he stared down at his hands, I just couldn’t do it.

  “It’s not your fault, Tanner. I know what a fal’en is. There was nothing you could have done.”

  “I could have left. I could have left Felice’s soul there, and-and-”

  “Tanner, the whole reason you went to Cedralysone in the first place was because of Felice, remember?”

  “But I keep trying to save her, and it just seems so pointless sometimes. She gave up her soul willingly, Kylee. Why would she even want it back? And at what point is the price too high to save her?”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Is this that game where you second-guess every decision you’ve ever made? Because if so, I’m already bored.”

  He jerked in surprise. “What?”

  “You already made the decision. You already have her soul in that creepy little jar you keep in your pocket. Why do you keep wondering if you could have changed something? What does that accomplish? Does that bring Kryssa or Alyxen back? No. So stop it.”

  “That’s… a little harsh.”

  “If you were looking for sympathy, you should have tried talking to Lanya.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He tugged on his horse’s reins, starting to pull away.

  “Tanner.”

  He looked back at me.

  “You want to change something? Fix Felice. Give
her back her soul so she stops trying to kill my family. Don’t let her take anything else away from us.”

  TANNER

  11 Syrthil 578A.F.

  The Red Fox Tavern, Valory

  Five days after leaving Cedralysone, we returned to Joksten. We took rooms at the same inn we had stayed at before. The same barman took our money with a scowl, though he thankfully didn’t seem to recognize us.

  After checking into our rooms and bathing, we gathered in the great room for a subdued dinner. Spirits were low, especially mine; despite Kylee’s words, I still felt like every disaster that had happened since leaving Fallor had been my fault. The barkeep reeked of alcohol as he brought us watered-down stew and a bottle of Valorian red.

  We ate quietly, none of us in the mood for conversation. There was nothing to say anyway.

  Night descended outside the windows, and the barkeep lit the lanterns. The others went to bed, one by one, until only Lanya and I remained at the table. Silence stretched between us, awkward and uncomfortable, so I ordered a bottle of whiskey, hoping it would calm the thoughts racing inside my head. The barkeep slammed the bottle between us before returning to sulk behind the bar.

  Lanya took the bottle before I could open it, her eyes glassy and disinterested as she took a long drink. She shuddered once, color flooding abruptly back into her cheeks.

  I raised a brow. “You alright?” I asked, then immediately winced, wishing I could bite out my own tongue. Of course she wasn’t alright. What in Vanae’s seven veils had tempted me to ask that question?

  She shrugged, and took another pull before handing me the bottle. “Have you ever felt helpless?”

  The question startled me, and I paused with the bottle halfway to my mouth. “What?”

  “Helpless. Useless. Worthless. Any of those things. Less. Have you felt them?”

  “Of course.” I took a slow swallow, feeling the whiskey burn as it went down. “Why?”

  “You seem so sure of yourself, so in control.” Her lips tilted in a mock smile. “Kryssa’s the same way. When I was little, I wanted so hard to be strong like her.” She reached again for the bottle, and I handed it to her. “There’s always so much pain around us, so much fear. Nothing ever changes.”

  I watched as she drank, fascinated. Even with the haunted, bitter look in her eyes, she was still beautiful, almost luminescent in the light of the lanterns. I wondered if she was leaking emotions again, and then realized that she wasn’t, because I could still think of Felice.

  What was wrong with me?

  “You-” I cleared my throat. “You always seem strong to me.”

  “Do I?” Her smile widened, but her eyes were unfocused as she stared at the whiskey bottle. “Did you know we grew up with a monster? I used to have nightmares about him, every night. I would wake up, soaked in sweat and shaking, holding my breath.”

  “Holding your breath?”

  Her voice dropped to a whisper. “So he wouldn’t hear me.” She glanced up at me through her lashes. “If he heard me, he would hurt the others. So I held in the fear. And then he hurt them anyway.”

  I said nothing. Her eyes were the color of the sky at midnight when she offered me the bottle back, and I took it with hands that visibly trembled.

  “I wanted to be strong, like they were. I wanted to take the pain.” She stretched out her fingers, staring at them, then wrapped them around the whiskey bottle. “And then one day, I did.”

  She was drinking too much. I knew that, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to stop her. My chest was too tight to say anything.

  “And now, I can give the pain back.” Her face tightened, filling with self-loathing. “I’ve become the monster.”

  That shook me from my stupor. “What? No, you haven’t.”

  “I hurt him.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I killed him. I- I’m no better- no better-”

  I reached across the table, catching her hand around the bottle before she could drop it. “Lanya, look at me.”

  She lifted her eyes reluctantly.

  “You’re not your father.” I held her gaze, determined to make her understand. “You’re not a monster.”

  “But-”

  “No. Your father- what he did was for different reasons. You were just trying to save your brother. Your father wasn’t trying to save anybody.”

  “He was trying to save himself.” Her voice was so quiet I could barely hear her. “And so was I.”

  I stopped her before she could drink any more whiskey, pulling the bottle from her hand and recorking it. “I think you’ve had enough, Lanya.”

  “What?” She blinked at me, and frowned. “What do you mean, enough?”

  “I mean that you’re drunk, and that’s not a good time to think about these things.” I pushed the bottle further down the table, toward a snoring drunk, and hoped he enjoyed his free breakfast in the morning. “Come on, let’s put you to bed.”

  “I’m not drunk,” she protested, indignant, then squinted at me. “You’re just really blurry all of a sudden.”

  “Am I?”

  Her knees buckled as I helped her to her feet, and she sighed in defeat. “Fine, I’m drunk.”

  She ended up half-leaning on me, half-staggering up the stairs towards our rooms, tripping over her own feet and mine more than half a dozen times along the way. The last time I almost dropped her, and clumsily slammed her against the wall beside her door.

  “Sorry,” I managed, wincing as sharp pain shot through my knees.

  She snickered, and I looked at her, confused. Her snicker became a giggle, and then full-blown laughter. My mood lightened, and I laughed with her, the absurdity of the moment suddenly striking me as hilarious.

  And then she kissed me, and the world stopped.

  Desire burned through me, clouding my thoughts, filling my senses with her smell, her taste. She was like holding onto a star- too bright, too hot, and moving far too fast for me to control. Only one thing kept me from sinking into her, from letting myself be carried away by madness: the fragile glass jar in my pocket, a heavy weight pressed against my chest.

  Felice.

  I pushed her away. Desire pulsed through me, but whether it was mine or hers I couldn’t tell. I swallowed until I could speak again. “Lanya, no.”

  “Why not?” Her eyes were huge as she looked up at me. “Don’t you want me?”

  “Yes,” I admitted, my voice hoarse. Her desire beat against the inside of my skin like drums. “But the only reason you want me is because you’re trying to forget Aleydis.”

  The arousal promptly vanished, replaced by sorrow. I took a shaky, thankful breath, even as my heart clenched with pain and her eyes filled with tears.

  “How could you?” she whispered. “You’re so- so-”

  “I know.” I pulled her into my arms as the tears began to fall, let her rest her head on my shoulder as her words dissolved into sobs. “I’m sorry.”

  LANYA

  14 Syrthil 578A.F.

  Fallor, Valory

  Fallor looked like hell.

  Soot streaked the walls of every building that hadn’t been burned to the ground. Smoke billowed from an open pit where the horse market had once stood, and sweating men in dirty armor hauled sheet-wrapped bodies down the streets before dumping them into it. Neat tents clustered in orderly rows around the edges of what was left of the town, and people huddled in quiet, fearful groups among them. The smells of burning flesh and roasting meat hung over everything, turning my stomach.

  Worst of all was the sheer weight of fear that pressed in against me, crushing me even when we were still a good distance away.

  “What the hell happened here?” Tanner’s eyes were wide and stunned. “Why does it look like a dragon attacked?”

  “A dragon would not do this,” Lyrel responded with a frown. “This is the work of monsters, or men.”

  “What’s the difference?” Kylee muttered.

  I swallowed, ignoring them as I searched for Brannyn. I ha
dn’t been able to find him with my thoughts for the last several days, and now, seeing this, I could feel dread worming its way through my stomach, clawing at my heart. Where was he? Why couldn’t I find him?

  “There’s Vitric,” Tanner said, interrupting my thoughts. “Vitric!” He urged his horse forward toward the pit, waving. The rest of us followed.

  A man standing near the edge of the pit turned. He wore a handkerchief over his face, so I wasn’t sure how Tanner had even managed to recognize him, but when he saw us, he jogged over to meet us.

  “Tanner! Lanya!” His skin looked darker than I remembered, until he pulled the handkerchief down, revealing the lower half of his face to be clean beneath it. “Gods, it’s good to see you.” But his eyes scanned over us, and he swallowed when he didn’t see who he was looking for. “Where’s Kryssa?”

  “It’s a long story.” Tanner winced, and shifted in the saddle. “Where’s Brannyn?”

  “It’s a long story,” Vitric echoed with a smile, but it was strained. “Come on, I’ll take you to him. I could use a break anyway.”

  We dismounted, and he led us across the ash-covered autumn grass, toward the sea of canvas tents. Smoke billowed through the air, choking and foul-smelling.

  “Why a mass grave?” Reyce managed, covering his nose with his sleeve. “Why burn the bodies? Couldn’t you just bury them?”

  “Plague,” Vitric answered, and gestured. “Dead bodies breed sickness, leak it into the ground water. Happened in Cardoza five hundred years ago. The legions are trained to dispose of the bodies quickly to prevent it.”

  “Was it Vampyres?” Tanner’s face tightened with guilt. “Was- was it Felice?”

  “Sort of.” Vitric shrugged. “Like I said, it’s a long story. Hope you found her soul, though.” His voice didn’t sound optimistic.