The Falling Star (The Trianon Series Book 1)

by J. A. Comley

  “No, my King,” Starla said, trying to ignore the oddness that, until four nights ago, her king had been Louis XIV.

  “Are you willing to learn our laws and follow our ways for as long as you remain here?”

  “Yes, my King,” Starla answered solemnly.

  The old King nodded. “All evidence and testimonies have been presented to this Hall. I have been advised and a vote held. Hear, now, my judgement.” His voice echoed through the silent Hall. “I find the accused not guilty of High Treason.”

  Starla felt her heart soar. She would not be executed. Still, the other charges were worth a prison sentence and she didn't much like that idea either.

  The King continued, “As to the other charges, the accused has not attempted a betrayal of any kind and I believe she is genuine in her apology. The laws she broke were because she trusted the word of the Guardians. Let their punishment stand for her as well. I do not believe that any acts on her part were committed with malice. She is not our enemy and is no threat to any of us. I therefore declare the accused cleared of all charges!” There was that smile again.

  Starla gave a deep bow as the chain connecting her to the staff and sword vanished upon the King's pronouncement.

  “Starla,” the High Lord's voice was formal but his presence in her mind seemed pleased, “I release you.”

  The silver light vanished and his presence faded from her mind. His last thought had been a stern command for her to wait. A second light shot from his staff and struck her chains. They flashed white and were gone, the bands along with them.

  “But my King! We can't set her free!” The Baron was spluttering. “She is dangerous and—”

  “Enough, Baron Malion. My judgement is final.” The King turned his back on the livid Baron and began talking in hushed tones with the High Lord.

  Starla managed a triumphant smile as the Baron stalked past her to the doors, his eyes storm clouds promising revenge.

  She watched the King and High Lord whisper, wondering what she should do next. Really, she needed to find the Guardians and Aimee. But how? Rainbow Wood was enormous.

  No. Since she was here, she would find a way to get an audience with the Queen. Maybe she could even ask around town to see if anyone knew of any people who had had a baby girl at the start of the war, show them her bracelet.

  The High Lord bowed to the King then made his way down the stand to Starla.

  She bowed as he arrived.

  “Thank you, High Lord.” She smiled up at him.

  “You are welcome,” he returned, politely. “Walk with me,” he said, heading towards the doors.

  Starla stopped outside the main doors, shocked to see that the light was fading.

  “We were in there all afternoon?” she wondered out loud.

  Larkel laughed. It was a deep, wholesome sound.

  “Yes. I fear the Baron's constant outbursts slowed the proceedings somewhat.”

  His face grew grim. Starla could guess what he was remembering. Though the memory was still indistinct, the entire thing was infused with menace and fear. She shuddered, looking at the ground.

  “He cannot harm you again.” The High Lord had stopped, his eyes trying to see into her heart. “If you want a trial—”

  “No, it is over. Besides, I have no proof.”

  “The Verelios Beam would be proof enough to get a trial and—”

  “No, please. The memory was tampered with, right?”

  The High Lord nodded. “He would still have to face a court.”

  “But it would be hard to prove it was him,” Starla guessed. “No, I just … I never want to see him again.”

  Larkel let it drop as they continued walking. He would see justice done, but this woman had been through a lot. He would give her time to recuperate.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked, to fill the silence.

  “The King wished me to extend a personal invitation to you. You are invited to remain in the City. He also advises that you do not leave until the war is over, for safety reasons.” He glanced down at her, traces of humour entering his voice as he continued. “I am taking you to the Shanebury Inn, where I shall arrange a room for you.”

  Starla couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of going to the place she had pretended to be heading the whole time.

  Guilt stabbed at her again. “Will Officer Thum be all right?”

  The High Lord's eyes met hers and she was sure he had felt her remorse for getting the guard in trouble.

  “I imagine so. Commander D'Ordeley is a kind woman. She will see things right.”

  Starla sighed in relief.

  She looked around them as they left the Imperial Circle, the High Lord's Shield parting before them. The glittering buildings truly were glorious, carved with designs of flowers or birds, although they were far less intricate outside the Imperial Circle. But the streets were empty, everything steeped in an eerie silence. The little blue globes began to light up, spreading their gentle light across the City's streets.

  “Everyone is still panicked about yesterday. However, news of your trial should set things right. Well, better, at least,” he said in answer to her unasked question. “Here, Shanebury Inn.” He held open the ornately carved glass door. Starla eyed the sign above the door, but the letters were unfamiliar.

  “How is it that I was able to read the words carved into the wall above the doors at the Hall, but I cannot read any of these signs?” she asked as they stepped inside.

  “The inscription in the Hall is Spelled to be able to be read by any who enter,” he smiled. “I'll just be a moment.”

  After a few quick words with the inn keeper, whose eyes widened as he spotted Starla, the High Lord led Starla up a narrow flight of stairs to the second floor. He unlocked the room at the end of the corridor then stood back to allow her in. Starla smiled. It was a small room with a window overlooking the city towards the setting sun. It had a small bed, across which lay a yellow robe, and a slide partition to section off an area for dressing. In one corner, there was a light-yellow, ceramic tub with a metal spout hanging above it.

  She eyed it dubiously.

  “Warm water will come out when you turn the handle,” the High Lord said from the door way, noticing what held her attention. “It will empty when you press that button,” he added, moving a little into the room and indicating a blue circle on the side of the tub. “You may use the night robe on your bed, for now. I will bring you a Galatian tunic in the morning. The King requires that you dress appropriately for as long as you remain among us,” he said, seeming to size her up with his eyes.

  Starla blushed furiously and turned back to the window. Through all the harrowing day, her appearance hadn't even entered her mind. Now, she remembered just how dishevelled and poorly dressed she was.

  “You should get some rest,” he said. Starla thought she could hear a smile in his voice.

  “Can I leave tomorrow?” she asked, turning back to him, watching the small smile fade. “I really should let the Guardians know I am fine. And Aimee. I need to find Aimee,” she explained in a rush as his eyes iced over.

  He hesitated, watching her. “Starla, the Sacrileons were exiled. They have left Galatia,” he said, his deep voice gentle as her expression grew sad.

  “You are sure?”

  “Yes. The Sacred Stones are tied to them. A decrease in their power has been reported, consistent with the Guardians being off-planet. As for Aimee, I will see if there is any way to trace her.”

  Starla smiled, nodding. “Thank you.”

  “I understand you may want to leave, Starla. However, you promised the King to learn our laws and customs. His invitation to stay still stands.” He waited, hating the part of himself that grew hopeful, hating the duty that would bind him to keep her here by force if she refused.

  “Yes, I accept his kind offer.”

  The High Lord's smile returned, just a slight turning up of one corner of his mouth. “Perhaps you will allow me to
give you a tour of our City?”

  Starla gave a small laugh. “That would be wonderful, High Lord.” She realised she felt excited to see the City and perhaps she could use the opportunity to ask after the Queen or her family.

  The High Lord bade her good night, with a promise to return early the next morning with proper clothing and a tour planned. Starla smiled as the door shut behind him.

  A few minutes later, a polite knock was followed by a maid in a bright yellow servant's tunic. The maid offered Starla a variety of food from a tray. After taking what she wanted from the strange selection, she dismissed the maid and ate slowly, watching the tub fill.

  Starla removed her tunic and tossed it in the bin by the door. It was too tainted with blood and fear. She relished the smell of the soap the maid had left. She scrubbed her skin until it was pink and washed her hair, twice. Wrapping her hair in the cream towel, she watched, amazed, as the dirty water disappeared.

  Finally clean, and wrapped up in the Inn's dressing robe of soft yellow, her hair in the towel, Starla watched the last of the sun's red light flare behind the Outer Wall.

  Four days. I have been here for four days.

  Guilt for those on Earth began to rise but she shoved it down. First, she would get her answers, then she would return home. She was certain that the powerful High Lord could get her back. Turning her thoughts away from Earth, she thought, instead, of today and anything new she may have learned.

  Being mentally connected with the High Lord had been surprising. Starla had expected a cold, hard man. Instead, she had found someone kind and warm. Something she could sometimes see beyond his cool exterior. Something no one else seemed able to see. Perhaps the heightened sense gained from mind-sharing had granted her an insight others did not have.

  Lying on the soft bed, excitement for day ahead seemed to swell. She hoped again that the High Lord would be amenable to helping her contact the Queen, though it may be prudent to wait a few more days before asking. Closing her eyes, she let her exhaustion claim her.

  Chapter 7

  A Day of Peace

  Starla jolted upright in bed. “Father Joe!”

  Her heart was hammering against her ribs. The room at the Shanebury Inn was dimly lit by the early morning light. Steadying her breathing, Starla got out of the bed and moved behind the partition to the wash the sleep from her eyes. The splash of cold water helped dispel the terrible images of Father Joe's tortured face.

  “It was just a nightmare,” Starla muttered to her reflection, but the remembered agony of seeing Father Joe in pain was still there. “A nightmare brought on by guilt.”

  Pushing the dream from her mind, Starla brushed her teeth with a strange, bristled contraption* she found above the basin and then began methodically to brush her hair, lulling herself into a state of calm as she tried to prepare the best way of asking the High Lord to help her contact the Queen. She had decided to wait a few days to give her time to get a better reading on the powerful Makhi.

  A quick rap at the door made her jump.

  Probably the servant with some breakfast, she thought, wrapping the yellow gown tightly around her and moving to open the door.

  “High Lord!”

  She bowed, startled to reveal Larkel, looking impeccable in his white robe, his raven-wing hair perfect, a silver circlet glittering on his brow.

  “Good morning, Starla,” he said, smoothly, concealing a smile at her surprise. His indigo eyes widened a little as her golden hair caught the light, flashes of red shining in the gold. “I did say that I would be here early,” he added with an apologetic grin.

  She nearly slammed the door in his face as Mia's voice chided her for impropriety.

  “You did,” Starla said, trying to sound more composed. She had never quite seen the point to all those rules.

  “May I come in?”

  “Oh, yes, come in.” Starla moved aside, for the first time noting the package he was carrying in his arms. She left the door wide, unable to completely shake her lessons on propriety.

  While the High Lord moved over to the bed and began to open the package, Starla took the opportunity to close her eyes and calm herself again. She had always taken pride in being a well-educated, sensible young lady. Nodding firmly to herself, she moved over to the end of the bed, keeping several paces between herself and the High Lord, her sillier emotions under firm control.

  “Your Galatian tunic and sandals, my lady,” the High Lord said, waving his hand over the bright red garment he had spread over the bed and the tan sandals on the floor. “Well, the sandals are new and yours to keep. The tunic is on loan.”

  Starla fought down a pang of guilt as his tone reminded her of Raoul's playful formalities.

  She looked down at the tunic in dismay. It had an oval neckline that looked too deep to be decent. It also wouldn't hide the Star.

  “Isn't this style for the upper classes?” Starla said, lifting the gown, looking for a pocket similar to those she had seen on some of the other ladies yesterday.

  Larkel nodded.

  “Yes, but the King has made you his honoured guest. Therefore, it is appropriate that you wear the style of the minor nobles.”

  Starla turned away from the High Lord's penetrating gaze. Honoured guest? “Thank you, High Lord,” she said, forcing politeness and moving behind the partition.

  “You're welcome,” he said, amused by her expression. Clearly, she didn't like the dress. Perhaps it was just too different from what she was used to. The High Lord shrugged and moved to close the door and then over to the window to lean against its frame so that his back was to the room and partition. Movement in the small garden below caught his attention. He felt his pulse quicken. Even in the shadows of the tall shanebury bushes, Larkel could make out the figure of the Baron, surrounded by a group of people.

  He counted eleven others in the circle around the Baron, all listening as the Baron's lips moved urgently. Using a spell to listen in would be too risky. Instead the High Lord concentrated on trying to identify some of the others. He recognised Keeper Adonil Thorten, one of the witnesses from the hearing, as well as several others who were minor nobles who had wanted a conviction for Starla before the trial.

  The flash of a white robe beneath a dark cloak caught and held Larkel's attention. The Makhi had his back to the window and was talking to Braxton. Quickly, Larkel swung away from the window and flat against the wall, just as the Baron turned to look up.

  Starla eyed herself in the small mirror above the tub. The red tunic came very low, the boning inside cleverly supporting her bust and creating twin swells just above the neckline.

  How did the women here feel comfortable wearing this? Starla wondered, turning sideways, even as another part of her mind noted that the clothing was far more comfortable than a corset and half a dozen petticoats. Shaking her head, Starla tucked the Star into a small side-pocket she had found, along with her baby bracelet. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind the partition.

  “Are you alright?” Starla asked, eyeing the High Lord curiously while she tried hard to imagine that she was in respectable attire. He seemed to be hiding from someone.

  “Oh, I … nothing,” he said, distractedly, standing erect. “You'll need a belt.”

  Reaching for his staff, he glanced out of the window, down into the empty garden below. Silently, he tapped his own belt and held one hand outstretched. Instantly, another silver belt appeared in his outstretched hand.

  “The wrong colour, I know, but as I am your guide, it will do,” he added, handing the belt to Starla, forestalling her protest. “Here.” The High Lord waved his staff in two back-to-back crescents and a floor-length mirror appeared beside the bed.

  Moving to stand in front of the mirror, Starla felt herself blushing as she realised just how formfitting the tunic really was. Apart from the low cut, the fabric seemed to cling to Starla up to her hips, like a second skin. Thankfully, it flared a little after that. Her red-gold hair shone in t
he sunlight, glittering beautifully in soft curls down to her waist. Feeling self-conscious, she peeked back at Larkel, who appeared to have taken a great interest in the light-yellow curtains.

  Smiling, she turned her attention to the belt. Each of the seven stars that made it up were perfectly formed, sitting point-to-point, but Starla found no clasp on the two end-stars. Feeling silly, she tried touching the points of those two stars together. As expected, nothing happened.

  “A little help, High Lord?” She held the belt out to him as he stepped towards her.

  “My fault,” he said, shaking his head. “I wished to see if you could do it without guidance. This belt requires magic.” He shrugged sheepishly. “Here, let me show you.” He took the belt and motioned her to face the mirror again.

  Starla watched his reflection apprehensively as the High Lord stood behind her and slowly placed the belt against the small of her back and brought it forward, circling her waist until the two outer points met. As the tips fused together seamlessly, Starla felt a strange tugging inside her.

  “There. Did you feel it?” he asked, his indigo eyes locked on her reflection. Starla managed a nod.

  Silently, the High Lord brought his hand around her waist and tapped the newly-fused points. Again, Starla felt a tugging in her mind as the two stars separated.

  Taking a step back, Larkel held the belt out to Starla. “Now, you try. I can guide you if you like,” he added as Starla eyed the belt uncertainly. “We'll link, sort of like we did at the hearing.” He placed his fingers lightly on the bare skin of her shoulder. Starla felt a tingling jolt shoot through her as the High Lord touched her. She was certain it wasn't just because of the spell.

  Taking the belt hesitantly, Starla felt the same warm, bubbling sensation spread through her and, as she did so, there in her mind stood the silver light that she recognised as the High Lord. She shoved the tingly feeling away before he noticed her reaction.