Fire in the Star

by Kamilla Benko

  “It’s just because of my parents’ journals,” Sena explained, though she looked pleased and a little surprised at Nett’s praise. “They’re not, like, diaries of their innermost thoughts or anything. Just notes they took on their research, a few guesses.” She shrugged. “Sometimes they have helpful shortcuts or a way of explaining things that just, I don’t know, chime. Though,” she said, her expression darkening, “if I can’t find my parents, who cares if I discovered the fourth property of metal?”

  “Don’t worry,” Nett said quickly, and Claire had the sense that they’d had this conversation a thousand times. “When we find the unicorn, he’ll help us figure out what happened to your parents.”

  “Hmph,” Sena said, but she reached for her Hollow Pack—identical to Claire’s, only black leather instead of powder blue—and pulled out a dog-eared book with Vol. MCMLXXXIX stamped on it with rose-gold foil: one of the Steeles’ many journals.

  “Here,” she said, tossing it to Claire. “Take a look if you want. I brought all their journals with me.”

  Ignoring Gryphin’s clacking protests that she’d stopped petting him, Claire caught the book and flipped it open. It was filled with strange symbols and lots of scribbles that she supposed were letters. The handwriting was spiky, seeming to crackle and snap unexpectedly like a dry log. Squinting, Claire thought she could make out a familiar name.

  “Does this say Malchain?” Claire asked, and when Sena nodded, curiosity trickled through her. “Why are the Malchains mentioned in your parents’ journal? Did they know each other?”

  “Not sure,” Sena admitted as she pulled the end of her braid out of Gryphin’s beak, “but that’s not about Aquila and Anvil Malchain.” She pointed to the scribble before it. “It says Alloria Malchain.”

  Claire frowned. “Have I heard that name before?”

  “Yeah, you have,” Sophie said, cracking open an eye. She was stuffed between Claire and the back corner of the cart, where she had leaned her head to try to take a cat nap. Apparently, sharing dreams with a unicorn wasn’t the best way to get sleep. Purple crescents outlined Sophie’s eyes, making her face seem narrower than it actually was and her freckles washed-out. Stifling a yawn, Sophie continued. “Alloria Malchain was the most talented Forger in Arden’s history. She was the one who helped Martin and the unicorn craft the path between the well and the fireplace.”

  Sena frowned. “I didn’t know that story.”

  Sophie nodded. “And she forged the Kompass that directs to the moontears.”

  The moontears. Claire’s heart squeezed whenever she thought about the Great Unicorn Treasure that was now, most likely, hanging around Estelle’s neck, waiting for the touch of a unicorn’s horn to awaken them.

  “Sophie,” Claire said as a horrible thought stabbed her, “if Estelle already has the last unicorn, do you think she’s already woken the moontears?”

  Sophie shook her head, “I don’t think so. I kind of feel like, you know, I would know.”

  Maybe. And yet … But before panic could really set in, Nett gently tugged the book out from Claire’s hands.

  “I can’t believe you can actually make sense of this, Sena,” he said, holding the book so close to his nose that he was in danger of smudging the ink. “It might say Alloria Malchain, but honestly, it could also say ‘Alchemical maturation’ or even ‘All of our mittens.’ ”

  Sena snorted. “Why would my parents write about mittens?”

  Nett shrugged. “Their fingers were cold? They were working on fireproof oven mitts? They were sharing knitting— No, stop!” Nett broke off with a yelp as Sena jabbed a finger in his ribs and began to tickle him. The commotion excited Gryphin, who immediately launched himself onto Nett’s head and began flapping his copper wings, trilling happily.

  “Quiet back there!” Thorn said from the front.

  Nett protested, “But she—”

  “That’s enough,” Thorn said firmly. Claire glanced at Sophie and saw her sister was already looking at her. They burst into giggles at the same time. It was nice to be with her best friends.

  By noon, however, being royal prisoners was decidedly less fun. The bumps on the road added bruises to their bruises, and the laughter came a little less frequently. It had to.

  As they drew closer to Hilltop Palace and the night of Starfell, the dirt roads began to fill with people eager to witness the return of Queen Estelle and, as Nett had whispered, experience Starfell the proper way for the first time in hundreds of years: in the complete dark, all sunlight tucked away. With a unicorn to protect them all, the citizens of Arden could watch the stars fall without fear of a wraith attack.

  The lines of yellow sunlight that slipped through the wooden planks slowly faded away as the sun began to set. Finally, Claire felt the cart turn off the road. They rattled a few more feet before rolling to a stop. Peering out through a knothole in the cart’s slats, Claire saw they had arrived at the edge of a forest.

  “It’s time,” Thorn whispered back to them, and Claire pulled away from the knothole. The next several minutes were ones of bumping elbows and stubbed toes against the cart as the four of them pulled on the leather tunics that would mark them as Forger apprentices. When they were done, Thorn clambered to join them in the back of the cart and pulled out a thick coil of rope. Then he looped it around their ankles, knotting them together. Even though Claire had agreed to this plan, anxiety crept across her like a handful of ants. It was one thing to agree to be carried to your enemy tied up; it was another thing to actually do it.

  “Everyone set?” Thorn asked. He’d already changed into what Claire thought of as his “princely” outfit: long, loose-fitting shirt with a tunic of royal blue embroidered with Estelle’s moon crest. He’d placed the thin circlet of gold back on his head, holding it in place with a few well-placed knots in his hair.

  “Yes,” Nett answered a touch too loudly, while Claire and Sena nodded. Sophie, however, kept her eyes fixed on her fingernails. Hurt flashed across Thorn’s face, but he gave the group a weak smile and returned to the front of the carriage.

  Poor Thorn. Claire had thought it before, but now she was certain: Sophie was purposefully ignoring him. She couldn’t really blame Sophie. Out of all of them, Thorn had been closest to Sophie, which meant his lies must have stung her sister all the worse. And now they had to trust him to bring them to an even greater danger.

  “Sophie,” Claire said, her voice low, “maybe you should stay here, in the forest. If Estelle catches you … I mean, it’s your heart she wants.”

  Sophie reached out and tucked a wayward curl behind Claire’s ear. “Don’t think about Estelle,” she whispered. “Think about the unicorn instead.” Delight danced across her face. “I’ve never met the unicorn in real life. I was unconscious when you released him from the rock.”

  Sophie wasn’t scared at all! She was excited. Claire didn’t know whether to be impressed or exasperated. And before she could make up her mind, there was the crack of reins, and the mare kicked up to a trot. They were on their way.

  Sophie scooted over to whisper plans with Sena. Alone, Claire pressed her forehead to the side of the cart and peered out between the planks to watch as they burst out of the forest and into a small meadow flanked by a large hill.

  Though a purple twilight streaked across the sky and shadows made everything hazy, she knew exactly what she’d find on that hill. The dark ruins of a castle. A forgotten garden, lush with moss and blossoms in the summer, and in the middle of that garden, beyond a wall of pillars and arches, there would be a well. A way home.

  Claire pulled away from the plank. She couldn’t think about that now.

  As they crossed the meadow, Claire could make out the sounds of other travelers. The clanging shields of a marching Forger regiment, and above the beat of their marching, a thin melody—most likely Spinner singers practicing for their moment before the newly crowned queen. She wondered if Lyric would be wearing the same slippers Claire had sketched on with
chalk.

  As they clattered into the crumbling courtyard of Hilltop Palace, Nett took Claire’s spot by the knothole.

  “I see some Tillers I recognize from Greenwood and even Dampwood,” he reported. “There are some Forgers in armor and Spinners in costume, but I don’t think the Gemmers are here yet.”

  “Really?” Claire asked, and her spirits lifted slightly. She’d assumed that the Gemmer guild would want to support Queen Estelle, one of their own, but maybe they didn’t want to make the mistakes of their ancestors. The Gemmers of the past had a nasty reputation, and rightfully so. They had made life unbearable for many Forgers and harmed the other guilds with their selfish demands.

  Patterns form and stories repeat—that’s what Estelle as Scholar Terra had said in Starscrape Citadel. But perhaps it was possible to shift the story. Break the pattern. Start again …

  “Maybe the Gemmers are already inside,” Sena suggested, and Claire’s fragile hope sank back down. If history—like the story of the flute-playing princess who turned into a unicorn—was destined to happen again, then what did that mean for Sophie?

  In the dark cart, she felt someone pat her knee. “We got this,” Sophie whispered. Her voice was calm, serene, even, but instead of feeling better, Claire felt worse. She would have rather had Sophie tease her, like she would have done before they climbed up the fireplace. But now Sophie was a little too knowing. A little too watchful. A little too patient.

  The unicorn, Claire repeated in her mind. Free the unicorn, get the tines, defeat the queen … keep Sophie safe. Keep Sophie the same.

  “Halt!” a commanding voice ordered. “State your name and business.”

  “Prince Thorn, heir of Queen Estelle d’Astora,” Claire heard Thorn reply, his tone bored. “I bring some unruly dissidents for Commander Jasper to keep a closer eye on.”

  Claire heard a commotion as the Royalist must have done a hasty bow. “My apologies, Your Royal Highness, for not recognizing you, but I’m afraid you’ll need to leave your prisoners and come with me.”

  “Why?” Thorn asked as Claire buried her gasp in the crook of her arm. They couldn’t be separated from Thorn! She wished she could see what was happening.

  “Because,” the Royalist said, “by Queen Estelle’s command, you, Prince Thorn, are under arrest.”

  CHAPTER

  19

  Thorn laughed.

  How he was able to, Claire wasn’t sure, but he laughed as though there was absolutely nothing funnier in all the world than what the Royalist had just said: Under arrest by order of Queen Estelle.

  Claire felt Sophie’s fingernails dig into her leg, and in the dim light, she could see Sena’s foot twitch, as though she was preparing to leap out of the cart and fight her way free.

  “Is that so?” Thorn asked, his tone mild, as though he were arrested every day. “And may I know why, Flax?”

  The Royalist—Flax, as Thorn had called him—clearly wasn’t expecting this carefree response. “Y-you were commanded to safely escort the Love Knot Tine to the Hilltop tonight, my prince, but instead you disappeared, and the Love Knot Tine along with you.”

  “You mean,” Thorn said, and Claire heard the soft rustle of fabric as Thorn must have reached into his coat’s pocket, “this Love Knot Tine?”

  Flax gasped, and Claire could imagine his surprise—it was the exact same surprise that had swallowed her up when they’d been in Scythe’s secret room and Thorn had suggested they sneak into Hilltop Palace as his prisoners.

  “How would that even work?” Claire had asked as she’d leaned against one of Scythe’s empty shelves. “You disappeared from Needle Pointe, when you were supposed to be escorting the Love Knot Tine to the palace! Queen Estelle won’t trust you.”

  And that’s when Thorn had reached into his coat pocket—a special, Spinner-sewn one for secret things—and produced the fake Love Knot Tine. “After I saw you in the lobby, I grabbed the tine before the diamond branches could re-weave themselves. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Thorn had said to Claire as he handed the tine over to Nett for inspection. “When you told me it was fake, it didn’t seem to matter whether I had it or not, but now I think it can come in handy.”

  Now, Claire could barely breathe as she pressed her ear to the wooden planks, straining to hear what Thorn would say next to the Royalist.

  “The Love Knot Tine!” Flax said, sounding slightly awed. “You have it!”

  “Of course I do,” Thorn said, his words as pointed as a spindle. “And the Forgers I have in here”—there was a thump on the side of the cart—“are the very Forgers who have been harassing Needle Pointe. I caught them trying to steal the Love Knot, but as we’re trying to get the Forgers to cooperate without a war, I thought it best to keep what happened to myself. Now let me in.”

  “Y-yes, Prince Thorn,” the Royalist guard said, though he still sounded hesitant. “Do you mind, though, if I see your prisoners?”

  There was a creak, and evening light suddenly filled the cart as Thorn opened the back and stood aside to let the guard peer in. Claire kept her head down, and she was aware of Sena tugging her own Forger’s hood tighter around her bright red hair. But their Forger disguises must have worked, because a second later, the guard shut the cart without another look.

  “My sincerest apologies, Your Royal Highness,” Flax said. “I can take these prisoners while you go explain to Mira Fray, so she can let Her Majesty know. Mira is in the south wing.”

  “I will keep the prisoners with me, Flax,” Thorn said so scornfully that, for a moment, Claire wondered if he was really acting. The Thorn she’d known would never be able to make his voice so cold, his tone so derisive. “No one is taking credit for capturing them other than me.”

  “That’s not what I meant!” Flax cried out, but the rest of his words were lost in the crack of the reins, and the wheels lurched forward—they were in!

  The next time the cart stopped, it was behind a crumbling wall, part of what might have once been the stables. “I have to go,” Thorn said, looking anxious, his royal act dropped. “If Mira Fray doesn’t see me and the Love Knot Tine soon, she’ll know something is wrong. If the unicorn is anywhere, I would check the kitchens—they’re next to the dungeons but still intact and a good place to hide something as big as a unicorn. The north wing, too.” He tugged their knots free, and then he took off into the crowds.

  “We should split up,” Sophie said as they pulled Royalist cloaks over their Forger outfits. (A jumbled combination of Sophie’s spinning skills along with a Grafting Draft in Nett’s Hollow Pack had resulted in three exact duplicates of Claire’s stolen Royalist cloak.) “We’ll cover more ground that way. Claire, you come with me and—”

  “That’s not a good idea,” Sena said, blunt as usual. When Sophie looked at her, the Forger explained. “I mean, Estelle is more interested in the two of you, right? You definitely look like sisters. You’re more recognizable together.”

  Claire’s heart sank. She’d just been reunited with Sophie, but she knew Sena was right. And from the disgruntled look on Sophie’s face, Sophie knew it, too. She gave Claire a quick hug before nudging her toward Sena. Sophie and Nett then stepped into the crowd, heading toward the north wing, while she and Sena moved forward. They would need to cut through some of the bigger ruins in order to reach the old kitchens.

  When Claire had first seen Hilltop Palace, she had been too shocked to take in its details—other than the fact that it must be in another world far away from Windemere Manor. Its walls still stood, forming corridors, but there was almost no roof. Claire had the vague sense of rattling inside the rib cage of a giant fossil. One turn and then another and then—

  Sena stopped suddenly, and Claire almost smacked into her. “What’s wrong?” she asked anxiously. “Is it Estelle?”

  Sena stepped aside to reveal a wall of people. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, packing what Claire realized must be the ancient throne room. There seemed to be at least a tho
usand people, all crammed into the space, their curiosity stamping out any concerns about standing next to someone from another guild.

  Tillers clustered together, their green tunics and robes matching the moss on rocks, while the Spinners, dazzling in their costumes of glitter and white, balanced on their toes, trying to see through the congregation. Only the Forgers stood apart, in obedient silver lines, still deciding if tonight would mark a celebration—or the start of a war.

  “We need to cross,” Sena said. “The old kitchens are on the other side, but there’s no way we can make it—”

  “Prrip!” Gryphin said, hidden in Sena’s hood.

  Sena stopped. “Oh,” she said, sounding embarrassed that she hadn’t thought of whatever Gryphin was saying sooner. “Right. Go on, then, Gryphin.”

  There was a quick whirl of wind, and then Claire caught a shimmer in the air before she completely lost track of the chimera in the darkening sky.

  “Gryphin is going to scout for us,” Sena whispered. “But come on, maybe if we stick to the edges, we can get closer.”

  Claire nodded. “Lead the way.”

  Careful to avoid treading on anyone’s toes, they tried to pick their way through Tillers, Spinners, and Forgers. Claire still didn’t see any Gemmers, even as they stepped around the tall pillars that had once held up the roof and the sapling trees that grew inside, roots breaking through the patches of flagstone floor that remained.

  “Look up when you leap!” Claire heard a familiar voice bark out just as she scooted around a Tiller and saw a troupe of Spinner dancers. “Remember: eyes to the sky, you’ll fly—eyes to the ground, you’ll stay down. Lyric, are you paying attention?”

  “Pardon, Director, just trying to capture the ambiance!” Lyric said, looking up from where she’d been scribbling on a piece of paper with her quill. “Would you say the crowd is more humming with excitement or buzzing?”

  “All I know,” the director said warningly, “is that if you don’t put your notebook away in the next two seconds, you’ll be trying to come up with words to describe the Dance of Ribbons from the wings, rather than performing.”