Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

When I woke, the space beside me was empty, but the soft, woodsy scent clung to the sheets and to my skin. I placed my hand on the bed, feeling the warmth of his body heat that still lingered.

Thorne.

There was this vague memory of waking in the gray light of dawn to the touch of his fingertips along the curve of my cheek, the brush of his lips along my brow, and the sound of his voice. “Sleep well,” he’d whispered. “I’ll return to your side soon.”

I opened my eyes, my chest . . . swelling. The feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant but was wholly unfamiliar, and it scared me, because it felt like a promise of something more.

Bringing my legs up, I tucked them against my chest. There couldn’t be a promise of anything more, even if I wasn’t sure exactly what the idea of more actually entailed. I knew enough. More went beyond pleasure shared in the darkest hours of night. More went beyond the physical. More was a future.

And none of those things were possible with a Hyhborn, let alone a prince. Especially the Prince of Vytrus.

But he claimed to have saved Archwood because he had found me.

Rolling onto my back, I shook my head. He couldn’t have been serious about that, no matter what he thought of my supposed bravery.

But Hyhborn couldn’t lie.

Smacking my hands over my face, I dragged them down, rubbing at the skin. Why was I even lying in his bed, thinking about this? There were far more important things I needed to be focused on. Claude’s knowledge of how my abilities worked, because I doubted he had no recollection of speaking that. His relation to the Commander of the Iron Knights. The impending siege.

Thorne was the least of my worries.

But he was the prettiest of my worries.

“Gods,” I groaned, throwing the sheet off. I sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, looking for my gown. Not spotting it on the floor, I rose and turned, finding the gown folded on the chest, where his swords had lain the night before. A black robe lay across the foot of the bed. He must’ve left that there for me.

That strange and downright silly swelling motion returned to my chest as I donned the robe. It was . . . thoughtful of him.

I’ll return to you soon.

I glanced around the quarters. He . . . Thorne had said he wanted me with him until he left to escort his armies. Did he expect me to wait around for him all day, in his chambers?

That was not going to happen.

Tugging my hair out from the robe, I picked up my gown. I cradled it to my chest and hurried toward the door, finding it locked. When I turned the latch and opened the door, I nearly plowed straight into Grady.

“Oh my gods.” Gasping, I stumbled back.

Grady caught my arm, steadying me. “Sorry,” he grunted. “I was trying to pick the lock— been at it for a half of an hour. He must’ve done something to it to prevent it from unlocking from the outside.” His dark gaze swept over my face, and then he seemed to see what I was wearing and holding. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Of course.” I stepped around him, closing the door behind me. “Why were you trying to pick the lock?”

“Really?” His brows flew up.

“Really.” I started down the hall.

He stared at me for a moment. “Do you even know what time it is? It’s almost noon.”

Surprise flickered through me. “Really? I never— ”

“You never sleep this late,” he finished for me. “I looked everywhere for you this morning, Lis. Your chambers, the gardens— I ran into Naomi, who was also looking for you,” he said when he saw the look I gave him. “She told me about this arrangement.”

Ugh.

I held the gown tighter. “She shouldn’t have done that.”

“Because you weren’t planning to?”

“No, because she probably had to deal with you overreacting and freaking out,” I said, quieting as we passed one of the staff carrying a load of towels. “And I was going to tell you.”

“When?”

“This morning.” I tucked a strand of hair back.

His jaw was working overtime. “It goes without saying— ”

“You’re not happy with this arrangement.”

“And neither are you, according to Naomi,” he shot back.

My lips pursed, but I stamped down on my annoyance. Naomi was likely just worried, and I’d clearly given her good reason to be. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the arrangement,” I began. “But Thorne and I talked it out, and I’m okay with it.”

Grady had stopped walking. “Thorne?”

“Yes?” I glanced back at him. “That’s his name.”

“And since when are you on a first-name basis with him?” he demanded.

Since I’d decided to stay despite what he’d told me last night.

I didn’t say that, because all of that was too hard to explain or understand. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I even understood. I turned down the hall. “It’s fine, Grady. Really— ”

“I really wish you’d stop lying to me.”

“I’m not.” I stopped, facing him. “I wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement, because he hadn’t asked me how I felt— what I wanted— but we talked it out. We came to an . . . understanding.” I think. “And I . . .” Pressing my lips together, I shook my head as I started walking. “I can touch him, Grady. I can touch him and not hear, feel, or think anything other than my own thoughts and feelings. I know you say you understand all of that, but there is no way you can truly fathom what that means.”

“You’re right,” Grady admitted after a few moments. “I can’t know what that means.”

He fell quiet as he trailed behind me, but that didn’t last long. “Is that the only reason, though?” he asked, voice low. “Because you can touch him?”

“Why?” I shot him a look over my shoulder. “What other reason could it be?”

“I don’t know.” He glanced up at the ceiling as he fell in step beside me. “Do you like him?”

“Do I like him?” I laughed as my stomach gave a weird wiggle. “What are we?” I nudged him with my elbow. “Sixteen?”

He snorted. “Do you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I like him well enough to want to touch him, if that is what you’re asking,” I said, skin prickling. “I don’t know him well enough to like him more than that.”

Grady stared ahead. “Yeah, but even if you did know him, you can’t like him, Lis.”

“Yeah, I know. You don’t need to tell me that.”

“Just making sure,” he murmured.

Ignoring the sudden knot in my chest, I said, “Shouldn’t you be working or something?”

“Yes, but the Baron is holed up in his study with Hymel.”

They were likely trying to figure out where a thousand soldiers were going to camp. I pushed open the doors to my quarters. “Did Naomi tell you why the Hyhborn were here?”

“She did.” He sat on the edge of the chair. “Got to admit, that surprised me.”

“There’s something else I learned last night.”

“If it has anything to do with what went on in the chambers with the Prince, I’m not at all interested.”

“It has nothing to do with Thor— ” I caught myself when Grady’s stare jerked toward me. “It has nothing to do with the Prince, but King Euros,” I said, and then told him about how the King had preferred that Archwood go the way of Astoria. I didn’t tell him about the past— about the world that had fallen. Thorne trusting me with that was important, and knowledge of the past felt . . . it felt dangerous.

“Can’t say I’m surprised to hear the King would rather see the city leveled,” Grady said when I went quiet.

“Really?” My brows rose.

“Yeah. Were you surprised to hear that?”

“A little,” I said. “I mean, there’s a huge difference between the King taking little interest in the welfare of us lowborn and deciding that our homes and livelihoods aren’t worth the possibility of a Hyhborn being injured or dying.”

“Yeah, I don’t see a difference there.” He shrugged. “All Hyhborn care about is themselves at the end of the day. Half of the time I’m surprised that they haven’t just gotten rid of us and taken the realm for themselves.”

“Gods.” I stared at him. “That’s dark. Even for you.”

He snorted.

I shook my head. “There’s more. It’s about Vayne Beylen.”

Curiosity filled his face. “I’m all ears.”

“And it has to stay with your ears.”

“Of course.”

I glanced at the closed door. “Claude and Vayne are related.”

His brow shot up. “What?”

“They’re cousins, related on Claude’s father’s side of the family,” I told him. “Beylen is a caelestia.”

“Fuck . . .” He drew the word out. He leaned into the chair, draping an arm over the back. “How did you learn this?”

“Claude told me. The Hyhborn don’t know.” I crossed my arms, inhaling deeply and immediately regretting it, because the damn robe smelled of . . . of Thorne. “But him being a caelestia explains why the Iron Knights would back the Westlands.”

“Yeah.” He dragged a finger over his brow. “I suppose.”

I studied him. “I’m sorry.”

He looked up. “For what?”

“I know you kind of looked up to this Beylen, and hearing that he’s a caelestia probably changes it.”

“Why?” His brows knitted.

“Because caelestias aren’t lowborn— ”

“They basically are compared to the Hyhborn. I mean, look at Claude. He’s about as dangerous as a half-asleep kitten.”

I wrinkled my nose. “You really don’t think that changes things? What he is? His support of the Westlands Hyhborn— a princess who wants to be queen?”

“Look, I know I said all Hyhborn are the same and shit, but I was . . . I don’t know. I was talking out of my ass. Beylen and those who follow him are risking their lives. There must be a reason why Beylen would support her— why those already following Beylen are also supporting her. She could be different.”

I huffed out a breath, shaking my head.

“You think your prince is different.”

“He’s not my prince,” I snapped. “And I just . . .” I sat on the edge of the chair. “There’s something I feel like I’m missing with Claude and everything, and that it’s important. He said that Beylen was starborn or something like that. It sounded familiar, but I don’t get it.” There was a lot I didn’t get, like how Claude had said the Prince of Vytrus could provide me with what he could not. Everything.

“Starborn?” Grady murmured, and I looked over at him. He rocked forward. “Wait. I’ve heard that before. Heard you say that.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, fiddling with the collar of the robe.

“The Prioress of Mercy— the one you were given to,” he said. “You told me when we were younger that she used to say that you were born of the stars.”

“Holy shit.” My hand fell to my lap. “You’re right.”

He gave me a cheeky grin. “I know. Probably just a weird coincidence.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, except I didn’t believe in coincidences. Neither did he.

Starborn.

I knew that meant something.

My intuition, usually silent on all things dealing with me, was telling me that it did.

That it was important.

Claude was still with Hymel, so speaking with him wasn’t an option at the moment, and since this could be something only a caelestia knew, the only other person I could think of who might know what starborn meant was Maven.

That was if Naomi was right about her, and she was Claude’s grandmother, on his father’s side.

The thing was, I’d have to get her to talk or . . . I would have to get the information from her another way, without her permission.

That didn’t sit well with me, but it also didn’t stop me. I was a hypocrite and fully aware of it.

Bathed and dressed in the lightweight tunic and leggings often favored by the staff, my hair braided back from my face, I could still catch that woodsy, soft scent of Thorne on me. At this point, I was beginning to think it was my imagination, because how was that even possible?

I stepped into the alcove Maven’s chamber door was set in, and knocked. There was no answer, but after a few moments the rounded, wooden door cracked open.

Hesitating, I took a deep breath and pushed the door open enough for me to get past, stepping into the chamber, which was lit by dozens of candles stacked on shelves along the stone walls and piled on nearly every flat surface. There had to be electricity in this chamber to heat the water, but Maven seemed to prefer the ambience of the candlelight.

Or the creepiness.

Closing the door behind me, I almost missed her. Shrouded in black, she was seated on one of the many stools, near the wardrobe, her head bowed as she stitched a piece of garment in her lap. The room smelled of laundry soap and faintly of mothballs.

Throat strangely dry, I inched forward. “Maven?” I winced at the hoarse sound of my voice. “I brought back the headpiece. I forgot to do it last night.”

She jerked her head toward one of the shelves holding other elaborate pieces.

Nibbling on my lip, I walked the headpiece to the shelf and found an empty hook to hang it from. Anxiety settled in the center of my chest as I glanced over at her. Limp, dull gray strands of hair fell from the cowl, shielding her face.

“I . . . wanted to ask you something.” I draped the chain over the hook and carefully placed the chains of rubies on the shelf below it.

There was no response as her gnarled fingers drew the needle and thread through the thin red garment.

“Are you Claude’s grandmother?” I asked.

Still, she was silent.

I stared at her hunched shoulders. Like the other night, a shivery pressure settled in between my shoulder blades. The tingling spread throughout my arms and seeped into my muscles, guiding me toward her. Fingers twitching, I made no sound as I approached the woman, lifting my hand—

Faster than I would’ve thought her capable, Maven wheeled around on her stool.

I gasped, jerking back a step.

“You think to force an answer outta me, girl?” she demanded in a voice as thin as parchment and as brittle as her bones. “After all this time?”

“I . . .” I didn’t know what to say as I drew my hand back.

She laughed, the sound more of a dry wheeze that shook her entire body. “You never spoke to me before. Never asked me about my kin before. Why now?”

“That’s not true. I’ve spoken to you before, when I first started being brought to you,” I told her, but that was neither here nor there. “Is Claude your grandson?”

The lines in her face were deep gouges. Watery, shadowed eyes met mine, but they were alert and full of curiosity. “What’s it matter to you?”

“Can you just answer the question?”

Stringy silver hair slipped back as she lifted her chin. “Or?”

“Or . . .” My fingers tingled. “I will just get the answer the hard way.” My stomach twisted; the hypocrisy still didn’t sit well with me, especially after my lecture to Thorne about consent. Granted, gaining answers from Maven was nothing like demanding my time and my body, but it felt a lot like splitting hairs. It felt a lot like what I did every time I used my abilities for Claude. Maybe that was why I had such a problem with Thorne’s demands. And maybe that was why I was able to accept them. Heart thudding, I took a step toward her. “You won’t be able to stop me.”

Maven’s answering laugh was more of a cackle. “No, I suppose not.” She rose slowly, shuffling forward, the hem of her black robes dragging unevenly along the floor. “Yeah, he’s my grandson.”

“On his father’s side?”

“Yes.”

I exhaled roughly as she laid the garment on a nearby table. It reminded me of a splash of blood in the darkness. “You understand what I can do.”

“Clearly,” she remarked, ambling back to the stool. She sat down heavily, cheeks puffing with exertion.

I ignored the surprisingly strong tone of sarcasm. “Do you know what ‘starborn’ means?”

“Why you asking me?” She picked up a tuft ball, stabbing the needle through it. “You could’ve asked the Baron.”

“Because he’s busy, and I figured if you’re a caelestia then you may know what that is.”

Maven shook her head, tossing the pincushion into a basket at her feet. “And why would you think that?”

Hell if I knew at this point. “Because I’ve heard it before, spoken by the Prioress of Mercy, and Claude mentioned it in . . . in passing.”

“Funny gal, you are,” she said, snickering. “Know so much and yet know so little.”

My eyes narrowed. “Hymel said something like that.”

“Yeah, well, that one knows too much.”

“What do— ?”

“Why don’t you get me a drink out of that red bottle?” She lifted a frail arm. “There. On the table by the door.”

I looked over my shoulder and saw it. I crossed the chamber, picked up the glass bottle, and pulled the stopper. The scent of whiskey was strong, nearly smacking me in the face. “You sure you want this?”

“Wouldn’t ask for it if I wasn’t.”

“Okay,” I murmured, pouring the deep brown liquor into an old clay cup. Bringing the drink to her, I hoped that the whiskey loosened her tongue and didn’t kill her. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” She wrapped thin, bony fingers around the cup, careful to avoid mine. She took a drink— a deep drink. My eyes widened as she swallowed, then smacked her lips. “Keeps my bones warm.”

“Uh-huh.”

Her chuckle wasn’t very much more than a puff of air. “I was like you once. Not some orphan scraped off the streets, but nothing much better. A poor farmer’s daughter, one of three with an empty belly but heart and head full of nonsense.”

My brows inched up at what sounded distinctly like an insult, but I kept quiet.

“And just like you, I was more than willing to trade anything to not go to bed hungry every night,” she said, staring at the candles along the wall as I sat on the edge of another stool. “Not to wake up every morning knowing I was going to end up just like my mama, dead before she entered the fourth decade of life, or like my pa, made miserable by the toll of working the fields. When I met Baron Huntington— Remus Huntington?” Her wizened features softened as she spoke of Claude’s grandfather. “I was more than happy to give him what he wanted in exchange for being kept fed and sheltered. Comfortable. He was kind enough, especially when I gave him a son his wife passed off as her own. I raised Renald though. He was still my boy— Claude’s father. I also gave him a daughter. Named her after my mama. Eloise. Raised her too. Somehow I outlived them all.” She laughed again, shoulders sinking before she took another drink. “Old blood. That’s my family. Our blood is old. That’s what my pa used to say.”

Slowly, she turned her head toward me. “You know what old blood is?”

I shook my head.

“It’s another name they like to call the caelestias. Old blood. Meaning many of our ancestors can be traced all the way back to the Great War. Even before then. Can be traced all the way back to the first of them, those who were once the stars watching over us. Older than the king who rules now. As old as the one who came before.”

“First of them?” My intuition went silent, and that told me enough. “The Hyhborn?”

Maven nodded. “To the Deminyens. The watchers. The helpers.”

Thorne . . . he had called the ancient Deminyens that. Watchers. “What does that have to do with starborn?”

“If you stop making unnecessary comments, I’ll get there.”

I closed my mouth.

Maven laughed hoarsely. “Did you ever think about how strange caelestias are? For one to even come into creation? We come from a Deminyen— not their offspring. For a caelestia to be born, it has to be one of them and a lowborn, and ain’t that strange?”

I guessed so, but I didn’t want to speak.

“Think about it.” She looked over at me. “Deminyens can fuck half this realm and never have a child.”

A giggle crawled up my throat upon hearing her curse, but I wisely swallowed it.

“They got to choose to have one. Now why would they want to create a child with a lowborn?”

When I said nothing, she looked at me pointedly. “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe because they’re . . . in love?”

She cackled so deep and hard, liquor sloshed over the rim of her cup. I couldn’t blame her. It sounded ridiculous to me. “Maybe. Maybe so, but every creation has to have the groundwork laid, and that’s what the Deminyens were doing back then. Laying the groundwork for those born of the stars.”

I really had no idea what she was rambling about, but I stayed quiet and listened.

“And I’m of the mind that some of them don’t like that groundwork. At least that’s what my pa always said. You probably think it’s because they’d want to keep their blood pure, right?” she said, and yes, that was exactly what I thought. Her thin, bloodless lips curled, revealing yellowed, aged teeth. “I’m of the mind they don’t want that because of what that old blood does. Allows the stars to fall.”

The back of my neck tingled. “Starborn? You talking about caelestias?” I asked, confused.

“No. Not them. They ain’t born from the stars.” She raised a hand, pointing a finger at me. “The stars don’t fall just for anyone, but they . . .” That spotted hand disappeared back into her sleeve as she lifted her cup with the other. “They used to say that when a star falls, a mortal is made divine.”

My brows inched up my forehead. “Divine?”

“Divine like my other grandbaby, girl.” She raised the cup in my direction as if she were saluting me. “Divine like you.”

“Me?” I squeaked. “I’m not a caelestia—”

“You ain’t no ordinary lowborn, now are you? With seeing the future. With peering into the minds of others. No, you ain’t. Old blood,” she repeated. “Once one is born, everyone that comes after has that chance. And there are more than you think.” Her stare turned shrewd as she drank. “Ain’t no one ever really questioning how conjurers got their knowledge, the know-how when it comes to Hyhborn parts. Old blood.” She laughed hoarsely. “Ain’t no one questioning anything.”

Surprise rolled through me. Conjurers had descended from Hyhborn? “I didn’t know . . .” I trailed off, a strangled sort of laugh leaving me. “Of course, I wouldn’t know.” Not if what she said was true. “My intuition has never been much help when it came to Hyhborn.”

“Strange, ain’t it?”

I nodded slowly. So many questions whirled about.

“Strange that we’ve all forgotten the truth.”

“The truth?”

Maven stared down at her cup, face hidden once more. “Good and evil are real. They always have been. Yet the weight of the realm has always fallen on those in between, ones neither good nor bad. That’s what my pa always said.” She lifted her drink again. “But he was also a drunk, so . . .”

I blinked slowly.

“There are Deminyens moving about this town, these walls, right?”

“Yes. A prince and two lords.”

“A prince.” She humphed. “It was bound to happen.”

“What was?”

“That he came.” Her head turned to me. “For what is his.”