Chapter Nineteen

The crowded supply post of the Indraloka is a hubbub of activity, despite the lateness of the hour, with men unloading crates of weapons, fuel, and food from nearby wagons. Overseers bellow back and forth. Despite my worry that we’re going to get instantly arrested, Roshan and I exit the portal without anyone paying much mind and begin to weave our way through a high maze of stacked cartons inside a massive warehouse.

I almost slam into him when he comes to a sudden halt. “What’s wrong?”

I whisper.

He curses under his breath. “We’re on the wrong side. We need to be all the way over there.”

He points to the far end of the space—one that’s crawling with soldiers, and any one of them could be a spy for Javed.

My palms tingle as if alerting me to their presence. I raise them uncertainly. “I can try—”

“We can’t risk that.”

He steps closer, and a muscle jerks in his cheek, as if he’s reconsidering using my power to blast our way through, but then he shakes his head. “No, it’s too dangerous. Wait here, I’ll be back.”

With that, he crashes his lips into mine and kisses me hard, his mouth commanding, his body crowding me in the most possessively delicious way. He kisses me so senseless that I forget to argue. When he pulls away, I’m seeing stars inside my fuzzy brain.

“Don’t do anything rash,”

he whispers.

And then he’s gone, disappearing around one of the walls in the crate maze, and I sink to my knees, trying to collect myself. A residual shiver coasts across my skin, and I bite my bruised, swollen bottom lip, wondering what had gotten into him.

Maybe he did it because we’re probably going to die in the next thirty seconds.

Literally a kiss of death.

A wild snort leaves me as sweat trails down my back, and I rise back to my feet to see if I can spot him.

“You there,”

a voice barks from behind me, nearly making my heart burst out of my chest. “State your business.”

Palms high, I turn to see a hatchet-faced officer holding me on the business end of a crossbow, and I swallow my immediate jolt of panic. I try to look as young and as innocent as possible. “I’m supposed to be . . . on, ah . . . loading duty, but I think I got the wrong place. I’m new and kind of lost.”

His eyes narrow with suspicion, and the weapon doesn’t budge. My oblivious act is not going to work, not with this man, and not now with the entire fortress on full alert for intruders. “You look familiar. Wait, you’re that girl from the bounty . . .”

Greed flares in his stare as he trails off. The bounty on my head must be enormous. I don’t hesitate for a second more. I sink back into the countless exercises I’d done with Aran and reach deep. It’s me or him. Imagining my magic like a sticky web, I throw it out. Please work, please work, please work.

In the seconds it takes for him to inhale, bands of light from my palms have flared out, encircled, and immobilized him.

By the everlasting stars! I’m doing it!

My light flickers, and I suck in a breath, focusing hard. The greedy look in his eyes shifts to shock and then fear when he can’t move a muscle, even his tongue, and all I can do is hope that no more soldiers are patrolling with him. It’s taking all my concentration not to melt his body into a human puddle, but at least my control is holding.

For now.

At that moment, Roshan appears around the corner. He stops short, staring from me to the man. He doesn’t say a word, only gives me a stunned nod. The officer’s eyes widen, though with something other than fear—relief, maybe—as I release the web, and Roshan moves to stand behind him.

“Sir—”

But Roshan’s strong forearm cuts the rest of the man’s words from his mouth, and within seconds, he is slumped unconscious. The prince lowers his body carefully to the ground.

Relieved, I stare down at the sleeping officer. “Why did he call you sir?”

“Probably because of my uniform,”

Roshan replies.

Belatedly, I notice that he has changed into an ebony uniform with gold bars on the sleeves, complete with a long official-looking purple cape, one that goes to the heels of his polished boots. He shoves a half-helm over his head that obscures the upper part of his face. I gape at him in awe—he looks even fiercer and more formidable than usual.

And absurdly hot.

Sex-on-a-stick Captain Roshan tosses a sealed bag at me. “I have a plan. If we can blend in, we can get across.”

Opening the package, I let out a curse at the soft, sheer fabric within. “What in the flaming sands is this?”

“A Kaldarian noble’s ceremonial dress.”

I narrow my eyes at him as I finger the sheer silk of the extravagant gown that probably costs more than a soldier makes in a year. “I’m not putting this on. I’ll look ridiculous.”

“It will buy us some time. Please, Suraya, trust me,”

he says urgently.

“How about I just magic-web everyone?”

I suggest with a confidence I don’t feel.

His lips flatten. “And then what? We just stand here holding them indefinitely?”

“Then you could put them all to sleep like that man. Piece of cake.”

Literally anything would be better than dressing in this scrap of silk. “Besides, how do you expect me to run in this thing anyway without displaying my goodies to all and sundry?”

I add, holding up a fistful of the voluminous fabric, irritated at the petulant note in my voice.

“I’m partial to your goodies.”

He gives me the crooked smirk that I love, and I studiously ignore it because I’m too aggravated. “You’re wasting time. I’m dressed as a senior commanding officer of the Dahaka. It will be easier for us to get across if you look like a dignitary from Kaldari whom I’m escorting elsewhere. Trust me.”

I open my mouth and shut it. He’s right, the flaming Scav turd. Scowling at his logic, and because I don’t have a better plan, I mutter a curse under my breath. “Fine, but I’m keeping my dagger. Turn around.”

When he does so without taking the opportunity to tease me about my modesty, I realize how serious he is. I shimmy out of my dirty gray jumpsuit and pull on the gossamer layers of handspun silk. I won’t lie—the fabric feels like heaven against my skin after the coarse material of the Dahaka gear, but it also makes me feel vulnerable. Exposed.

Grimacing, I palm my dagger from its sheath and slash a piece of fabric from the jumpsuit to fashion a makeshift holster, securing it around my thigh. I swallow my discomfort and tug on the last part of the outfit—a pair of supple, beaded slippers—and then straighten.

The soft silk overdress falls from my shoulders in graceful folds, and though the matching split skirts are slightly long, the cuffed ends hold them in place around my ankles.

“I’m done,”

I grumble. “Though I don’t see why I couldn’t have been a junior aide and wear something less . . . racy.”

Roshan turns to face me, his hot gaze sweeping me from top to bottom. “You look good in racy.”

Bold appreciation glitters in his eyes, and I fight not to flush at the perusal, keeping my mouth compacted into a scowl. But my body has other ideas. Blood rushes to places it shouldn’t, making me bite back a hum of pleasure. “One more thing,”

he adds, and closes the distance between us. His hands remove the cap on my head and thread through the snarls along my scalp.

Well, now the blasted hum turns into a needy throb, making it hard to breathe. Roshan combs gentle fingers through the heavy mess of curls that loosens to tumble halfway down my back. His touch lingers over the pale swath of curls on the left side of my crown. My eyelids flutter as his fingertips tangle in a knot and the small bite of pain makes me hiss on the heels of the pleasure spiraling through me.

“I fail to see how any of this is going to help us not draw attention to ourselves,”

I grit out, fighting the rush of arousal with everything I have. Obviously, this is neither the time nor the place, but it doesn’t stop me from the wicked fantasy of yanking him into a dark alcove and demanding that he soothe the ache he started down south. With his tongue.

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what?” I echo.

He peers at me. “You would fail to see it. Come on. Chin up. Do not react to anything you may see or hear. Act like all of this is beneath you. That even I’m beneath you.”

He smirks. “Emulate my aunt, if it helps.”

Roshan’s fingers slip around my elbow as we saunter forward past the crates. With no time to think, I do as he says and hold my head high, channeling a frigid hauteur to rival Queen Morvarid’s. It’s no easy task as a dozen pairs of curious eyes swivel in our direction and discreetly fall away.

I peer up at Roshan through my eyelashes. His handsome face is stern and authoritarian, as befits his supposed rank. Then again, he is a prince, so arrogance and command come naturally to him. He takes long, confident strides, and I notice all the men standing at swift attention, cupping their left hands over their right fists at chest level in a show of deference, along with muted whispers of “sir”

echoing through the warehouse.

The high-ranking uniform is doing the job more effectively than we could have hoped. The men’s gazes drift to me, too, but skitter away as fast as they land. I feel the press of a gaze, and a familiar, heart-shaped face framed by a skein of black glossy hair snags my attention for a half second. Clem? I stumble and crane my neck, searching the sea of faces.

“What is it?”

Roshan asks.

“I thought I saw . . . never mind. I was mistaken.”

There’s no logical reason Clem would be here. It must simply have been someone who looked like her.

As we walk, I feel Roshan’s comforting presence behind me, his palm once more at my elbow, and I absorb some of his strength to calm the erratic patter of my heart. His hand falls to the small of my back as we approach the security checkpoint, an unreadable gaze meeting mine. That cool mien betrays nothing—he’s back to the controlled royal, ever in command of his emotions.

“Identification?”

a soldier at the checkpoint asks, and my heart trips.

Roshan hands over the medallion from his pocket.

The soldier pales at whatever he sees etched there, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Sorry, sir. All clear. Thank you, sir.”

We enter the doorway, and I turn to Roshan feeling nearly delirious with relief. “Thank goodness for that medallion. Was that also courtesy of your cousin?”

He gives me one of those sardonic smirks, and I roll my eyes. Of course it was.

“What do we do now?”

I ask as we walk down the corridor.

His mouth curls into a wry smile. “We find Aran.”

* * *

Luckily, Aran finds us before more trouble can.

He leads us past a mess hall that’s teeming with soldiers, through a winding set of corridors, and to a trapdoor near the back of a grain storage room. We slip down into a dark shaft before he drags the bags back as best as he can and secures the way behind us.

The tunnel is dark and smells of dust and old cobwebs. I imagine one of the residents of those cobwebs skittering over the base of my neck, and I swallow a whimper. I fucking hate spiders.

Don’t think about spiders, think about staying alive.

Though perhaps some light might help. I focus inward as Aran has been teaching me and envision the rune for the sun—a dot within a circle—and call my magic. At first, nothing happens, but ever so slowly, a golden sheen creeps over my palm. Elation fills me. Until I see just how many cobwebs are above me, and the light winks out.

Maybe it’s better not to know.

Soon, and spider-free, thank fuck, we end up in a small cavern that is lit by a single lamp. The room is littered with drawings, maps, paper scrawled with ancient hieroglyphics, and ashen shards of burned-out, old jādū crystals.

“We’ll be safe here,”

Aran says. I’m glad to see that he’s completely healed from what had happened in Nyriell.

I sink down, the exhaustion of the last few hours catching up to me. “Why can’t we portal from here?”

Aran sniffs. “We need jādū to do that.”

Roshan shoots me a reassuring look. “Don’t worry, we will get to Coban.”

“If what you’ve told me is true, we need to get her to Eloni,”

Aran says from where he stands, his eyes unfathomable. “To the temple. Think about it, Ro, it makes the most sense for her safety. And everyone else’s.”

Roshan glances at his cousin. “What happened exactly? Your message said our cover was blown. How?”

I’m still in shock that they are relatives and slightly irritated that he kept such information from me. I suppose it doesn’t truly matter, but I thought we were past having secrets by this point.

“The palace placed an astronomical bounty on her head,”

Aran said. “Enough to turn some of our own. Someone let it slip that she was in Nyriell.”

I don’t miss the tension underpinning his words, but my mind is elsewhere. “I need to go home. I have to ensure my family is safe.”

“They’ll know that’s where we’re headed,”

Aran says, still looking at Roshan.

Roshan nods grimly. “Probably.”

He lets out a breath and removes the helm from his head. “For now, we should eat and get our strength up. Then we figure out the portal.”

Aran tosses a tin from a nearby pile to me, and I force myself to open it despite an unsettled stomach. The smell of honeyed beans wafts up, and my belly cramps. Wincing, I tip some of the slop into my mouth and chew. It’s cold and coagulated, but I know the nourishment is important.

Roshan finishes his own tin quickly and then moves to the chamber entrance.

“Where are you going?”

I ask him.

“To check that everything is secure,”

he says over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Try to get some rest if you can.”

After Roshan leaves, I make myself comfortable on a chair on one side of the room, warily eyeing the rough-hewn ceiling of rocks. So far, we’re safe enough here, but I can’t help feeling like we’re treading a precariously thin line between survival and stupidity. I need to get back home to make sure my family is safe. And the truth is I just want all of this to be over.

Though I don’t even know what that means.

Will there be war? Will the prophecy come to pass? Will we survive whatever is coming? Things can’t go back to the way they were, but what if the only thing that lies ahead for all of us is death?

Panic slices down my spine. The utter inability to control anything at all makes me feel untethered, as if I’m drifting in an endless sea at the whim of fate.

Breathe, Suraya.

I glance over at Aran, wondering if he can give me some more concrete answers—at least a foothold to not feel so powerless. “You said you wanted to get me to the temple in Eloni. Why?”

He stares at me for a long time, then glances toward the narrow tunnel where Roshan had disappeared. “For help, perhaps. Protection, too. The House of Fomalhaut believes that the Starkeeper has very special magic, one that can be used and twisted. If the power you bear is indeed a weapon of this magnitude, you must be safeguarded at all costs.”

The crone’s prophecy whispers through my brain. “From the twin gods.”

“Not both, just one,”

Aran replies. “The twins hold equal but opposite dominion in the realms of light and darkness. Fero is the one you need to worry about.”

My heart quakes at the sound of the name. “As Saru was seen as a creator, his brother, Fero, was the destroyer. The entire world was their playground as they competed for mortal souls.”

“And the Royal Stars?”

“The four Royal Stars were the instruments of the twins, fated to guide all life. Venant is the keeper of the northern sky and the brightest star in the darkness. His magic is transformative, a soul energy, and he is the summoner of the Starkeeper—the hand of the gods created by the four of them. You, in this case.”

Grimacing, I don’t inform Aran that the guardian of the northernmost Royal Star has manifested to me as a woman named Vena. “You really think I’m this mystical weapon of the stars?”

“I don’t think, Suraya, I know. You are a weapon, one that is neither good nor evil, but a fusion of the two. Akasha runs in your veins. Until you become a master of your magic, you must serve it. And as its servant, you are bound to the will of your creators . . . the Royal Stars.”

I shiver, wrapping my arms about myself. I don’t want to be bound to anyone’s will but my own. “So, what are you saying? That I don’t have a choice?”

“You always have a choice.”

I stare at him, annoyed by his noncommittal response. “Do I? You make it sound like I wanted to hurt the people I’ve harmed with my power.”

“You misunderstand me, Suraya,”

Aran says. “We all have elements of light and darkness within us. As such, while you’re human, you will remain governed by the arms of both gods, but that final choice will always be yours. Think of it this way: there are two creatures inside of you. The one that will grow is the one you nourish. Until you become a master of what you are, you will be ruled by the pull and push of both the light and darkness that live within you.”

Well, he’s not wrong about the creature inside of me.

“The nature of your magic encompasses both the good and the bad, and everything in between. Those who wish for Fero’s return will do anything to turn you to their side.”

“Their side?”

My laugh is bitter. “You make it sound like a competition.”

“No,”

Aran says in a solemn voice. “It’s a war, and you are its pivot. If you give in to the lie instead of the truth and become seduced by the lure of darkness instead of the promise of light, then we all lose.”

“That’s enough, Aran,”

a stern voice says sharply, making me jump. “You don’t need to scare her.”

We both swivel to see Roshan leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest. I wonder how long he’s been standing there and how much he has overheard, but I’ll bet my cursed palms that he is familiar with most of this already. He is half Elonian, after all, and if his cousin is a starsdamned magi, then none of this would be new to him.

As I look at his grim face, I suddenly wonder what other secrets Roshan might be keeping from me.

He leans forward to squeeze my shoulder. “You can’t trust anyone, Suraya, and not just because of the bounty. By now, news of your magic would have spread throughout Oryndhr, and regardless of what people believe, they will look at you differently and treat you differently. Many will be afraid of what you can do, and some will curse you for it.”

He glances at Aran, his face grim. “And just as there are those magi who serve Saru, there are also those who follow Fero. They will stop at nothing to twist and coerce you.”

He pauses, brow furrowed. “There are worse people than Javed out there. He just wants power. There are others who covet your soul.”

A horrible thought occurs to me, and I turn to Aran. “Explain exactly what you meant by ‘Fero’s return.’”

Aran flicks his gaze to Roshan for permission, and the prince nods, his forbidding expression making my insides coil and knot. “The divine power of your blood and the transformative energy of the Starkeeper will allow the remnants of his essence to take root, if you will.”

He stares at me in silence. “He will eventually possess you. Hence, Fero reborn.”

Gross.

“That’s not possible,”

I say, wrapping my arms about myself and shoving out of my chair to put some distance between them and me. “You realize how preposterous this all sounds, right? Tell me you don’t believe any of it . . . that people are going to use me to summon and embody some dead god.”

Roshan blows out a concerned breath at my wild expression, as though he knew the revelation would be too much to handle. “It doesn’t matter what I believe.”

I scowl. “And what about Saru? Why can’t I embody that god? He sounds like a lot more fun.”

“Saru is in god sleep,”

Aran responds, ignoring my obvious sarcasm. “It took almost every drop of his empyreal energy to banish his brother the last time. If Fero returns, we’re on our own.”

Roshan nods. “Either way, with your magic, we have to keep you safe. Especially from my brother.”

He tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s focus on getting you back to your family. Try to get some sleep if you can. We’ve got a few hours before dawn.”

My mind is spinning. I need space to process everything, so I take Roshan’s advice and quietly head to the adjoining antechamber, where there’s a small cot. Sinking to its edge, I stare at my palms. On my left, I trace the fate line running from the base of my index finger to my wrist. My mother had always spoken of those lines as reflecting what was written in the stars for us—heart, mind, life, marriage. Fate.

Ironically, the shape of one’s palm is also connected to the elements of earth, air, fire, water, and akasha. Earth palms are square and thick, and those defined by earth are practical in nature. Water is associated with long palms and long fingers and with intuition. Air palms are narrow and bony, their natures more analytical. With my long palms and short fingers, I sway toward fire—passionate, risk-taking, and driven by desire.

But the fifth and most elusive element has always been a mystery to me. The fate lines on each hand represent akasha and are different for everyone. Mine are bold and pronounced.

I stare at the interlocked points of the star on my skin and suppress a cold shiver. Is embodying Fero my future? My fate?

Forcing back the hot prick of tears, I lie down and close my eyes.

Suddenly, everything shifts into a strange sort of time lapse. The flickering lights beyond my eyelids elongate as if time has slowed. I blink, my lashes sweeping like branches in the wind, and focus beyond the tiers of dirt and rock above me . . . through the earthy layers and past the thick band of clouds above.

Is this real or in my head?

My breath snags in wonder as brilliant star clusters of all shapes and colors—red, blue, yellow, ice white—grace a shimmery green backdrop. They fade in and out of luminous, milky streams, some brighter than others, forming the distinct shape of recognizable constellations. I can feel them reaching out to me as if they recognize one of their own.

Who am I?

Closing my eyes, I spin in orbit in the beating heart of the open sky. I am the epicenter of the four-pointed astrological cross—the Royal Stars of the world: Venant, Tascheter, Satevis, and Haftorang—their colossal combined power tugging at my skin and making heat rise in an abundant swell.

Light rushes through me as I receive their reply to my question.

You are our heart. Our infinite hope. A soul of truth bred from the stars.