Chapter Twenty-Six

The door of my gilded prison is locked, with a half dozen armed guards standing beyond it. I don’t even have the luxury of my handmaidens. Javed has decided that I need time to reflect before the wedding, which is his thinly veiled way of saying I have to decide whether Amma will live or die. If I resist, she’ll be tortured. If I retaliate, she’ll be tortured and then killed. The idea of my sweet, innocent aunt being subject to Javed’s sick brand of cruelty leaves me cold.

My father was not off the mark when he’d said that Kaldari was full of monsters and deception. The thought of him makes my stomach clench with worry. I hope beyond hope that he’s still alive, but Laleh had said that he and a few others, including Cyrill, had fled into the desert. I’ve lived in Coban my whole life and know that chances of survival there are slim.

Sitting in my empty bedchamber, I study my palms—the five-pointed stars with the M shapes so easily distinguishable now. They glow faintly, humming beneath my skin. My captive, detestable magic . . . caged by threats and blackmail and bound by a divination as old as the stars.

I ball my fists and stare at the four walls of my chamber. Like Javed’s bedchamber, this room is grandiose, covered in colorful tapestries and plush carpets, but it makes my skin crawl. This entire palace is a mirage.

Sighing with frustration, I collapse cross-legged to the center of the carpet in the middle of the room. I place my hands on my knees, palms up, and close my eyes. I’ve never been a disciple of meditation—I’m a doer, not a thinker—but I’d rather aim for tranquility than be chewed up and spit out by resentment and bitterness.

I start with my happiest memory.

Mama. The one I turn to when all else fails. My teacher. My light. My truth.

Sweet sands, I miss her. She would have known exactly what to do and how to save everyone. She would have made different choices, better ones than mine, and no one would be hurt or dead. I’m just her daughter wearing too-big shoes, trying and failing miserably to fill them. I think back to the times we’d sat on my bed, staring at the painting of the palace and making up our stories.

She had lived here in Kaldari, too, with my father. But they had left. They had run. I have no doubt they had fled for their lives . . . for my life. And Amma had said that she’d protected me until her last breath. How?

Mastery comes from a place of wisdom, of enduring love, she had said.

“Help me, Mama,”

I whisper.

With a cleansing breath, I focus on my mother and every memory I can remember, even the earliest ones tucked away in the deepest corners of my heart. Birthdays, festivals, hurts, nighttime rituals, dinners, lost teeth, skinned knees, singing, dancing, crying, hammering swords even though she’d had no idea what she was doing—she did it because I loved it.

Because she loved me.

Everything she’d ever done was out of love.

As I sink into that knowledge, I sense an inner serenity start to spread, and I feel the warmth, saturating my pores and flickering along my skin in feathery ripples. My magic is not like before, hot and wild and intense; it’s thick and soothing like a well-worn blanket on a cool night. An extension of me, of my soul.

Let go, daughter mine.

Without hesitation, I do. And I feel myself lift, floating out of my body. Stunned, I push outward, traveling on incandescent particles of light until my spirit has moved beyond the confines of flesh and bone, connected to my mortal shell by tendrils of starlit magic.

Energized, I soar farther, amazed that my consciousness goes with me, and slip past the walls of my prison. There aren’t six guards as I’d thought. At least double that number stand in neat rows on vigilant alert. For a moment, I wonder if they can see me, but of course they can’t. I don’t have a physical form. I glance over my shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of wings. Holy mother of sandstorms! They’re not made of feathers but curling licks of bright rose-white stardust. The curls of iridescent multicolored tailfeathers shine in my peripherals.

My simurgh is beautiful!

The worry that the farther I go the weaker I will get gnaws at me briefly, but my magic doesn’t wane. It strengthens with every beat of my heart. Grinning with delight, I fly, coasting the tides of light within the palace like an invisible rider. Slowing, I recognize a voice coming from one of the nearby chambers—it sounds like the queen—and I follow it. It’s the same bedroom I’d been in two days ago during the engagement ceremony, and Javed is pacing before the fireplace, arguing with his mother, his face sullen.

“What if she doesn’t go through with the wedding?”

he whines.

She grabs his chin with her thumb and forefinger, and I flinch. Her touch is not kind, but Javed takes it like a docile lamb. “You are my son. The king. Make her.”

“How?”

he asks. I’m mystified by the wheedling sounds leaving his mouth. “She has magic. Akasha flowing in her blood.”

“And you have her family for leverage.”

The queen lowers her voice to a hiss. “Listen to me, son, this is your only chance. This is what we have been planning from the minute that girl was born and her birth chart written. You are destined to be a god, and she is the key to your immortality. This is your vertex—your fucking destiny.”

She rakes her son with a vicious look that makes him cower. “You must consummate the marriage immediately following the ceremony. The blood moon is in alignment above Kaldari. Tonight is the night. Fero will come for her, and you will lay your claim and take what is yours. Do not fail us.”

His shoulders square. “I won’t, Mother.”

“You’ll cut out her heart,” she says.

“Yes.”

A shiver courses through me at her words. I watch as the queen turns to stare directly at me and I recoil in silent horror. Even outside of my body, I can feel my phantom heartbeat echoing the mounting heart rate of my physical self.

Fuck, can she see me?

Eyes fixed like a serpent’s, she approaches, but when she lifts a hand to smooth a tendril of hair into place, I realize with a relieved breath that she’s looking into the mirror behind me. She’s so close that I can see the dark veins twining beneath her skin and the dull red glow in her eyes that I imagine must be reflected firelight. I lurch backward. Even though I have little to fear in this spectral form, every instinct inside is screaming at me to run.

Trembling, I close my eyes and reenter the hallway. It won’t be long before someone comes for me—the mortal me imprisoned in my room. Maybe I can find Amma before I have to go back, see if she’s safe. But how?

Akasha connects all living things . . .

I don’t know where the lilting female voice comes from, but it sounds like the creature that’s one with me.

I immerse myself into the well of my magic, feeling the coolness envelop me in a silken cocoon. This isn’t like flying around—finding a specific soul is more intentional. It requires concentration, and mine is scattered at best after what I just witnessed. I close my eyes and feel, seeking the ebb and flow of akasha. It’s so thin here, but I can sense the underlying magnetic tether that connects all the souls in the palace within the light.

Amma, I think, and I feel the link brighten almost instantly.

Her soul is a beacon.

It takes me all of nothing to reach her. Walls present no obstacle; neither do the armed guards patrolling every corridor and every doorway. Amma is in a far wing of the palace, asleep in a spacious room. Thank the stars she isn’t in a dank cell somewhere. But her hair is matted, and her jowly cheeks are no longer upturned and rosy with laughter, but sunken and sallow.

“What have they done to you, my sweet Amma?”

An ethereal hand forms out of my stardust magic to gently brush the hair from her face. She murmurs restlessly in her sleep. I can’t bear to leave her, so I hum a lullaby that my mother used to sing to me.

Her eyes fly open . . . and land directly on me. “Suraya.”

My starlit lips whisper her name. “Amma?”

“It is you.”

She reaches a bruised arm upward, her fingers passing through me, a hand caught in between beams of magical light.

“Can you see me?”

I whisper softly as if it’s a trick and she’ll disappear any second.

“So bright,”

she says, squinting up at me. “Shimmers of wings and vibrant tail feathers. Akasha. Your magic is a beautiful firebird, just like my sister used to say.”

“Are you well? Did they hurt you?”

“No.”

“How is this possible?”

I whisper.

“Nasrin was like you,”

she says, “with akasha rich in her blood. She was a gifted healer. I don’t remember her aura being as strong as yours or so bright. I was not blessed with similar abilities, but I could sense hers. We were bound by blood.”

“She was a Starkeeper?”

She nods. “One who was not awakened. It was not her time.”

I remember what the crone had said to me the first time I’d met her—the fates will wait until they are called.

“Why didn’t she tell me?”

I press my marked hands forward even though they are not fully visible. “I was marked as she was. She knew what I could become.”

“She and Hassan wanted to protect you.”

She pauses, pain breaking across her face. “They came for you once, when you were two. Morvarid wanted to invoke the dark ritual, to bind you to her son.”

“The queen did?”

I ask, startled.

“She was—is—a death magi,”

Amma says. “The only reason they were not taken unawares was because a friend in the palace warned them.”

Phantom goose bumps break out over my spirit flesh. A death magi. I knew she was rotten to the core. But then my eyes narrow. “A friend? Who was it?”

“The queen’s sister, Nihira. She was Elonian, from the House of Fomalhaut. She knew of her sister’s obsession.”

Roshan’s mother. The artist behind the painting my mama so loved. I wonder if Roshan knows that our mothers were friends. It seems we have always been connected, even before we met, before we were born, as though we were always meant to protect each other, joined as we were by our mothers’ love.

“Nihira was the one who alerted your parents and helped them flee the palace and Kaldari. She and Nasrin put the protection runes on you so you would not be found. Your mother tied that magic to her own life essence.”

She swallows, sorrow filling her eyes. “She gave every ounce of her soul’s healing power to cover you.”

My heart clenches. “So I killed her?”

“No, love. She did what any mother would for her child. She protected you to her last breath with a smile on her face.”

Mama . . .

“Hassan and I swore to safeguard you to the end. We meant to tell you so many times, but the years passed, and it seemed like the queen had forgotten or given up. We were foolish to believe such a thing.”

“She hasn’t forgotten,”

I hiss through my teeth, emotions raging through me.

“She hid her past well. The Order of the Magi was disbanded because of dissension in their own ranks. The death magi wanted to resurrect Fero to bring back magic and power to Oryndhr. The queen was biding her time until they found you and King Zarek was dead.”

“I believe she murdered him,”

I muse aloud, “under the cover of the Dahaka attack.”

“I suspect the same.”

“Amma? How much do you know of the prophecy? I met a diviner who told me that I would be the host for the twin god. But the queen said that Javed would be. Which is it?”

“I don’t know, my love,”

she says. “Elonian prophecies have always been open to interpretation.”

“She said that Javed has to consummate our marriage and take my heart,”

I say. “What does that mean, besides the obvious?”

“A Starkeeper is the ultimate sacrifice to Fero, but if Javed lays claim to you and the akasha in your precious lifeblood, he can command a god’s power for his own.”

Amma’s eyes cloud over and then she groans, clutching her side. The groans turn into a series of wet coughs.

Amma is not going to last much longer as a prisoner. And the moment that Javed performs the ritual and gets what he wants, her life will cease to be important. I have to figure out a way to free us before that happens. My fingers graze her brow. “Try to get some rest. I’ll figure this out.”

“Suraya,”

she coughs. “This magic, I don’t know much about it, but from what my sister told me, it straddles the space between the truth and the lie. The space where akasha thrives. Do not let yourself be deceived or you will fall prey to the darkness. Seek the truth.”

I sigh—if only it were so easy. Truth is one of the hardest things to determine.

“Sleep now, sweet Amma. I’ll find you and I’ll bring us home, I promise.”

Moving away, I decide to try to find Roshan, if he is somehow here in Kaldari. It’s possible my magic will stretch that far.

However, as soon as I think his name as I’d done with Amma, I feel something contract sharply in the core of my abdomen. The sensation is like an itch I can’t locate, burrowing under the skin around my navel. My mortal skin.

Gasping, I snap back into myself in the blink of an eye, my supernatural form merging with my physical body, and open my eyes to see a commotion in my room. Laleh is shaking my shoulders, surrounded by a dozen chattering women and an outer circle of guards.

“What are you doing?”

I mumble dully, batting her hands away.

“Oh, thank the maker, you’re awake. They were going to summon the king. I couldn’t bring you out of your trance. I didn’t know what to do.”

“I’m fine. I was meditating, trying to get calm.”

I glance around, my eyes falling on the yards of silky fabric being carried in. “What’s all this?”

“The queen has instructed us to prepare you,”

one of the handmaidens whispers.

I frown. “The wedding is hours away.”

“It’s tradition,”

a cold voice interjects. Everyone drops to the floor as Queen Morvarid sweeps into my room. Dread and terrified silence follow in her wake. She waves a hand and activity resumes, only now there’s an unnatural frenzy to it because of her presence. “Come, child, let us make you a bride.”

I collect myself, watching her warily. Now that I know about her part in my mother’s death, I feel nothing but a bone-deep anger. Laleh has a similar expression of mistrust on her face, and I take her hand in a reassuring squeeze. I’ve never been one to give in to bullies, and I’m not about to do so now. Not for this woman, no matter who she is and who her son is. I am someone to fear, too. “I’m no child and I’d rather get ready on my own,” I say.

Every breath in the room is caught and held. The queen’s gaze swivels to pin me, and I can feel Laleh wither from the sheer force of it. Morvarid has perfected that look for so long that it’s as effective as a hard slap, but I refuse to quail, squaring my shoulders and meeting her stare head-on. My heart thunders against my rib cage, adrenaline and sweet, glorious heat filling me.

I am a Starkeeper. Not the same country girl from the courtyard whom she can coerce and intimidate. My chin juts forward, and darkness roars to life in her eyes. The tension in the room is so thick that no one breathes. They are all waiting for her to punish me. But, of course, I know she won’t.

“It’s an Imperial House tradition,”

she hisses.

“I am not of your house.”

“Out,”

she says, and the room clears faster than it had when Javed had issued a similar command.

I grasp Laleh’s hand, keeping her firmly by my side. Who knows what will happen to her out there because of what she means to me? “She stays.”

“Who do you think you are, you insolent ingrate?”

the queen snarls once we’re alone, her face contorting with rage.

“You know exactly who I am.”

My calm answer makes her mouth tighten, her furious gaze faltering for a second. “You think you can insult me and get away with it?”

“It was not meant as an insult, and if you take it as one, then that falls on you, not me. I simply want to prepare on my own.”

I stare at her pointedly. “Without you.”

“The king will hear of this.”

“And what exactly is your weakling of a son going to do?”

Growing weary of the verbal games, I step forward until we are nearly nose to nose. “I know what you are,”

I say. “And I know what you have done to your poor husband. My special gift allows me to see everything, and I see you. You will pay for your wrongs, Morvarid.”

Her eyes narrow at the deliberate slight in my address, fear slinking into them before it is swallowed up by hate. “Your aunt’s life is on the line. Hers as well,”

she says, pointing to Laleh. “Would you sacrifice them so easily?”

“Hurt either of them, and you’ll get a taste of just what I can do.”

A slap cracks across my face, my head rocketing to the side as pain erupts along the side of my cheek. She stares at me in alarm, not because of what she’s done . . . but at the cool iridescence of my magic that instantly flares to soothe my stinging skin. I smile as the runes on my arms ignite, and her face pales.

With her standing there alone and exposed, a feral thought enters my head. I could offer Javed his mother’s life in exchange for Amma’s. My hands heat with deadly purpose, but the same thing must have occurred to her, because she summons the guards with a frantic shout. As they enter the room, I prepare to take them all out, and then I remember my best friend standing steadfastly at my side.

And Amma.

And Roshan.

My anger recedes while the queen departs in a loud swish of silken clothing. “See that she is ready,”

she barks to the waiting handmaidens.

They filter back into the room, their eyes downcast as if even looking at me means a death sentence will follow. In all likelihood, it could.

“You need to get away from here, Laleh,”

I whisper as the handmaidens run me a scented bath in the adjoining bathing hall. I remember us dreaming about swimming in the palace baths what seems like a hundred years ago and smile sadly.

“How? We’re both trapped.”

I place my lips close to her ear. “If I cause a distraction, you can escape. There’s an underground passageway near the kitchens. Look for a storage room close to the baking hearths, one with grain and flour. It leads to an exit west of the city. Find a weapon, a knife, anything. And if you run into trouble, do what you have to, do you hear me?”

Her expression is fearful. “What about you and Amma?”

“Let me figure that out. Be safe, Laleh. Go, please!”

Eyes stinging, I give her an encouraging push and move to the bath. I pretend to undress and center my energies on the bed in the middle of the adjoining chamber, where I imagine a spark and focus on it. My magic feels full and malleable. I sketch the rune for fire in my mind’s eye until a flame bursts to life. Aran would be so proud.

Laleh’s eyes take in the tiny spire of gray smoke, then meet mine through the doorway, widening with shock that hardens into determination when the blaze takes root, eating away at the cloth and the canopied tapestries.

Pandemonium erupts as the handmaidens run screaming from the burning space and my guards rush in. I look for Laleh, but I don’t see her. With any luck, she’ll escape this hellhole. Calmly undressing myself, I release the tie holding the curtain between the rooms and slip into the scented bathwater. Fire can’t hurt me, not when I’m burning far hotter inside than any meager earthly flame.

In the midst of the uproar, I finish my bath, rubbing the rose oils into my skin and drying myself with heated towels. I am sitting at the mirrored dressing room table pulling a brush through my hair when the king himself storms in.

“What did you do?”

he says, grabbing hold of my upper arm.

“I took a bath as instructed.”

“And the fire in your chamber?”

“There was a fire?”

I ask, eyes wide with false innocence.

“You didn’t hear the screams?”

I keep my face expressionless and my tone mild. “Your mother was in here earlier. She tends to cause that kind of reaction. Why don’t you ask her?”

I smile at him in the mirror. “You do know that the diviners say it’s ill-fated luck to see the bride before the wedding, right?”

I glance pointedly at his fingers biting into my flesh hard enough to leave bruises. “Either way, I’m sure your fawning court won’t approve of such marks on your bride’s skin.”

He drops my arm and turns on his heel, gnashing his teeth. “You did this.”

“From the bath?”

“Your magic,”

he hisses.

“Are you suggesting that I can start fires with my mind?”

I ask sweetly. “Come now, Your Majesty. That is an interesting idea, but I’m sure you’ll agree that one of the servants overturning a lamp is a much better explanation.”

I eye his state of half dress with amusement. “You look nice.”

“You think to jest?”

“I never jest about clothes,”

I state with wide-eyed horror.

His eyes narrow as if he can’t quite decide whether I’m baiting him or being this obtuse on purpose. I swallow the itch to incinerate him as easily as I had the bedclothes and continue brushing my hair. One of the handmaidens rushes forward to assist, and soon she is followed by another and another. His eyes slide over them. “Where’s the other one?”

“Which other one?”

“You know fucking well which one. Your friend with the green hair. Where is she?”

The last three words are a bellow, rage making his face go purple.

I force my eyes to go wide with fright and then brim with tears. “What do you mean? Where’s Laleh? Why is she missing?”

I lay it on thickly, tears spilling down my cheeks. “What did you do? You promised she would be safe!”

At this point, Javed stares at me with such violence that I feel a tiny frisson of alarm. I know that he can’t hurt me—my magic will protect me—but I suddenly understand how much he’s like his mother. Perhaps even worse than the queen mother because he doesn’t have her stony control. He stalks from the room, and I hear him give the order to search the palace from top to bottom or heads will roll. I can only hope that Laleh managed to get out or stays hidden. My stomach churns with dread. Maybe it was a mistake to send her away. If she gets caught, I’ll never forgive myself.

“Clean up this mess and move her to the east tower.”

Javed strides back to me, his fury palpable as the women in the room scatter like ants to do his bidding. “You’ve just lost your aunt her fingers. I’ll cut them off myself.”

All traces of my alarm vanish, and my expression is ice cold as I glare at him. “You won’t touch a hair on her head. You have very little leverage, Majesty. Don’t push me.”

The threat hangs like a blade between us, razor sharp and thirsty for blood. Javed looks like he wants nothing more than to tear me to pieces with his bare hands. Struggling to compose himself, he slams his fist into the wall and curses vilely.

“One way or the other, you’ll pay for this, my foolish bride.”

He bares his teeth. “You have one hour.”

My last hour of freedom.