Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jumping out of a moving carriage isn’t one of my smartest decisions.

The graveled earth is rough—sharp stones cutting through my delicate wedding garments that offer little in the way of padding. There’s no light to guide my path as I thump to a graceless stop, my elbows and knees battered by the unforgiving ground.

But I don’t feel much of anything as I lurch unsteadily to my feet and run in the opposite direction. I don’t feel the wet, warm blood dampening the silk or the sting of abrasions lacerating my exposed skin or the soothing heat of my magic as it begins to heal me. I feel nothing but the blade of betrayal lodged in my back. I trusted him.

You fell in love with him, too.

That admission cuts worse than the stones. Groaning, I stare up into space. The eclipse of the blood moon is no longer visible from this part of the palace, but parts of the ravaged sky are fraught with fire and shadow. Chaos and fury. Morvarid was right. Turns out I don’t know a starsdamned thing about love.

I love you.

I scour the agonized whisper from my brain.

It’s all a fucking lie. I thought Roshan had wanted to help me, but all he’d wanted was to keep my magic close and out of his enemy’s clutches. I’d been a valuable pawn to him—a piece to be played at his whim. I feel the storm start to build in the pit of my stomach. Roshan had once said that my starlight gifts were linked to my emotions, and now as the creature inside shrieks with rage and agony, I feel myself crumbling to its pain.

All I want to do is roar and punish.

Javed. The Scavs. Morvarid’s death magi. Any one of them will do.

Magic drenches my core, flooding through me like wildfire and demolishing anything that resembles reason in its path. Time to let my vengeful beast fly. But first, I have a tower to burn.

I skirt through the gloom of the outer palace walls until I’m near an archway. I look up at the scalloped turrets. They bear flags of different colors depending on their location. Pushing my palms upward, I spear a beam of starlight toward the cupola resting at the peak of the spire. The flags whip in the breeze. Emerald. I’m on the south side of the palace, not that far from the crumbled tower and the maze that leads to the main courtyard.

Good.

The outer quadrant of the palace is deserted but for a few terrified faces peering out of darkened corners of the servants’ quarters. I slip past the stables and then retrace my steps to go inside. I’m in need of some other clothing. These voluminous wedding garments are more of a hindrance than a help. But the stable isn’t empty. An assorted group of servants and groomsmen are huddled in the front stalls. One of them brandishes a rake, while the horses in adjoining stalls nicker restlessly.

“I’m not here to hurt you,”

I say gently. “I need clothes.”

They stare at me with huge orbs for eyes. I’m sure I must look a sight in my half-torn, dirty wedding dress. I slip the heavy embroidered jacket from my shoulders and place it on the ground. It’s a fortune for them. The pearls alone would fetch a huge sum.

“Fair trade,”

I say, watching them confer among themselves. A plump woman nods to the man holding the rake. He gestures to a tack room on my left, and relief fills me. I don’t want to have to hurt any innocents. Only the guilty will burn.

Inside the room, I find several pairs of loose trousers hanging on a peg, along with folded shirts and tunics. They smell clean, but they’re all at least three sizes too big. Then again, anything is better than these useless pieces of silk. I lift one of the shirts from the shelf, and then I catch sight of the burnished leather riding gear hanging nearby. It’s similar to the ensemble the queen had worn when we’d first met in the main courtyard, after Laleh’s veil had decided to make a break for it.

Funny that a piece of cloth made by my best friend had had the right instincts. I should have run, too. Maybe she would be alive still.

My thoughts turn to the smirking gardener from the courtyard who had prevented its escape. In a way, he’d caught me then, too.

And he’d lied. The prince of lies.

He is nothing to you.

With grim purpose, I strip off the tattered remnants of my wedding clothes and pull on leggings and a soft gray tunic. I knot the back so the fit is snug and then pull on the queen’s leathers. Morvarid is obviously much thinner than I am, because it feels like a hardened corset is cutting off all my airways. I loosen the side buckles and suck in a much-needed breath. With the adjustment, I can breathe, and it will keep me from getting an arrow to the chest, so it’ll serve its purpose.

I strap on the wrist cuffs and, lastly, the armored leg coverings. I rummage through the lower shelves of the tack room to find a pair of sturdy boots that fit. Finally, I tuck a knife into my belt. It’s not my dagger, but it will have to do.

A flicker of light catches the edge of my vision, and I swivel, ready to fight, but it’s only my favorite crone sitting in the corner.

“Making a last stand, Vena?”

I ask her.

“Careful, Starkeeper,”

she says in a singsong voice that scratches on my nerves. I’m not in the best mood to deal with any of her over-the-top doggerels. “You tread in the path of the abyss, of the unseen.”

And there she goes.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

I say, spreading my arms wide. “With all your long-winded ramblings? Me to become a master of the star? To take control? Well, that’s what I am doing.”

“No, child, the star masters you.”

She raises a hand, and all the light winks from the room. Except me. I’m glowing, but the glow is tinged with shadows creeping along its edges. Tendrils of smoky ink slither inward like sandworms, poisoning the pearly luminescence of my aura. She sweeps her palm toward me. “If the lie wins, you will be lost. All will be lost.”

“You wanted this,”

I say. “You told me that I would be the bitter, beautiful end.”

She shakes her head sadly. “You are the end. You were created to protect, but you were also made to destroy. As such, you hold the balance in your hands. The fates will bend to your will, as will the stars that guide the heavens.”

“Can you just say what you mean for once?”

I snap, furious.

“All life dies with you.”

More blood on my hands. So much that I’m drenched in it. Sinking like a stone in it. I fall to my knees as a rush of pain stabs me in the center of my chest. Vengeance takes a back seat, and all I can feel is the hollow ache folding in on itself in the middle of my chest where my heart used to be—Laleh’s death, Roshan’s betrayal, my fast-fading hope.

“What’s happening to me?”

I gasp, clutching my breast. “It hurts so much.”

“The most precious things in the world come at a cost.”

“Let me guess, like love?”

“Yes,”

she agrees.

My tears are spilling freely now, making me even angrier. I’d rather feel nothing, to be numb, than to feel this grief wrecking me from the inside out and scraping my soul raw. Love makes you vulnerable. It makes you ache and burn. It makes you yearn for impossible things. And when you don’t get them, you only have yourself to blame for foolishly wishing and hoping for something unattainable in the first place. As much as I loathe Morvarid, she was right. Love makes you fucking weak.

“You’re wrong,”

I choke out. “Love is the lie.”

“Suraya.”

My mother’s voice.

I flinch. “I don’t want to hear what you have to say.”

“You have to let yourself feel. If you don’t it will break you.”

“You can’t break a thing that’s already broken.”

She approaches, and I inhale the scent of peonies. “No, my darling firebird, you are stronger than you think.”

“And you’re wrong. I am letting myself feel,”

I say. “I feel hate, and rage, and pain. I’ll kill Javed and his mother, if she’s still alive with whatever foul power she embodies, and I’ll banish it back to the hole it came from.”

“Don’t give in to the lie, my sweet Suraya, my love. Find the truth. Your truth.”

Strangely, her words echo the conversation Aran and I had had when we’d first met—and his warning that the lie will lead to the path of darkness. I also remember my conviction that I’d never willingly hurt a soul, and yet here I am, heartbeats away from eviscerating anyone who has wronged me. The thought makes me falter, but I grit my teeth. I don’t care. Javed and his mother deserve their fate. So do the Scavs.

It’s not their fault, either.

I banish that voice of reason and empathy, too.

“You know, Vena, I’m starting to think that you are the lie.”

I turn to the vision with my mother’s face, feeling a blessed numbness taking over. I welcome the clarity that the darkness brings. “Now begone, crone, unless you want front-row seats to your mouthful of a prophecy.”

With a sad bow, my mother fades from view. “As you wish, Starkeeper.”

I feel a twinge of a barbed emotion buried deep within my chest—regret that I’ve disappointed her, perhaps—but I don’t dwell on it. It’s time I started making use of this magic of mine. It’s time I became what I was destined to be.

A weapon of the gods. One I’ll wield as I see fit.

Vibrating with restless energy, I depart the stables and cut through the maze toward the palace. The space is a warren, but I take each turn with confidence. Something else is leading me now—a compulsive, soul-blistering need for revenge. If the fates bend to my will, then my enemies will be in for a sorry reckoning.

I’m so intent on getting to my destination that I don’t see the barricade of Scavs until it’s too late. I run smack into Vogon, and as his familiar, pungent odor fills my nostrils, I smile with vicious relish. I even allow the runecasters that I recognize from his war room to cast some kind of runic net around me that secures my arms to my sides. I’m not afraid. Jādū is powerful, but nothing can compare with the raw, infinite energy of akasha surging through my veins that will break these bonds like spider thread. “General, I’d hoped to find you.”

His turns to me. “Your presence is required.”

“Is it?”

I drawl. “Because I’m kind of sick and tired of being summoned.”

To prove my point, I flick a hand, envisioning the rune to pulverize, and the dozen or so Scavs to my right explode into blazing, blood-flaked ash. “Sorry, about that. I’m still getting the hang of which finger gets the best result.”

I peer up at him. He hasn’t batted an eyelash at the loss of his men. Then again, they’re all disposable.

“You can come quietly or kicking and screaming, your choice,” he says.

“I prefer kicking and more kicking.”

I wriggle against the magical shackles and purse my lips. “Tell me, Vogon, are you on Jade now? You seem so lucid.”

He doesn’t respond, so I continue my cheerful one-sided conversation. “You’re Elonian, which means you know what I can do, so why don’t you allow me to pass, and we’ll let bygones be bygones?”

He stares at me, mute, and huge, and impassive. I widen my eyes. “Well, if you’re not going to be any fun, then there’s no point in me being nice, is there?”

He lifts one hand, and I sense a handful of projectiles flying through the air toward me. My magic flares outward, runes of protection and defense igniting on my body as I catch one of the arrows in midair. The rest of them combust ineffectually against the white-hot aura pulsing off my skin.

“Is that it?”

I taunt, and snap the arrow shaft in half with a dismissive sound. “Seriously, Vogon, haven’t you been listening? You can’t stop me, and to be honest, I respected you because you were all ruthless cannibal overlord and stuff, but now you’re starting to wear on my nerves.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of running that mouth of yours?”

a familiar voice cuts in from behind us.

“It’s my weapon of choice against toxic masculinity,”

I say brightly, turning to see my precious betrothed with a small contingent of guards at his flanks. I notice his burn scars are once again covered by an ornate mask, only this one is made of onyx and gold. “Oh, hello, almost husband. A little bird told me that your cowardly self managed to evade your captors. Where’s Mommy dearest? Please tell me she’s dead.”

The king’s lips flatten, but he doesn’t lose his sneer. “Waiting for the guest of honor.”

“Oh, my sweet summer stars, is that me?”

Those pale eyes narrow. “You think to joke?”

“It’s a little funny, admit it.”

I gather my magic, feeling it swirl powerfully to my fingertips. “Kind of sad that no one will mourn your death, Javed. Except for your egg donor, and that will last all of one minute before she joins you.”

“Now!”

The command is from the Scav general.

I stare as four huge crossbows loaded with bolts marked with ice runes appear in the midst of the Scavs, all pointed toward me. I crook an amused eyebrow.

The crossbows fire as I raise my arms high, summoning my power . . . but the surge of magic never comes. An ice-white glow surrounds me, rendering me immobile. Frost spreads over my skin and catches on my eyelashes, dusting them in white.

“What is this?”

I say, struggling to feel anything at all. The first flickers of alarm fill me as even my breath slows in my lungs.

“The Scavs call it a runic web,”

Javed explains, walking forward, his sneer more confident now. “Jādū isn’t just for blades and bows; it can work wonders with the right runes. Remember my azdaha? This is how I trapped it and brought it down. It’s a big old fishing net, and we’ve caught the biggest fish of all.”

“Your tricks won’t hold me for long,”

I bite out, feeling my magic start to heat. “Ice is no match for me.”

“I know,”

he says, “which is why we brought this.”

My eyes widen at the huge syringe in his hand with a thin needle as long as my finger. The plunger is filled with a viscous, opalescent fluid that makes me crave it and hate it in the same breath. “Now try not to move a muscle, sweeting. I won’t lie—this is going to fucking hurt.”

True to his word, the last thing I feel is the excruciating stab of the needle plunging into the inner corner of my right eye and the glorious dissipation of Jade into my bloodstream.

* * *

When I come to, my eyeball is throbbing and my vision is blurred, but I feel vibrantly, deliciously alive. Of course, because I’m fucking stoned out of my mind. With a grunt, I detect the toxin in my system, but the poison running through my body is potent—much headier than the first time I’d been dosed. I can’t seem to hold a single thought for longer than a heartbeat. The sweet lassitude fills my veins, making me feel blissfully languid. My senses are dulled but functioning. Barely. Whatever dose they’d given me had packed enough punch to fell a full-grown elephant.

Blinking, I struggle to get my bearings. I’m in a wide room with huge marble statues—a temple?—lying on a wide stone altar with my arms and legs bound. The sound of more chanting—by all the cursed gods, am I sick of chanting—fills the air, and I fasten my stare on a group of Elonian mystics in Fomalhaut robes eerily similar to the ones who had been in the tower with Morvarid. Hadn’t they been crushed? Maybe they’d survived like the vermin they are.

“The ritual must be completed before the sun rises.”

A female voice pierces the haze.

My brain feels peculiar, unable to process information as it normally would, but then the woman who had spoken comes into view. Morvarid, the death magi queen. How in Droon is she alive? My mind tries to keep up with my frantic thoughts, trying to make my unresponsive body act.

Get up get up get up. Fight flee fight flee.

“What about the marriage rites?”

A male voice this time. Familiar. I recognize those obsequious tones. Javed.

Blearily, I try to focus on him, taking in the masked cheek and striking eyes. He’s the half brother of the other prince. Warmth gathers in my chest as another face forms in my head—the prince with the intense gold-flecked brown eyes and disarming smile. The feeling fades as strands of memory curl around the image—betrayal and bitter lies, shared confidences and laughter, friendship and love twined with virulence and pain.

Snatches of conversation slam through my thoughts.

Not every woman wants to be rescued by some prince. Perhaps she’ll rescue herself.

I thought every woman dreamed of being rescued by a prince?

Was it all a lie?

No. Please, you have to trust me.

I love you.

“It’s too late for that,”

the queen says. “We have less than an hour. Dawn is fast approaching.”

My gaze drifts to the nearest window, and sure enough, I can see the palest shimmer of light creeping across the black velvet carpet of the night sky. There’s nothing else out there but darkness. The stars have forsaken me. Or maybe the reverse is true—I’ve deserted them. I’ve killed the stars.

“Should we wake her?”

Javed asks.

“She’s already awake.”

“Good of you to join us, beloved,”

Javed says, looming over me. “How’s the eye?”

My bark of laughter is a weak puff of air that scrapes my throat. Beloved? He wouldn’t know love if it branded him on the ass. “How’s your face?”

I mumble back. “Want me to make both sides match?”

He rears back and slaps me, but I barely feel it.

Save yourself, Starkeeper, find your truth.

The command is razor sharp and urgent, reminding my fogged brain that I’m far from powerless. If I can get my shit together. I bite my lip hard and begin the arduous process of quietly flushing my body from crown to toe.

After a few agonizing moments, the smog in my head starts to fade, and the room comes into clearer focus. I look down beyond the altar, a sudden wave of nausea making me shudder.

A crimson four-pointed star—a symbol of the four elements with the glyph for akasha at its center—has been painted around the stone slab in what looks like blood. Two vertical incisions along my forearms confirm that it’s mine. No wonder my body feels so weak—I’ve been drained of blood, too.

Javed props himself on his elbows on the stone, a leer on his lips as if reading my mind. “Not so mouthy now, are you?”

My eyes flick past him as three men are escorted into the chamber—I instantly recognize one of them. Covered in blood, his body slumping against his captors, Roshan has been thrashed within an inch of his life.

Javed follows my gaze and grins, signaling for the guard holding his brother to come closer. “He came for you. Offered himself as a trade. Did you know my cunning little brother is the commander of the Dahaka? Too bad he didn’t know that there’s no choice. You have to be sacrificed so a god can be born.”

Pushing off the altar, Javed shoves Roshan’s chin upward. Glazed brown eyes meet mine, the emotion in them making my bones ache as Javed’s face twists with malice. “I want you to watch, brother, when Fero swallows her soul.”

My tongue feels thick, but I force the words from my mouth. “You think when Fero takes over, he will spare you?”

“I am the king.”

“And he is immortal.”

I inhale a shuddering breath, my voice weak. “Javed, if your mother performs the ritual, it will be the end of the world as we know it, ushering in an era so dark that nothing good will survive. Is that what you want?”

“It will be my legacy.”

Releasing his brother, his fingers reach out to stroke my cheek. “Be silent. It will all be over soon.”

The chanting grows louder, and Morvarid approaches me.

Her eyes roll back in her head as red-hued darkness flickers in the air between us, flaking from her body like an extra layer of skin. I recoil in horror, struggling feebly against my bonds, my entire body wanting to distance myself from her and those blood-touched embers.

In response to my panic, my starlight sparks and flares outward, and I feel the metal clasps securing me to the altar melt. Groaning, I yank my arms up and teeter on the edge of the stone slab.

The effort nearly makes me pass out. I fight to stay conscious, but the combination of the Jade and the loss of blood undermines what little strength I do have. I might have colossal star magic in my veins, but my body is still all too human.

The crimson-laced obsidian flickers fall faster, melding together, coalescing in the shape of a faceless, spindly man, his limbs and torso framed with smoke.

This creature’s essence . . . feels oily. I don’t know if this is Fero, but I can sense the malevolent power radiating from the mass like a palpable force. It may be made of swatches of darkness, but its poisonous aura is revoltingly real. Fear tastes like sour bile in my mouth.

With all my strength, I shove off the altar and try to summon more of my magic, but it’s as though the burst before was all I could manage. I feel it inside of me, but I’m too sluggish and weak to wield it. Fucking Jade!

“Secure her,”

Morvarid orders. “Begin.”

Rough hands drag me back onto the altar. I forget about escape as slimy touches creep up my limbs, slithering their way around my body until I’m shrouded in a membrane of oil. It settles on top of me and penetrates, slowly at first and then all at once. Every nerve in my body braces for it, the stink of decay filling my nostrils as tiny spikes burrow under my skin, tunneling below flesh and gorging their way through bone and marrow.

Scream after scream echoes around me, until I realize that the gutted sounds are coming from me. I’m screaming.

“The dagger, Javed,”

the queen says. “You must be the one to complete the ritual. Pierce her heart, command her soul, and the power will be yours.”

Find your truth, Suraya.

A sob escapes me. The pain is excruciating. I don’t know what my truth is.

The truth is what is real. Open your eyes, forget revenge, and release your anger. The truth is wisdom, love, hope, beauty, light.

Vena? Never have I wished for her flowery ramblings more. I’m so afraid and so lost. I need help. How? I whimper.

Choose to serve instead of to rule. Therein lies your fate.

My mother’s face fills my visions, and I feel her strength. It’s not enough. I can’t do it.

You can. Reject the lie.

Clarity is slow to come, like the shifting sands on a calm day. One grain can topple a whole dune. I’ve been swayed by the lie. The one that corrupts and taints. It breaks from within, stealing control and spreading doubt and insecurity. It’s the thief of joy. I’ve let others steal my power from me.

But I am not powerless.

I am a single flicker of light in a dark sky. Resilient and resistant. I float in the midst of chaos. My peace is within my grasp—I only have to be brave enough to reach for it. A whisper of courage beats in my chest. Rediscovering my truths is a simple series of steps. What are they? What are the things that ground me?

Family. Friendship. Forging weapons. Reading. Stories with Mama. My beautiful desert home. Baths. Books. Amma. Papa.

Laleh, my best friend, whose soul is soaring high. Whose smile could light the world.

Clem, who saved my life more than once.

Roshan . . . who came for me even when I chased him away.

Forgive, forgive, forgive.

Peace blankets my soul like a salve. I can feel the shadow recoil and then renew its attack. Gritting my teeth, I fill my heart with images of my life. With love and joy. Memories fire in my brain and I bask in them, feeling hope and laughter fill me until the tendrils of darkness wither and withdraw. I feel my soul start to flicker with life—to shine like the star it is. The inky shape shrinks to hover above me like a noxious cloud, and I can taste its malevolence. It wants my anger and my rage. It wants pain, violence, and hate. It wants to consume.

But darkness can never thrive where light burns.

My fragile concentration falters as Javed rises above me, his mouth a rictus, a curved blade poised right above my heart.

“It’s time, Starkeeper,”

the king croons.

Runes on my arms brighten in defense . . . but the runic net nulls them.

Fuck, I’m going to die in the middle of the most epic epiphany of all time.

Shouts fill the room, and a low whine cuts through the air. I scream as a force slams into Javed’s body with a wet thwack. His arm drops limply and his body crumples, and I see an arrow protruding from the left side of his chest.

There’s no way he could have survived a shot at such close range—but someone isn’t taking any chances. The earth rune on the arrow ignites, and I look away as his rib cage cracks in half. Morvarid lets out a shriek of agony that rings in my ears as the Scavs pour in, plunging their weapons into the surrounding mystics and palace guards.

“What are you doing, Vogon?”

the queen screams.

“Taking what is mine,”

the general says, striding over to Javed’s fractured body to retrieve the blade in his dead hands. “I, too, know the prophecy. He who claims the Starkeeper’s heart becomes the hand of the gods.”

“You killed my son.”

An enraged Morvarid flies toward him, dagger raised.

My dagger, I realize painfully. The one she’d murdered Laleh with.

Mayhem ensues as steel clashes against steel, Kaldarians against Scavs, and for a moment, the ritual is stalled. Magic from the jādū weapons salts the air. Bodies ice over and are lit with flame, lightning sparking and more cracks fissuring through people and along the floor. I push upright and swallow a burst of nausea. I’m still hampered by the unholy amounts of Jade swimming in my veins.

Gingerly, I slide off the altar and crawl toward Roshan, who is slumped where Javed had left him. He’s still alive, though barely. His chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. The sentry who had been securing him lies staring up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, half his skull missing. Grunting, I drag Roshan’s body to the hollow space beneath the stone platform. He’ll be safest there. All around us bodies are falling in the conflict, Scavs and guards alike.

“Wake up,”

I whisper harshly. “Damn it, Roshan, wake the fuck up! This is no time to play Sleeping Beauty!”

“So no kiss then?”

Lips tipping upward, his eyes flutter open, and the hint of amusement in me dies at what I see there. Instead of teasing, they’re filled with so much pain that my eyes well. “I’m so sorry, Sura. Didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know. Just hold on.”

I search his broken body, seeing him flinch as I brush his cracked ribs. Peeling the blood-soaked material away from his torso, I blanch. Even I can tell that the wound on his belly is a fatal one. He’s lost far too much blood already.

Trembling fingers reach up to brush my temple. “I know you don’t believe me, but I think I fell for you from the beginning. The moment you stared me down outside the palace. Those fierce, storm-cloud eyes of yours did me in.”

He wheezes a laugh and groans in the same breath. “My fate was sealed from that very first day.”

My eyes sting. “Don’t talk. Save your strength. I’ll get us out of here somehow.”

“It’s too late for me.”

“No—”

I shake my head, but he presses his fingers against my mouth, stalling the words tumbling out.

“I’ve been at war a long time, Suraya. I know about wounds.”

No matter how sad I am that he didn’t trust me enough, I don’t want him to die. “Don’t you get it? I won’t let you die.”

I lean close, brushing his forehead with mine. “I restarted your heart once before. I can do it again.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the Dahaka. Or who I was.”

I swallow my residual flicker of hurt. “It doesn’t matter.”

He nods, grimacing. “It does. I trust you with my life. I need you to know that.”

A glower gathers on his brow. “How did Javed get you?”

“Jade and some runic web that’s inhibiting my magic somehow. I can still feel it pushing in on me.”

“Can I help?”

“No, I just need you to rest and stay alive.”

I prop him against the stone slab and press his hand to his wound. “Keep pressure on it and promise you won’t die on me. I’m going to end this once and for all. And when I’m done, you’re going to have to come up with some really great, inventive, sexy ways to make all this up to me.”

He forces a weak smile. “When did you get so bossy?”

“I was always bossy.”

I grin. “You were just too infatuated to notice my obvious character flaws.”

“I meant what I said, you know.”

His soft words sound like goodbye. Despite everything, despite the fact that he broke my heart, I swallow past the lump in my throat, refusing to entertain the possibility that this might be it, and meet his eyes. “Tell me again later when this is over.”

I square my shoulders and stand, feeling renewed purpose coursing through my body. For the first time, I feel alive. Not with magic, but with the force of my humanity.

My gaze finds Morvarid standing over the body of Vogon, a saber in one hand and my dagger clutched in the other, both dripping with his blood.

I bare my teeth. “That’s my fucking dagger.”

She lifts it and licks the blood-covered blade. “Mine, now.”

“Let’s finish this,”

I growl, crouching to grab the closest weapons—two mismatched swords. I hook a thumb toward the window at the rapidly lightening sky. “Looks like you don’t have much time.”

Snarling with fury, she meets me in a shower of sparks as her saber collides with one of mine, the impact ricocheting up my arm. I narrowly miss being skewered in the skull by my own dagger, but weave to the side at the last moment. Still, a lock of my hair falls to the ground. She’s a skilled fighter, if the dead Scav general is any indication. Retreating out of her range, I glance down at the ordinary swords. Jādū blades would have been better. My magic, even more so.

But I have neither . . . only the skills my father taught me.

I dodge a vicious lunge, moving out of the way as she comes at me, mirroring me step for step. I parry a thrust, and my right sword flicks out of my grip, flying overhead. Sands, she’s good. Or maybe I’m just out of practice.

Switching hands with my remaining weapon, I nearly trip over a dead Scav, and she presses the advantage, her saber winging across my thigh. I wince at the bite of the blade as I attempt to scramble beyond the reach of her second strike with the dagger. This time I’m not fast enough. The edge catches my forearm.

Fires of Droon, that fucking hurt!

I almost laugh. My own blade drawing my blood. But I don’t feel any magic from it. As I think that, a slight glow lights up the runes I’d carved . . . the symbol of the stars for me and the moon for my mother. The star magic won’t hurt me, though the blade is still razor sharp.

“Careful, Starkeeper,”

she croons, raising the tip to her lips and running her tongue greedily across the flat of it, this time lapping up my blood. “Don’t want to lose too much of this precious elixir. I need that heart of yours beating.”

I bare my teeth. “If you want my heart, magi, come and get it!”

Screaming, she charges me again, saber spinning blindingly fast as I awkwardly parry her strokes. I can barely hold my own, and my adrenaline is starting to wane. I stumble a couple times, my vision blurring. I keep the altar between us, knowing it won’t be long before she claims the advantage. But all I have to do is hold out for the dawn.

“So valiant, yet all for naught,”

she taunts. “And now we will finish what we started. The power of Fero will make my son rise again.”

“Your son is cracked in half,”

I say. “Nothing’s going to bring him back.”

Her smile makes my blood curdle. “You know nothing, child.”

“That may be, but at least my parents loved me,”

I say. She thrusts at me again, but instead of fighting with blades, I fight with words. “You delivered your only son to his death. What kind of mother does that make you?”

A muscle jerks in her cheek as her eyes turn red with rage. Her first sign of weakness. She fumbles, blade driving into the stone and falling from her hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that Roshan has crawled away from the altar, a crossbow in hand. A trail of blood follows in his wake. Lifting the weapon, he groans at the effort, and I cry out, distracted for a second. It’s all Morvarid needs. Leaping over the slab, she knocks the remaining sword out of my hands and plunges the dagger into my side. I scream at the agony spearing through me as I feel the sharp tip scrape bone.

“Shoot her,”

I cry out, but Roshan shakes his head.

“Do it,”

I scream. “You can’t let her finish the ritual.”

Morvarid’s eyes glitter with triumph, just as something buckles on the far side of the room, and a rush of power surges like a flood within me. A second twang echoes through the air. Oddly, I’m growing stronger by the second, and I realize what Roshan has done. Instead of shooting her, he has eliminated the Scav weapons binding me. He aims for the third as Morvarid sends her fallen sword spinning through the air.

Her aim is true as the blade slams into his shoulder and pins him to the wall. With a soft cry, his weakened body goes limp.

“Roshan!”

“Time for you to join him, useless little firebird,”

she snarls, twisting the dagger still lodged into my side. I feel it pierce my flesh and slide between my ribs, reaching for my heart as the specter of Fero swirls like a hungry beast between us.

White dots cloud my vision as blood pours from the gash at my side, but the power billowing inside my body is gaining by the second, my magic desperately focused on healing my half-broken body. I’m nearly unconscious, but I grab Morvarid’s wrist, forcing her back with shaking hands.

Her eyes meet mine with hatred in them. “Impossible.”

“I’m not just a firebird. I’m human, too, and where there’s hope, there’s always a way.”

With the last of my physical strength, I heave the blade I’d forged so long ago from my side. “It’s over, Morvarid. You lose. The dawn is here.”

“I’ll kill you first,”

she snarls. Morvarid’s hands reach for my throat, and I call upon the rune I’d painstakingly carved, seeing my pretty blade illuminate, the imbued jādū glistening with starlight and steel. “What is that rune?”

she demands.

“My rune,”

I rasp. “And my mother’s. Go fuck yourself.”

And then I plunge it right into her dark heart. Mouth agape in a soundless scream, as white light explodes in a shower of sparks around us, she slumps over me, and it’s all I can do not to collapse.

Sensing my vulnerability, the blood-red shadow flies toward us, ready to devour me in the last seconds of night. I throw my dimmed magic up and out with a plea to Vena and my mother or anyone else listening.

It’s a miracle as the first rays of the sun’s light shimmer across the brightening dawn sky, and I hear the shadow let out a keening wail. It fades and shrivels before my eyes, consumed to crimson dust motes as light pierces its smoky hide. Within seconds, it slinks away and disappears, winking into nothing but burnt embers, banished by the dawn.

I whisper my fervent thanks. Then I crawl over to Roshan, yank the saber from his shoulder, and cradle his limp body in my arms. His eyes are closed and he isn’t moving.

“Roshan?”

There’s no response. I press my hands to his cool, clammy forehead and then to his chest. Nothing. No heartbeat, no breath.

“You promised you wouldn’t die on me,”

I weep softly. “You have to live, do you hear me? Your people need you to. I need you to.”

But it’s no use and I know it. His body sags like a deadweight against my side. The pain comes in full force then. He can’t die, not now, not after everything.

I close my eyes, feeling my magic humming inside of me. Roshan had saved me. He’d saved countless women and children in Nyriell and across Oryndhr. He’d saved everyone from what I would have become.

He of all who had died deserves the most to live.

He has to live.

I press my hands over his temples and force my gathering magic to flow out of me into him. An ethereal glow surrounds us both, and I hold him close, willing my rallying life force to heal his. I’d give every last drop of magic up for him. Our glow brightens impossibly, turning into the vibrant colors of the desert sky as we burn hot and fierce. My strength gathers with each beat of my heart, and I wrap my arms about him, keeping him safe as my heart goes supernova, surrounding us in magic, hope, and stardust.

A star will die and another will be reborn.

I brush the hair from Roshan’s beautiful face, tracing his eyelids, that teasing mouth, his noble nose, and that obstinate jaw. I never got to tell him how I felt. How very much I love him, too. “Live, please,”

I whisper, kissing him. “Live.”

The light ebbs, but still I pour myself into him until there is nothing more to give. Pressing my lips to his, I imagine I feel a soft waft of breath, but it’s only mine, feathering lightly against his mouth. I push until my heart slows—willing his to beat in its stead. And then I close my eyes, and everything becomes so quiet and still that I swear I can hear the whisper of his voice telling me he loves me.

But it’s only the sound of my breath being expelled for the last time.