by J. A. Comley
“Not really. There are so many,” she said, moving past the bejewelled brooches over to the display beside them.
There, she found a small brooch shaped like a bird in flight. The bird seemed to be carved from a purple-blue stone. Emblazoned on the bird's chest was a shining, gold star.
“I like this one but I can't read the price tag. I can find another if this one—” Starla trailed off at the look on the High Lord's face: surprise, bound by sheer concentration, and in his eyes, mistrust blossomed, hard and cold. Come to think of it, the shopkeeper had a very similar look on her face.
The High Lord swept his gaze from the brooch to Starla and back. “Of all the brooches in the store, why that one?” he bit out, eyes hard.
Confused by his cold tone, Starla put the brooch back, hating the way her hand shook. “You asked me if I found anything I liked. That one caught my eye. Obviously it shouldn't have. I'll pick another.”
“No.” Spinning to the shopkeeper, he quickly handed over the correct change, seeming to magic it from thin air, scooped up the brooch, and strode out of the store, Starla hastening to follow.
“Are you going to tell me what's wrong with the brooch?” Starla asked as the High Lord led the way towards a small restaurant three streets from the brooch store. He was reminding her of the Guardians, not willing to tell her things and then getting angry when she did something against their unspoken rules. “Please, High Lord, your reaction makes no sense to me.”
His brow furrowed, taking her in through narrowed eyes. Whatever he found in her face made his own clear.
“Please sit,” he said, offering Starla a chair.
Starla tried to regain her balance as his voice came out smooth and calm again. “Thank you,” she managed, taking the seat and trying to think clearly as his hand brushed against her neck when he moved away.
Taking the chair opposite, he waved the trembling waiter away before placing the brooch on the table between them. “Do you know what this is?”
Feeling slightly amused by his intensity over a simple brooch, Starla shook her head. “No, I don't. I mean, obviously it is a bird of some kind, but that wouldn't explain your reaction to it.”
Larkel watched her silently for a moment, seeming to try and decide whether to believe her or not. Finally, Starla heaved a sigh. “You can use one of your truth beams if it will speed this along.”
The High Lord seemed to debate the idea for a moment before casting it aside. Starla held back a wry smile. She guessed that if he was going to get her to trust him, then he would have to trust her too. At least a little.
“No, sorry. It's just very strange that out of hundreds of brooches, you'd pick the one you're named for.”
Starla felt her surprise override all her other thoughts, widening her eyes and stealing her breath away. “What?”
The High Lord gave a quiet chuckle, some of the ice melting. “You really didn't know. This is called a starla. They are pretty impressive birds. The males have golden inner feathers that they display for courting and the females all have that gold star on their chests. This brooch is carved from one of their eggshells. They are made of a special substance, unique and very rare. See how it seems to capture, rather than reflect, the light? It is quite a rarity to be able to get an eggshell in decent enough condition to forge it into anything.”
Starla picked up the brooch and ran her thumb over the bird she was apparently named for.
So my parents must have been here at some point. Or were from here. Again, the growing possibility that she was from here rose inside her like a choking vine. If she wasn't human, would they let her return home? Suddenly, something else he said took hold.
“Very rare? I didn't want anything costly.” She trailed off as the High Lord chuckled again, the sound captivating.
“No need to worry yourself,” he said, accepting the menus the waiter had dashed forwards with before the High Lord's fingers had moved more than a centimetre in his direction.
Starla resisted the urge to shake her head. It didn't matter. It was already done. She only hoped that whatever was left of the king’s allowance for getting her properly outfitted would still cover clothes. She made a point to turn her mind back to her initial plans for the day as she curiously glanced around.
“You never did explain to me how the High Commander could be in her sixties or seventies when she looks like she's in her twenties,” she said, trying to lighten the mood as the waiter stood attentively nearby awaiting more summons, still visibly trembling.
Three other people, eager for breakfast, began to approach the restaurant before swiftly veering off-course as they noticed the High Lord, their eyes filled with fear.
Why do they fear him so?
It seemed a similar fear the refugees had held when they first arrived at the chapel. Fear that if they lingered, or were spotted by the wrong person, death would follow swiftly.
The High Lord didn't move, but the tense set to his shoulders told her that he had noticed their reactions, too. But when he replied, his voice was light, devoid of the dark shadow in his eyes.
“Oh, actually the Commander is over a thousand years old,” he said, no doubt remembering her astonishment during the trial. “Galatians may look similar to humans, but we age differently, from what I have studied. The people of Trianon live for many thousands of years, usually about five or six thousand years. Makhi, and the other magically gifted, live a little longer because our magic is constantly healing our bodies, say seven or eight thousand years.”
Starla did her best to absorb the idea of living for so long but knew her mind had failed.
“So how old are you?” Starla asked, chiding herself as question brought a tightening to her abdomen.
He may be intelligent and attractive, but he is unknown. I need to be sure my instincts are right.
The High Lord laughed. “I'm a baby by Galatian terms. I'm only thirty-six.”
Starla cocked her head to the side. The laugh had been warm but had made the waiter jump in fright. She felt a sudden urge to keep the High Lord from noticing the man's reaction.
“But if the Commander is a thousand, yet looks twenty, shouldn't you look like a child at only thirty-six?”
He flashed his teeth, seeming impressed by her question. “We seem to age on par with humans until we are about eighteen. Then the ageing process slows. The feeling is quite strange.”
Sighing inwardly, Starla knew now that she couldn't be Galatian. She had aged perfectly normally since her eighteenth birthday, with no 'strange feelings' occurring. She frowned as she realised that she didn't know if the sigh was one of relief or regret.
Wanting to conceal her reaction, she looked down and pinned her shawl in place, the starla soaring over her heart. She glanced up at the High Lord, who appeared to be lost in thought, his eyes out of focus.
Talking to his Makhi, no doubt, Starla thought, fighting down feelings of embarrassment at her earlier naivete.
Scooping up her menu, Starla turned her thoughts to getting breakfast, then looked up apologetically and interrupted his mental discussion.
“Oh, sorry.” The High Lord quickly tapped the menu and Starla watched, amazed, as the letters re-arranged themselves into more familiar shapes.
“Thank you.”
He nodded vaguely, eyes shifting out of focus again.
She perused the menu in silence for a while, trying to decide what questions she thought safe to ask the man sitting across from her. It was refreshing to think that unlike most of the men of Arreau, the High Lord seemed eager to encourage her curiosity.
“See anything you want?” the High Lord asked, his deep voice interrupting Starla's utter confusion.
“Honestly, I don't know what any of these things are,” she admitted, just as a familiar one caught her eye. “Wait, the fruit platter sounds safe enough, but what are gano?”
“You’ll see. The fruit platter is a sharing option, so if you don’t like them, I’ll take them.”
“Oh, but I didn’t mean—”
The High Lord waved away her concern, summoning the waiter and ordering a platter. “I was leaning towards that option, myself.”
Starla offered him a small smile, then watched his fade as his eyes lost focus for a moment.
“The streets still seem very quiet. What time is it?” Starla said, looking around as he came back to himself.
“Seven,” the High Lord said, consulting a flat disc he removed from his pocket. “As for the quiet, well, that is partially my fault.”
Starla blushed as she realised he meant his ordering the Makhi to find her.
“And partially mine. I am sorry for causing such a commotion. I wasn't thinking.”
“It's done. I should have told you. Then you would have known not to disappear.” He smiled again. He seemed to do that a lot when they were talking. “Besides, the people, everyone, have become overly wary. This war—” he sighed deeply as the waiter approached.
Starla had caught the High Lord's look of deep sadness and anger when he mentioned the war.
The High Lord took both bowls from the waiter and the man scurried away. Accepting her filled bowl from Larkel, Starla determined to be more careful about how she acted. She had always been a kind, considerate person and being on a different planet wouldn't change that. She was smart enough to avoid causing another disruption to the lives of the people here.
She turned to the bowl's contents, fork poised, and felt her mind go blank.
The High Lord burst out in genuine laughter, a deep, rich sound that seemed to flood her chest with warmth, even as it startled the waiter.
“It isn't poisonous,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Starla stopped poking at the things he had put in her bowl from the platter. “Perhaps you could tell me about these foods?”
“Sure,” he said, truly smiling for the first time. Something about the movement seemed uncertain, or maybe he was just out of practice. She remembered the flash of deep anger and sorrow. How long had it been since he had a reason to laugh or smile? “These red balls are shanebury nut clusters.” He sliced one in half and showed her the bright-green interior, to which several reddish nuts clung. “The orange triangles are called Fengi's blue spot. If you peel off the hard skin, the inside is transparent, with a blue dot, its seed, at the centre,” he continued, demonstrating. “They are quite sweet, too. Lastly are those small, purple spirals. They're called pixtal twirls. They are sour and, I'll admit, my favourite.”
He scooped two things which looked like balls of bread and placed them on her side plate. He sliced one open to reveal dozens of embedded seeds. “These are gano. They act as a nice, savoury counter to the fruit.”
While he explained her breakfast to her, Starla was again taken by the same sensation that she had had last night and earlier this morning. The feeling that this man was completely trustworthy, and a good person. She had seen the hard ice of his eyes melt a little as he laughed. He didn't seem so terrifying, at all. Yet Starla knew, now, that he was charged with watching her, with trying to find out how and why she was here. And she knew that she had no way of being completely sure that he wasn't just a really good liar. Everyone else seemed so fearful of him. And behind his back, that fear turned to hatred. The Guardians had said he was hated and feared, yet Starla had no way of knowing whether that reputation was deserved.
Not yet, she thought, determined to uncover the truth.
“Any other questions?” he asked softly, and Starla quickly smoothed her brow.
She looked at him then said, “Where I'm from, positions of power are usually held by elders elected for their knowledge or by blood. How did you become High Lord at such a young age?”
A dozen different emotions crossed his face before he answered, and Starla hoped she hadn't offended him.
“The High Lord is, by law, the most powerful Makhi in Trianon. Part of my job is to deter any other Makhi from rebelling and trying to seize power. That would be hard to do if they could overcome me with ease. But I alone do not control the Order. We have a Council of Elders made up of our oldest and most distinguished members. They are responsible for seeing to most of the day-to-day running of the Order and are the foundation of any and all decisions.” He paused, but she nodded, showing that she was following his words. “The mental connection I have is also very helpful. It allows me to immediately access any older Makhi's knowledge about a subject I may not be as well-versed in.”
“And your magic? Do you have to learn more complex spells or …?” Starla shrugged, unsure of how to finish the question.
He tilted his head sideways as if trying to decide if she was genuinely interested or just making conversation. Or perhaps he was simply curious as to why the functioning of his magic was of interest to her.
“Each Makhi is born with a set store of magic that replenishes continually to its maximum. The use of it is mostly instinctual, which is why children are made to join the Order as soon as they first display the aptitude. The more I learn, the better I can become at complex spells, but if you can keep your mind calm and focused, it is a relatively easy matter to direct your magic as intended. That sort of basic control is usually achieved within a decade or two.”
Starla felt a vague flash of discomfort as she remembered how she had managed to enter his head at the hearing just by focusing on wanting to know what he was thinking. But no, she didn't have magic, unless Gaby had granted her a boon, or the amulet was working through her. She was human.
“I hope you are enjoying your breakfast,” he smiled, popping a pixtal twirl into his mouth.
“Thank you,” Starla said, smiling back at him and peeling a fengi. “Mmm. This tastes almost like a fig.”
“A fig?” Larkel enquired, eyes showing his confusion but also a desire to know more. “Is that a fruit from Earth?”
“Yes,” she said, laughing and noting his eyes brightening at the sound. He watched her emerald eyes travel across his face and shifted in his chair, seeming to subconsciously hide most of the scars from her view. Starla noted his discomfort and looked back at her bowl, selecting a nut cluster. His scars did not bother her, but she didn't wish to make him uncomfortable.
As Starla finished her breakfast, the High Lord cleared his throat. “I thought, for today, we could perhaps stick to this section of the City. This is the Market District and—”
He stopped, his eyes losing focus. When he returned to himself, they were burning brightly with what she could only call triumph.
“Shopping will have to wait,” he said, taking her elbow and steering her back towards the inn.
“Did something happen?” she asked, struggling to match his longer strides, his magic quivering around them like a chained beast.
He glanced down at her, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he was going to answer her.
“Yes. Something I must attend to in person.” The door to the inn flew open by magic, and several people scampered away in fright. “Go to your room and stay there. Please.”
She caught the hint of laughter in his eyes and felt a small smile tilt her lips. “I will.”
He nodded, eyes losing focus for a moment again. “Good. I will return as quickly as I can.”
Starla watched him leave, his robe flaring out behind him, then turned and made her way up the stairs. His leaving her at the door had been a small show of trust, but she appreciated it all the same.
She opened her door and froze as a familiar figure rose from the edge of her bed, straightening his smock, grey eyes locking on her.
3
Power
“Forgive the intrusion,” the Baron said, dipping his head politely, a picture of sophisticated grace.
Starla tried to remember how to breathe as his gravelly voice set off a wave of trepidation.
Stop it. He said last night he wanted to apologise. Perhaps that is what he still wants.
Sure, people who sneaking into other people's rooms always have g
ood intentions, her mind replied sarcastically.
Starla shook the thoughts away, deciding to make good on her decision to repair this rift. The last things she wanted to have here were enemies. Besides, maybe this man could help her get to the Queen.
She bowed at the waist. “Baron Malion. What are you doing in here?”
He gave her a half-smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “I’m here for the same reason I came last night.”
She shook her head. “No, I mean, why have you entered my room uninvited, instead of just knocking on the door?”
The smile fled, and the look that entered his eyes chilled her to the bone. “Larkel has ensured that I cannot go near you. Or, at least, he tried to.”
Starla's mind immediately jumped to the tampered memory and how the High Lord's first reaction had been to blame the man before her.
What went on between these two men that they had each other so?
“How so?”
He looked towards the window. “I came here earlier this morning. The High Lord stopped me, even after I explained what I wanted. So I snuck in and waited.”
Starla tried to take in the information, ignoring the nagging in her mind. “I don't understand why he—”
“Yes, that much has become clear to me. That is why I have gone to all this trouble, and why I am willing to risk Larkel's ire by defying him. Will you listen to what I have to say?”
Starla felt her muscles tense at his tone and managed a nod. “Of course.”
The Baron smiled, but his eyes remained curiously devoid of energy. “Thank you. Please, shut the door.”
Every cell in her body seemed to scream at her as she complied. Yet it wasn't Mia's voice speaking of propriety that came to mind. It was a shadowy alley and leering men with rough hands.
The door clicked shut, and she pushed the memory away. What could a Galatian nobleman possibly have to do with a group of thugs from Earth?
“Please, sit.” He moved over to the window, resting against the ledge, and motioned her to the bed.