Catching Stars

by Cayla Keenan

  Maddix liked to think he was above the death and violence that had been a companion since he was small. Even after the witch had taken his body from him and used his hands to kill, Maddix never thought of himself as a murderer.

  Until Mole. He tried to think it was self-defense, how he’d smashed the small, strange man’s head in until Maddix was covered in blood and brains. Maybe it was. But when Maddix thought about that night, the memories were so saturated with fear and anger he didn’t know if he had been just protecting himself or if the years in the Pit had finally turned him into a monster.

  Monster. The witch had called herself the same.

  And so they walked, with Oskar’s pyre still burning behind them. A pair of monsters, on their way back to the city that created them.

  Chapter Twenty-One:

  Maddix

  Maddix was sure his feet were going to be nothing more than bleeding stumps in his boots by the time they stopped walking. Jayin insisted they walk through the sunset sweep to make up for lost time, and the moon was high in the sky by the time she found them someplace to sleep.

  “One room,” the woman in the lobby snapped. The boardinghouse was a lucky find, and it was even luckier the doors were still open at this time of the night. “Only got one left.”

  “I’ll go somewhere else,” Jayin said. “Take the room.”

  “You’re no good to me if you pass out from exhaustion,” Maddix said. She didn’t respond, simply lifted one shoulder and let it drop. Maddix took it as acceptance.

  The room was smaller than most. Jayin’s hand lingered on the doorknob for a moment after it was closed. Maddix imagined he could feel the magic sizzling in the air, but it was as silent as ever. He collapsed into a rickety chair by the window, his injuries making themselves known all at once. The wound on his leg was the most pressing; it wasn’t deep, but Maddix wasn’t willing to take any chances.

  “You’re doing that wrong,” Jayin said, as if he was doing it in purpose to spite her. Maddix didn’t respond, very aware of her bright eyes on him as he bandaged the wound.

  “Stars, you’re useless,” she said after a moment, throwing up her hands and stalking towards him. “Here. If you wrap it wrong, you’ll cut off the circulation.” Maddix held very still, unsure. Jayin’s teeth worried her bottom lip as she tied off the bandages, her fingers expertly avoiding his skin even with the gloves. The frustrated line of her brow smoothed by slow degrees as she worked. Not for the first time, Maddix’s gaze was drawn to the scar that traced down her cheek and bisected her lips.

  “Can I ask you a question?” he asked.

  “Depends on what you ask.” It wasn’t a no.

  “Where did you get that scar?”

  Jayin shook her head. “Wrong question.” She stood, arranging her bedroll on the floor. Maddix supposed the bed was his, then.

  “Thank you.”

  Maddix was nearly asleep when her words broke the silence. He blinked, barely recognizing her. The witch’s face was open, honest, unlined by pain or anger. She looked young. “For getting me out of there.”

  “You’re the only one who can find him,” Maddix said. Something flashed across the witch’s face and something slid behind her eyes, as quickly and surely as a curtain being drawn. She turned her back to him and didn’t speak again.

  Maddix didn’t sleep. He slept so rarely these nights, plagued by nightmares that lived in the dark. There was a reason the Pit was such an effective prison. Without light or hope to stave off the darkness, inmates went mad. Most killed themselves. Maddix couldn’t decide which nightmare was worse, reliving Mole’s murder or running headlong through the dark, knowing Hale’s cold, hungry eyes waited for him if he faltered. Sometimes they swirled together in a terrifying, senseless jumble, and Maddix woke with his heart pounding so hard he was sure his ribs would crack under the strain.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  Maddix froze at the sound of Jayin’s voice. He knew that his restlessness sometimes woke her, and he considered it a kindness she never said anything. Apparently that line of credit had dried up.

  “What?” Maddix asked, feigning sleepiness. Jayin glared. The wide-eyed girl from before was gone, vanished as if she’d never existed.

  “Dayri,” she said, scrubbing the back of her hand over her eyes. “Remember if you keel over from exhaustion, so do I, and I refuse to die because you can’t sleep.”

  “I’m trying,” Maddix said. “But—” He clamped his mouth shut, wishing the word unsaid.

  “But what?” the witch said. She was a circling shark, and his weakness was blood in the water. “What, is the bed not comfortable enough for your tender sensibilities? Or are you worried I’ll shiv you in your sleep? Because you took care of that when you leashed me like an animal.”

  “The dark,” Maddix snapped, louder than intended. “Remember I spent two years in pitch blackness, waiting to be executed at your king’s pleasure, witch.”

  He expected her to snipe or shout, but she didn’t take the bait. Instead she sat up, facing him.

  “He’s not my king,” she said.

  “You could’ve fooled me.”

  Jayin pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Close your eyes,” she ordered.

  “Why?” His suspicion gave the word teeth.

  Jayin only rolled her eyes, raising her hands. Maddix didn’t look away as she inhaled; the air shimmered around her as if the witch was giving off heat. A soft gold light gathered on her skin, turning it to glowing bronze and highlighting her scars in molten silver. It only remained for a second before the light pulled away and floated into the air. Maddix gaped, openmouthed, as the magic chased the darkness away. “How are you doing that?” Maddix asked once he could find his voice again. It shouldn’t be possible, not while he wore the stone.

  “The sahirla don’t know as much about magic as they think they do,” she said. Maddix didn’t miss the satisfaction that colored her tone. “And I’m not the Kingswitch’s pet anymore either.” Jayin pulled at the silver cuff, revealing raised, puckered scar tissue encircling her wrist. Even bathed in golden glow, the ruined skin was hard to look at. The burn was clearly self-inflicted, done with a shaking hand. Whatever mark had been on her wrist before, the witch was determined to destroy it.

  “I need you too,” she said. “I hate silver.” She almost smiled, her eyes clear and spectacularly green in the magic’s light. Maddix tried to find the words to thank her. Something bloomed in the air, arching between them, trying to take shape. Something as fragile and delicate as spun glass. Something—

  You wouldn’t thank an animal. Hale’s voice rose up in his mind. Don’t forget what she is. Maddix wanted to agree with him, but somehow, he couldn’t reconcile his hatred with the girl who was giving him a light in the darkness.

  “Go to sleep, dayri,” Jayin said before he could sort out his thoughts, and the moment shattered. The witch turned away from him without another word, without giving him the chance to try to pick up the pieces. Maddix held his breath, sure the light would flicker and die with the witch’s ire. But it remained, floating above him like a miniature sun, and for the first time in weeks, Maddix slept.

  Chapter Twenty-Two:

  Jayin

  Something was coming. Call it intuition or paranoia, but something wasn’t right. She could feel it with every step closer to Pavaal, dogging her footsteps. At first, she assumed it was guilt prickling on the back of her neck, but the traitor had gotten what he deserved. Wherever Oskar was, she hoped he was still burning.

  Whatever was causing the nagging sensation, she wished it would try to kill them and be done with it. Waiting had never been her strong suit.

  “What?” Kell asked, raking his fingers through his wet hair. The sky was black, the moon obscured by thunderclouds. She’d found them an abandoned barn where they could hole up until the storm cleared, but it was starting to look like they’d be there all night. “You’ve been acting strange for days. What aren’t yo
u telling me?”

  Jayin shot Kell a look, pulling her knees up to her chest. The damp duster around her shoulders did little to keep out the cold. She wanted to tell him to skiv off, to stop pretending that he knew her.

  The weight of the matchbook in her pocket stopped her. She could still see the flames burning when she closed her eyes, erasing the khayald from this world. It wasn’t much, but it was enough that she swallowed her acidic comments.

  “Something’s wrong,” she said, struggling to find words.

  “Besides the torrential downpour and the bounties on our heads?”

  Jayin glared, her indulgence of him drying up almost instantly. She scrubbed the back of her hand over her eyes, pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders. “I can’t tell if you think you’re funny, or if you’re just as stupid as you look.”

  Kell raised an eyebrow. “Right, says the girl who looked like a drowned cat.”

  “Are you adding cat-killing to your list of crimes, convict?” Jayin replied, self-consciously running her fingers through her jagged bangs. “You don’t look much better.”

  His hair was out of its usual knot, hanging loose to his shoulders, red-gold and sopping wet. He’d already shucked off his soaked shirt and hung it over a wooden beam, revealing a lean chest cut in hard lines and dotted with old scars.

  “Let’s assume your feeling has nothing to do with my style choices,” he ventured. Jayin didn’t miss how he bit his lip to keep from laughing.

  “I’m starting to think that it might,” she replied.

  “Jayin,” Kell said. Hearing him say her name was still odd, though he didn’t use it very often. It was almost too familiar, and the strange way it sounded on his lips set her teeth on edge. At least he’d stopped calling her valyach.

  “It’s been easy,” Jayin said finally. “All of this. It’s been too easy.”

  “You mean besides the val—” Jayin glared at him. “The witch who kidnapped you? What was it you called him?”

  “Khayald,” Jayin said, her mouth twisting into a scowl. “Blood traitor.” In the Palace, they probably called her the same.

  “Right, besides this kobold character who tried to sell you?”

  “Khayald,” Jayin corrected. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “You think any of this was supposed to happen?” Kell insisted, his eyebrows furrowing. “We escaped from a helwyr compound by jumping into the ocean. We should be well beyond dead right now.”

  Jayin shook her head. They’d walked for miles without seeing so much as another person, let alone the sahirla. There should be soldiers, bounty hunters, someone looking for them. It was as if their way had been cleared, smoothed by some divine hand.

  “I am a Palace witch and former sahirla captive,” she said. “And you are a convicted murderer and traitor to your zealot witchhunter friends. Besides one rogue witch who came across me by accident, we haven’t been spotted or seen.”

  “I thought you were taking care of that?” Kell asked. “Finding us safe routes.”

  “I can hardly find you half the time and I’m sure your friends have much more sophisticated anti-sahir talismans than a rock on a string. It’s not foolproof, what I can do. It’s just magic.”

  Kell ogled at her, his hand going to his throat. “Just magic?”

  Stars, dayri really didn’t know anything.

  “Yes, just magic,” Jayin repeated like she was talking to a simpleton. “I’m just saying there should be more patrols, more people. Our faces should be everywhere. We should’ve been seen.”

  “You’re right,” Kell said finally, still worrying the pendant. He inhaled through his nose, his pale chest expanding. “Why do I feel like we’ve been jinxed?”

  Jayin raised one shoulder and dropped it. Dread settled deep in her bones, weighing her down, and leeching away her strength. Kell didn’t look much better. For a single moment they were united as exhaustion took its toll.

  “I’ll take the first watch,” Kell offered, rubbing at his eyes.

  “No, it’s fine,” she said, standing up to work the kinks out of her legs. Her shirt was almost dry and she could sleep under her coat.

  “Jayin.” There it was again. He drew out the first syllable of her name, letting it hang in the air. “You’re tired, and you’re no good to me if you burn yourself out.”

  Jayin scowled, the fleeting sense of camaraderie vanishing in an instant. She moved to brush past him, and Kell caught her arm.

  She moved without thinking, ripping Kell’s hand away from her and bringing a hooked blade to his throat. Jayin was only touching his shirt, but the close proximity made her head throb.

  “Do not touch me,” she hissed, dragging him down by his collar. She was close enough to see the hint of gray in his eyes and smell the homemade soap he’d used to wash his clothes a few days before. “It’ll hurt both of us, but I bet I’ll handle it better.”

  “Stars, are all of you like this?” Kell demanded when she released him. He didn’t move away from her, standing his ground. “Or am I just lucky to be stuck with the single most emotionally stunted witch in this skyforsaken kingdom?”

  Rage flared hot in her belly, and Jayin’s grip tightened around the knife’s handle. “You’re the one with the taste for bondage jewelry,” she snarled. She waved the cuff at him, the silver glinting like her blade. “If you want a kinder, gentler sahir, let me go and hunt another one. That is what you sahirla do, isn’t it?”

  “I need you,” Kell said. He sounded earnest, as if that somehow made it better.

  “Stop saying that!” Jayin shouted, spinning and hurling one of her straightblades in one movement. Kell ducked just in time to keep the knife from plunging through his forehead. It struck the wall instead, the handle quivering from the force of the throw. A tiny, horrible part of her wished it’d struck true.

  “What is wrong with you?” Kell demanded. The blood drained from his face, leaving it ashen. “I die, you die, remember?”

  “Let’s be very clear,” Jayin said, her voice icily calm. “You do not need me. You need my magic, and you’ve made it very clear what you and your antiquated band of witch-hunting crazies think of my people. You hate us until you need us, but we’re disposable. Work animals for you to use and then put down.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I am not a tool in your arsenal.” She looked him up and down, raking him over. “Want to know the saddest part?” she asked. “You actually think you’re different.”

  The sahirla, the khayald, they saw her as something subhuman, something to be used, but at least they were honest about it. Kell had the audacity to treat her like a person while leading her by the nose to her death.

  She saw something flash in his eyes, too quick to place before it was gone. It didn’t matter, she told herself. She didn’t care about his comfort or his feelings. He’d be just as bad as Hale someday. He’d be worse. Grabbing her coat and throwing it over her head, Jayin stalked outside, heedless of the pouring rain.

  “Jayin!” Maddix shouted. She ignored him. It was better when he just called her valyach like the rest of them. Stars, she’d been so stupid, thinking maybe he might be different. Bringing her to Old Aya, calling her by name, the matches, they were all just ploys to make her more willing to help him.

  Kell didn’t follow her, and Jayin didn’t turn back. It was wet and freezing, but she couldn’t stand the thought of being near him. She wandered aimlessly, following stray bits of energy as they swirled in the air, until she heard the rattle of wagon wheels.

  Pulling her hood firmly over her hair and spinning a quick glamor to distort her appearance, Jayin crept forward. There were people everywhere, milling about in the darkness. It felt like a village, but it wasn’t stable, wasn’t permanent. She didn’t feel any sahirla but there were too many auras to be sure.

  “Excuse me, mister,” Jayin said, fixing an embarrassed smile on her face as she approached a man on horseback. “I’ve been hearing the commotion
for days and wanted to see what was going on.”

  “In the rain?” the man questioned, but it was more indulgent than suspicious.

  “Mama always said I was too curious for my own good.”

  “It’s for the protection of the people,” the man said. “These are dangerous times, what with killers and rogue witches running free.” He waved a hand and through the rain Jayin could see the beginnings of a massive structure jutting up into the sky. Soldiers strutted along its length, their auras coiled like springs, waiting for violence. A wall. It was a bloody, starcursed wall.

  A weight dropped into Jayin’s stomach. One day more and they would’ve walked right into it.

  “It sure is big,” she said, tilting her head up and squinting at the top of the wall. She was playing the country bumpkin a little too heavily, but the soldier didn’t mind. The wall wasn’t even completed, and the structure dwarfed anything she’d ever seen outside of Pavaal.

  “It’s going to keep the whole inner kingdom from outlanders and murderers. Rebels too.” Jayin’s heart sunk even further.

  “Can I…?” Jayin hedged. She was pushing her luck and she knew it, but she needed to know more. “Can I see inside?” The man didn’t answer for a moment and Jayin looked away, trying to seem abashed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Never mind.”

  “I’m sure it couldn’t hurt,” he said finally, grandly dismounting his horse and handing the reins off to another worker. The man slung his arms around her shoulders and Jayin had to fight the urge to shrug him off.

  Jayin allowed herself to be led towards the massive structure and crowded into a rickety box at its base. The man pulled a lever on the side of the box and it lurched into motion, pulling them skywards. Jayin’s breath came in a surprised huff and the man laughed.

  “You get used to it,” he promised. Jayin wasn’t sure she wanted to. The box opened on the top of the structure, and even in the rain she could see for miles. While the soldier chattered on about the miracles of modern science and the blessings of architecture, Jayin threw her abilities as far down the wall as she could reach—