ShatterStar

by Krista Rose

  No one did, and I breathed a sigh of relief when darkness surrounded me again, though my heart continued to hammer against my chest. I picked my way carefully through the shadows and rubble, avoiding the patrols that made their way down the cleared streets, searching for anything moving in the night.

  My progress was slow and painstaking as I climbed through collapsed buildings, struggling to move silently. It took the better part of an hour to cross most of the town, but finally the dome of the Temple of All Gods rose in front of me, murky gray in the feeble moonlight.

  The Syrethra had been completely destroyed, as Vitric had told me, its large brass dish lying on the ground, surrounded by the bricks that had once held it up. Ashes blanketed the ground like dirty snow, and streaks of soot marked the white marble of the temple where the fire had scorched it.

  I made my way up the steps, careful not to step on the broken, wilted flowers scattered across them. The inside of the temple was dark, but I could see the outlined statues of the Younger Gods, hulking and giant and somehow lonely, hidden in the shadows.

  I sat cross-legged on the floor before them.

  I had only come here once before. I had been angry then, furious with the Gods who asked so much of my brothers and sisters, who demanded too much from me. The darkness of our lives had seemed like too much, a burden we could not escape from. I had argued with the high priestess when she had told me to ask for mercy, and thrown my offering at her feet.

  It felt like a lifetime ago.

  Now, I was simply tired, my heart an ache within my chest. The visions I saw everywhere confused and frightened me, and I feared making another mistake, one that might cost someone their life, as it had cost Aleydis.

  “Can’t you grant us any mercy?” I whispered, staring up at the statue of Rina. Her face was hidden in shadow, but I still felt her marble gaze upon me. “Is there any grace left for us?”

  “The gods are always merciful,” a voice answered.

  I jerked, thinking the statues had spoken, but then I realized the voice had come from closer to the floor. I peered into the shadows as a figure emerged- an old woman wearing rags, hobbling toward me. She smiled at me, revealing an astonishing amount of missing teeth.

  “I know you,” I managed, struggling to relax. “You’re Darli, the flower merchant.”

  “And you’re the boy who didn’t know how to worship the gods.” She crossed to where I was sitting and lowered herself to the floor beside me. “Have you figured it out, then?”

  I chuckled. “No.”

  “Some think the Gods need to be bribed with pretty things. Pretty trinkets, pretty words.” She gestured to the base of the statues, where the offerings had once lain. “They think if they offer the right combination of the two, then all their desires will come true.”

  I shook my head. “That seems foolish.”

  “Does it?” She looked at me, a strange smile playing around the edge of her lips. “Tell me, why wouldn’t it work?”

  “Because the Gods don’t grant wishes,” I replied automatically, then wondered where the words were coming from. “They reward deeds.”

  “Almost.” She looked away, staring around at the statues with a look that was almost sadness. “The Gods listen to the prayers that are given to them, see the actions of the Faithful, understand their deepest desires. But they have also looked upon the Eternal Flame, and mortals have not. Mortals cannot see that the fate Destiny has given to them. They cannot see their purpose.”

  I glanced over my shoulder toward the destruction of Fallor. “This has a purpose?”

  She ignored my question and hummed tunelessly to herself for a moment.

  I sighed, drawing my knees up to my chest. “It seems so unfair.”

  Darli stopped humming. “I never understood that. Who promised that life would be fair? It was never a God. And who determines fair?”

  “All these people dead, because my cousin decided to be a monster. That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “But is what happened to her fair?”

  “Well, no, but-”

  “Life is not about being fair. It is about balance. And balance is bought. Nothing is free. Love is bought with heartache and compromise. Strength with sacrifice. Gratitude with loss. Light with darkness.”

  “And mercy?”

  She smiled at me, her eyes so blue I could see them, even in the dark. “Mercy is bought from enduring cruelty, Reyce Rose, without succumbing to it.”

  I frowned at her. “I don’t remember telling you my name.”

  She laughed, her face somehow younger than it had been. Her hair was long and thick, bleached white by the faint moonlight. Her clothes were no longer rags, but a soft gown.

  I swallowed as my heart began to race.

  “Ah, Reyce.” She cupped my face in her hand, her skin soft and smooth. “She is right. You are a wonder.”

  “She?”

  She leaned forward, pressing her lips to my forehead. It was a gesture of grace, and stilled the building fear inside of me. I stared, gasping as I finally recognized her. “Yrisa?”

  The Goddess of Life merely smiled at me- and then She was gone, vanished as if She had never been. I was once more alone in the temple, with only the burning impression of Her lips against my skin to tell me that I had not dreamed of Her presence.

  LANYA

  15 Syrthil 578A.F.

  Fallor, Valory

  “There. Does that feel better, Jaspin?”

  Jaspin flexed his fingers beneath the stiff bandage wrapped around his hand, prodded at the sticks bound to his arm. Then he looked up at me and grinned, revealing two missing teeth. A smattering of freckles crossed over his small nose, matching the ginger curls atop his head. “It feels great!”

  I smiled, though my arm ached from draining the pain and speeding the heal of the break. I nodded to the boy’s mother, who was hovering behind me, and she leapt forward, scooping Jaspin up in her arms before dashing out of the tent.

  I sighed, rolling my neck on my shoulders. The number of injured far outstripped the number of dead, and it was all Hamar, my grandfather, and the Legion’s medic mage could do to keep up. I had barely slept since we had arrived, feeding potions to smoke inhalation victims and treating broken bones from the stampede. My whole body felt like one giant bruise, and I was certain it was only going to get worse.

  “You look tired, my Lanya.” Grandfather looked up from treating a woman’s shattered cheekbone, though she seemed oblivious to the green-and-black bruises that spread across her face. “You should go back to your tent, get some rest.”

  I shook my head, then pushed my hair back where it had escaped from my braid. “I’m alright.”

  “You look like you’re dead and haven’t figured it out yet,” Hamar corrected, though his hands stayed gentle as he lifted a bottle to a man’s lips, coaxing him to drink. “You should listen to your grandfather.”

  “Thanks, Hamar.” I made a face at him. “I appreciate that.” I moved to the next bed, running my hands along the fractured collarbone of a wrinkled, grim-faced woman until I found the source of the break. Slowly, I began to ease my healing into it, taking her pain. She didn’t flinch as she stared at me.

  “We’re just looking out for you.” Grandfather finished with the broken-faced girl, moving on to the next bed where a man with a shattered leg groaned loudly in his sleep. “This is more than anyone can do in a day.”

  I glanced up, looking across the sea of cots. A dozen patients were in this tent, and seven more tents just like it were in this row alone. Dozens of people injured, hurting, struggling to breathe…

  I was drowning in a sea of pain.

  I sighed, and looked back down at the woman with the broken collarbone. Her eyes were frozen on my face; she still stared at me without blinking. Ignoring the chills that ran over my skin, I forced myself to focus on her collarbone.

  Someone pushed aside the tent flap, letting in sunshine and a welcome breeze. “Excuse me, Mistress Lan
ya?”

  I glanced over my shoulder.

  A guard- one of the few left in Fallor- shifted nervously on his feet. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mistress, but your brother is awake.”

  “Brannyn?” I almost leapt to my feet, then reminded myself that I wasn’t done. The old woman’s gaze burned into the side of my head.

  “When you have a moment, you, uh, might want to come to the tent. Mistress.” He ducked his head, and let the flap swing shut as he disappeared back outside.

  Brannyn? I called out with my thoughts, but he didn’t respond. He was shielded against me for some reason, and I needed to find out why. I bit my lip, turning back to my patient. I drained the pain from her so quickly that my ears popped and my arm went numb, but I didn’t care. I left her, wide-eyed and staring, as I darted out of the tent, flying down the canvas row toward my brother.

  There were legionaires outside his tent, eight of them in two neat, orderly rows, their faces unreadable. I frowned and pushed past them, into the tent.

  “Brannyn, I have so much to tell you-” I began, then stopped short.

  An older, grey-haired man stood beside my brother, holding a pair of shackles. Brannyn stood, bare-chested and stony-faced as the man’s accomplice, also dressed in the armor of a legionaire, placed another set of shackles around my brother’s wrists.

  “What- what’s going on here?” I demanded. “What are you doing?”

  “Arresting the man who destroyed this town,” the grey-haired man informed me, his face betraying no emotion. “You must be the sister. Lanya, is it? The healer?”

  I ignored his question. “Why would you think Brannyn would attack the town? He saved it. He-”

  “He’s a Firemage in a town that just burned down,” the man finished for me. “It would be foolish of me to not find that even slightly suspicious.”

  “But the Vampyres did that,” I told him. I could almost feel my brows drawing together. “Who are you, anyway? Why do you even think you can do this?”

  “Oh, yes. Forgive me. I am Legate Quarius, of the One Hundred and Eleventh Legion. This is my second-in-command, Commander Aurus. We are the ones assigned to handle this… debacle.”

  “Debacle?” I repeated. I stepped forward, well aware of the blood and various unpleasant things splattered across my dress. I was tired, I was hurting, and now I was angry. “Legate Quarius, this is a nightmare. I have spent two days in the healer’s tents-”

  “My people have seen you there.”

  “-and I can tell you with absolute certainty that none of them believe my brother had anything to do with this. If anything, he’s a hero.”

  “And you would have us believe that Vampyres did this instead?” His voice was scornful and dismissive. “I will not waste my men’s time looking for fictional creatures when a live Firemage sits two feet away. He’s clearly responsible for the crimes.”

  Brannyn was staring at the man, opening and closing his mouth without speaking.

  Brannyn? I tried to reach his thoughts, but again found only darkness. “What did you do to him?”

  “Bound him. Magically. It’s the only way to contain a Firemage, to keep them from hurting someone else.”

  “He can’t talk.”

  “He can’t breathe fire, either, so that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

  “How is he supposed to defend himself when he can’t speak?”

  “When we reach Val Estus, he will be unbound in a special circle. Then he’ll have his chance to defend his name.”

  “Val Estus? But the capital is weeks from here!”

  He nodded. “Which is why we’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.” He jerked his head toward the other man. “Aurus, if you would.”

  Aurus pushed Brannyn out of the tent into the custody of the men waiting for him.

  I grabbed Legate Quarius’ arm, my gaze intent upon his face. My stomach knotted with building rage. “My brother didn’t do this.”

  He gently removed my hand from his sleeve. “I am sorry, Mistress Lanya, but unless you can bring me a Vampyre, then I am going to arrest the person most likely to have caused this disaster.” His gaze, and the emotions beneath them, were sympathetic. “I know this is difficult.”

  “It’s difficult because it is unfair. There are Vampyres here.”

  Something passed behind his eyes, some guilt or darkness I couldn’t read. Then it was gone. “There is no evidence of Vampyres in Fallor, Mistress.”

  “There is no proof that there are burglars either, but I bet you still lock your doors at night.”

  “What would you have me do?” he growled at me, frustrated. “My orders are clear.”

  Emotions warred inside me, and I bit my lip, struggling with a decision. “What-” I took a deep breath. “What if I told you I know how to find proof of the Vampyres?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m listening.”

  BRANNYN

  The magic was strangling me. It wrapped around my throat, as transparent as air and as difficult to hold onto. Each time I tried to speak, it tightened, choking me until spots danced in front of my eyes. After the seventh or eighth time that I almost collapsed, I finally gave up on trying to protest my innocence, and followed the legionaires sullenly toward their camp.

  The Legions did not have a prison cell for me; instead, I was escorted into a large tent at the center of their encampment. The interior of the tent was crowded with a half dozen chairs surrounding a collapsable wooden desk, which was covered in parchments and stacks of maps. A lone, narrow cot was shoved into one corner, and looked rarely used.

  A young man sat behind the desk, writing something on the edge of a map. He looked about my age, with brown hair badly in need of a haircut and dressed in a uniform that didn’t quite fit him. He looked up curiously as my guard- what had been his name again? Aurus?- shoved me into a chair in front of him.

  “What’s this?” the young man asked as he set down his pen and adjusted his collar.

  “Elemental binding,” Aurus informed him bluntly as he checked my shackles again. It was the first time I noticed the strange markings in the metal; they flared once as Aurus tapped them, then faded again. “The only thing that can hold monsters like this one back.”

  I glared at him.

  The young man frowned at him, and brushed his hair out of his eyes with an impatient hand. “What has he done?”

  “He’s a prisoner, Dariel,” Aurus replied with strained patience. “A Firemage. Quarius thinks he’s the one responsible for the fires.”

  “And is he? Have you asked him?”

  Aurus shrugged, but his eyes glimmered with anger. “Torelis bound him, so… no.”

  “You had him bound before you even allowed him to defend himself?” Dariel scowled as Aurus flushed. “Fetch me Torelis and Quarius.” His eyes narrowed when the other man didn’t move. “Now.”

  Aurus huffed, and stormed from the tent.

  Dariel steepled his fingers and stared at me curiously from across the desk. I shifted, uncomfortable beneath his steady gaze. “I’ve never had the opportunity to meet a Firemage before. Is it true that you can see the future?”

  I glared at him. Had he already forgotten the fact I couldn’t talk?

  “Oh, sorry.” His lips twitched. “We’ll have Torelis fix that in a moment, shall we?”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “In the meantime, please let me introduce myself. I am Dariel Atreus-Llylhi, second son of Emperor Georne II and Empress Aisha I, and younger brother to Crown Prince Damzen Atreus-Llylhi. He’s the one who gets the privilege of inheriting the Imperial nightmare.”

  I raised a brow at him.

  He read the question on my face. “What, this?” He plucked at his uniform and made a face. “Ostentatious, isn’t it? I’m not even formally a part of the military. But apparently it prevents assassins from targeting me, at least according to Quarius.”

  My brows drew together.

  “What am I doing here if I’m n
ot a part of the military, you ask? I inherited the headache of the Legions from my father. He got tired of dealing with the appeals from the commoners, complaining about their common rights being violated.” He gestured to me.

  I frowned.

  “Oh, I agree. I think it is foolish for the Emperor to ignore the voice of the people. But he is in his fifties now, and between the war in Tante and Erasto and his most recent assassination scare, you can’t really blame him for wanting to just spend time with his grandchildren, can you?”

  I shrugged.

  Dariel grinned. “You know, I like you. Most people are terrified when they find out who I am, but you don’t care at all, do you?”

  Not in the slightest, I wanted to say, but had to settle for another shrug. The last Prince I met I set on fire.

  Perhaps it was a good thing I couldn’t speak.

  The tent flap opened, spilling sunlight across the carpet as Quarius entered, his movements impatient and irritated. A small, copper-skinned man followed him, his eyes roaming around the tent nervously as he fidgeted with a ring on one hand.

  Dariel leaned back in his chair. “Ah, Quarius. Just who I wanted to see. Tell me, why have you bound this man without bothering to question him first?”

  “He’s a Firemage, Dariel.”

  “And you have proof of that?”

  “My men have found over forty bodies in the wreckage of this town. More die each day from their injuries or from breathing smoke. These things were caused by fire, your Highness. It would be foolish to ignore the glaringly obvious.”

  “And yet it is even more foolish to arrest him without proof, or at least a confession. Have you forgotten the rights of Imperial Citizens so soon after our last talk? What if we take the wrong man to Val Estus, and leave the killer behind?”

  His voice was mild, but Quarius stiffened as if from a blow. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

  Dariel nodded as if he had won a major point, then gestured to the copper-skinned man. “Torelis, unbind him.”