Even the Darkest Stars

by Heather Fawcett

  “Oh.” I thought I would faint with relief. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—”

  “That’s all right. He gave me that grin again. His teeth were very long and white. “An honest mistake. I’m not nobility, so you needn’t call me ‘dyonpo.’”

  I nodded. All the nobility had two names—the second announced their lineage. I couldn’t help noticing how Mara’s smile had tightened slightly as he spoke, so I added hurriedly, “I’m Kamzin, Elder’s second daughter. Are you with River Shara’s expedition?”

  “Yes. I’m his official chronicler.”

  “His chronicler?” It sounded important. “So you write down everything he does?”

  An irritated look flitted across his face, quickly swallowed up by another white-toothed smile. “In a manner of speaking. I make notes, sketches, maps; take measurements; and draft official accounts. It can be dull stuff, but it is important. In the past, the Royal Explorer never traveled with fewer than three chroniclers. River insists on only one.”

  I shook my head at this. The idea of being followed around by chroniclers documenting your every move! It would inflate the ego of the humblest person in the world.

  Mara’s gaze darted over the room. I could see he considered our conversation over. Most guests came to this decision quickly. I was the younger child of a village elder—that warranted polite small talk, and rarely anything else. I knew I had only a second or two before he made his excuses and moved on to someone more interesting.

  “How long have you served as chronicler?”

  “These past three years. Since River was named Royal Explorer.”

  “I’m sure you’ve faced your share of danger,” I said in a flattering tone. “No doubt come close to death yourself.”

  Mara’s brow furrowed. His expression went curiously blank for a moment, as if an invisible hand had scrubbed some thought out of existence, and then he turned his attention back to the room. It happened so quickly that I thought I must have imagined it.

  “Naturally,” he said dismissively. “As have most explorers.”

  “You must know dyonpo Shara well,” I tried again.

  Mara was still staring over my head. “As well as one can.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of this, but pushed on. “Would you be able to introduce me? As I’ve been to Raksha, I thought—”

  “Of course.” He fixed me with another smile that told me he hadn’t heard a word I said. “If you’ll excuse me, Tamzin, there’s someone I must speak with.”

  He strode back into the crowd, leaving me staring at his back. Muttering darkly to myself, I filled another bowl to the brim and downed the raksi in a single draft. I grimaced as it burned its way down my throat.

  “That didn’t go very well, did it?” said a voice behind me.

  I turned. A young man was perched on the window alcove, half in shadow, gazing at me with a faint smile that seemed a shade less than mocking. He could only be one of the courtiers. He was just as richly—and impractically—attired as his companions, his dark, gauzy cloak spilling down the wall like the world’s most useless curtain. His unkempt hair, which stuck up on one side as if he frequently scrubbed his hand through it, was vividly blue, and his fingers were crowded with jeweled rings that flashed in the light.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, filling my bowl again. A dragon snuffled up to the barrel and began lapping up the spilled wine. I aimed a kick in its direction, and it darted away, somewhat unsteadily. “We were just talking.”

  “He was talking.” The young man waved his hand, and I realized that he was at least partly drunk. “You were drooling. I feel I must inform you that Mara is neither as clever as he thinks he is nor as interesting as you think he is.”

  I stared at him, openmouthed.

  “Yes, that’s it,” he said. “That’s exactly how you looked a moment ago.”

  I felt myself redden with anger. “How is it any of your business? Is eavesdropping on private conversations how all nobles behave in the Three Cities?”

  “I only eavesdrop on people who interest me.” He dropped to the floor with unexpected grace. “It’s a compliment.”

  I snorted into my wine. “You think a lot of yourself. Where did you come from, anyway?”

  “Where did I come from?” For some reason, he seemed to find this hilarious. “Oh—I’ve been here all along. You might’ve noticed, if you hadn’t been so busy flirting with Mara.”

  “I was not flirting,” I snarled. “For your information, I have more important things on my mind.”

  “Do you? That’s very mysterious.” The young man maneuvered his bowl under the wine spout. When nothing came out, he pounded on the barrel until wine gushed out in a great torrent, overflowing the bowl.

  I couldn’t help laughing at him as he stared in dismay at his wine-stained sleeve. He began to laugh too, leaning against the barrel for support.

  My amusement faded as I noticed that all the villagers in the vicinity were staring at us. A few almost looked afraid—probably concerned that I was irreparably harming the dignity of Azmiri, I thought, with a mixture of guilt and irritation.

  I sized up the courtier. He was a little older than me, perhaps, but not much. I thought he might be handsome, underneath the blue hair and the jewels, though his eyes were unsettling. They were the strangest eyes I had ever seen—one was a warm golden brown that reminded me of the floor of a sunlit forest, while the other was so dark it appeared black. His gaze left me flustered, torn between a desire to stare and a desire to look away.

  He seemed to be sizing me up too, his eyes smiling at the corners. Underneath that, though, I sensed a sharp focus. “Was that true, what you said to Mara? You’ve been to Raksha?”

  “Maybe.” I raised my chin. “Why do you care?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “That’s very mysterious.”

  He laughed again. It was an appealing sound, ragged at the edges, as if he wasn’t quite in control of it. In spite of myself, I felt my heartbeat speed up. I shook my head. What was I doing? Laughing and drinking with some strange boy, when I was supposed to be looking for River Shara. The thought brought my nervousness back, and I hastily swallowed the rest of my wine.

  “Easy,” he said, and suddenly I was holding empty air. I blinked stupidly at my hand for a moment—he had my bowl, and was spinning it idly in his palm. He had moved so quickly I hadn’t even seen it.

  “What do you think—”

  “You’ve had enough, Kamzin.”

  “I’ve had enough?” I glared at him, searching for a retort. But my thoughts were all muddled. Involuntarily, my gaze drifted to his hand—there was something wrong with it. He was missing the tips of two fingers, the fourth and fifth.

  My eyes narrowed. I had seen the result of frostbite before—but never on the hand of a pampered courtier. His brown skin was as dark as mine, as if he too spent most of his days outdoors in the mountain sun. Something nagged at me.

  “Kamzin!” It was Zhiba, one of my cousins. She bowed to the young man and touched my arm gently, as if to draw me away. “Chirri has been looking for you. Come.”

  I squinted at her. Chirri was never looking for me. “What are you talking about?”

  Zhiba glanced over her shoulder. I realized a knot of people had formed nearby, all gazing at me and muttering. Most wore looks ranging from worry to disapproval. Others—my younger cousins in particular—pressed their hands over their mouths, as if to muffle their laughter. I stared at them, annoyed and confused. Clearly, I was the butt of some private joke, the meaning of which I could not comprehend.

  “Kamzin,” Zhiba said, her voice low, “how much have you had to drink?”

  “Is that what this is about?” I shook her arm off. “First him, and now you. Leave me alone, Zhiba.”

  “But—”

  “I’m fine.” All the frustrations of the day—my disastrous lesson with Chirri, my argument with Lusha, the embarrassing encounter wit
h Mara—seemed to come bubbling to the surface. I raised my voice. “And you can tell the others to stop staring. Do you want our guests to think we have no manners at all?”

  Zhiba fell back, a pained look on her face. One of my cousins let out a muffled snort.

  “Everything all right?” the courtier said.

  “Yes,” I muttered. Then I started. “Oh no.”

  My sister had just entered the room. Predictably, every head turned toward her.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Take a guess,” I said dourly. Lusha wore a simple gray robe, and her long hair was pinned back from her face with a silver clasp. A raven perched on each of her shoulders, eyeing the gathering with beady eyes.

  “Ah, the great Lusha of Azmiri,” the young man said. “You don’t look much alike, do you?”

  His tone was musing rather than snide, but I still bristled with a familiar irritation. It was true that Lusha took after our tall, slender mother, while my stoutness was all Elder’s. Growing up, I had been teased about my size by the other children, and reduced to tears more than once. Whenever Lusha found out, she dealt with the offenders with her customary decisiveness—usually with a punch in the nose. The more resolute bullies would be treated to recitations of dire fortunes filled with suffering and calamity, delivered in such ominous tones that they had difficulty sleeping at night. The children, awed by Lusha, learned to leave me alone.

  The courtier gazed at my sister with cool appraisal. “She would be far more impressive without those creatures hovering around her. I’ve never understood you mountain people and your fondness for pets.”

  “They aren’t pets,” I said. “They’re familiars. It’s rare enough to have even one, you know. Lusha and I are the only people in Azmiri who have them.”

  “That’s fortunate for the people of Azmiri. I for one wouldn’t want a flock of ravens following me about. I doubt I’d be very popular at parties.”

  “A familiar is a mark of the spirits’ favor,” I said. “And they’re useful, even if they are only animals. Lusha has had ravens watching over her since she was a baby. They fetch things, carry messages, alert her to danger—they look out for her, no matter what. People who have that sort of bond with an animal are respected in the mountain villages. Well,” I added in a mutter, “most of them are respected.”

  He regarded me blankly. “So I should be impressed?”

  “River should be impressed.” I chugged the rest of my wine. “She doesn’t care what you think, whoever you are.”

  He laughed. I let out a giggle, hiccupping, which only made us laugh harder. We leaned against each other, trying unsuccessfully to muffle the sound. Heads turned in our direction—it seemed as if the entire room was staring at us now.

  “I think,” I said between gasps, “you’ve had too much wine.”

  Half choking, I straightened up, using his arm as a support. It was a good one, strong and solid, with more lean muscle than I would have expected. Somehow, the exertion had cleared my head, and I wondered again what in the name of the spirits I was doing, talking and carrying on with this strange Three Cities boy who hadn’t even given me his name.

  I stopped. My laughter died as suddenly as a thunderclap.

  “What is it?” He was still panting, his strange eyes alight with merriment.

  I took a step back. My gaze drifted from the tip of his hair to the hem of his cloak. There was nothing in what I saw to prove my suspicion, and yet I knew. I knew.

  “Who are you?” I demanded.

  “Uh-oh.” He held up his hands in a warding gesture. “You got there, did you?”

  I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. Half my brain refused to comprehend what the other half was telling it. Please, no. It can’t be.

  “You’re doing it again, Kamzin,” he said. “The drooling.”

  Father appeared suddenly, Lusha at his side, and clapped the young man’s shoulder with his massive hand. “There you are, River! Lusha has been looking for you.”

  My sister nodded politely, though it was clear from the look on her face that she had been doing no such thing. I began to sway. I wondered if I would faint.

  “I’ve been having a very interesting chat with your charming daughter,” River Shara said, threading my arm through his and pinning me solidly to his side. The smell of wildflowers and wine and something faintly smoky filled my nose. “Did you know the spotted orchid can be brewed as a tea for snow blindness?”

  “I didn’t realize Kamzin was so knowledgeable about healing,” Elder said, an edge in his voice as he surveyed me. I was in the way. And I was drunk.

  “Yes, she’s a very impressive girl,” River said.

  There was a confused silence. I doubted either Lusha or Father had ever heard that word applied to me by anyone. Biter, on Lusha’s left shoulder, croaked a warning. He was looking at River, and the expression in his eyes was not a friendly one. Lurker took notice of him too, and began to croak deep in her throat. Lusha muttered something, and they fluttered away, up to the thatching in the roof. There they continued their jawing.

  “I apologize, River,” Elder said. “We didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long. Only you disappeared so suddenly, and—”

  “I wasn’t alone,” River said. He was still gripping my arm, though I had been surreptitiously trying to pull it free since he had taken it. I pinched him, and he let out a muffled yelp. Father’s confused look deepened to bafflement.

  “Dyonpo, perhaps you would like a tour of the house before dinner.” Lusha had to raise her voice, as the ravens continued to squawk at River with a ferocity they usually reserved for the village cats.

  “I think not,” River said, rubbing his arm. “I have—ah—something to attend to.” He wandered away without another word, his dark cloak drifting behind him. People bowed to him as he passed, some so hastily they spilled their drinks. River seemed to take no notice.

  “What did I say, Lusha?” Father muttered. “Half-mad, if not more.”

  “What were you talking to him about, Kamzin?” Lusha said, her eyes narrowed.

  I swallowed. Something was rising in my throat.

  “Kamzin? What’s the matter?” Father said.

  “I—” The words died on my lips. Clapping my hand over my mouth, I pushed past Lusha. The door was a mile away. I shoved my way through the crowd, bumping into guests and knocking bowls out of their hands. I finally reached the door, and there was Mara.

  He placed a hand on my shoulder, stopping me from advancing farther. “What in the name of—”

  I couldn’t hold it any longer. I sagged to the ground and emptied my stomach onto his boots.

  FOUR

  THE EVENING WAS a haze after that. I couldn’t be absent from a dinner of such importance, and so I sat at the table, green with nausea, as the dishes were passed around. Everything was of the finest quality, but I didn’t touch a morsel. Lusha sat on my right, her legs crossed gracefully beneath her, while Father knelt beside her. Mara sat across from Lusha, a smile hovering on his lips. He looked as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

  River did not come to dinner. His absence was a tremendous slight, and consequently no one even spoke his name. The expedition to Raksha, though, was the main topic of conversation, which led to awkward pauses and veiled hints as guests struggled not to speak about the man who was the reason for the party.

  “Well, Mara,” Father said, “I imagine you’ve seen a lot, as chronicler to the Royal Explorer.”

  “You could say that.” Mara tried to catch Lusha’s eye. She was feeding her ravens scraps of balep from her plate.

  Lusha glanced at him, possibly for the first time since they had been introduced, her expression cool and appraising. Mara, taking this as a sign of encouragement, launched into an animated story about a narrow escape from a pack of silver jackals. Given that he was sitting before us, quite alive and with all his limbs, I found it difficult to stay interested, and sank back into my private misery. Lusha’s attenti
on seemed to wander too, and she went back to feeding Biter.

  “Lusha, I understand you’ve discovered two new stars in the dragon catcher’s net,” Mara said, naming one of the constellations that hung low over the mountains in summer. “I would be interested in seeing your sketches.”

  I stifled a groan. How Mara had learned of my sister’s sketches, I didn’t know, and I didn’t care to.

  Lusha smiled at him. It lit her eyes and made her bony face less severe. “Perhaps you will. Why not tomorrow?”

  Mara smiled back. He was completely under the spell of Lusha’s charm, and, like most men, assumed it was conjured specifically for him. I knew, though, that Lusha would forget her offer by morning. “I would like that. If you won’t be too busy?”

  Father stiffened at the oblique reference to River. “Mara, were you fortunate enough to stop in Lhotang on your way here? The elder is an old friend of mine.” Father was friends with everyone. He could name every village elder, along with their wife or husband and all their children, from here to the Three Cities.

  “We did,” Mara said. “A charming village—I would have been sorry to miss it. Though I heard some disturbing tales from the villagers. They spoke of powerful storms brewing in the North, and sightings of the fiangul.”

  “The fiangul?” Father frowned. Those sitting nearby looked up at the word, and I felt my body tense. The fiangul, or bird people, appeared sporadically in the history of Azmiri. They were human—or at least, they had once been—travelers who became lost in a blizzard or squall while traversing the Aryas, and were possessed by the winged spirits who haunted the snows. They were slowly driven mad, and transformed into terrifying monsters. Their only goal was to lead others to the same fate they had suffered. Or, failing that, to kill them.

  “I find that difficult to believe,” Father said. “The fiangul have never been known to stray this far south. I doubt such talk is more than rumor.”

  The conversation shifted to a discussion of Lhotang’s weavers, and I stopped paying attention. My drunkenness was wearing off, leaving only shame and a pounding headache in its wake. It was all I could do not to lean over and rest my forehead against the cool stone of the table.