Starbreaker

by Amanda Bouchet

  I cover my ears, grinning. I might go deaf from the applause.

  Aetos stomps to the exit in a swirl of black cape and red flame, nodding to me as Desma takes the stage for her Dance of a Thousand Colors.

  She moves to the melody of a kithara, starting out slowly and building speed until she’s whirling around the stage in a kaleidoscope of color. Her feet barely touch the ground. A rainbow shines from every pore, from every strand of hair and eyelash, illuminating summer’s twilight with an impossibly complex brightness. Her eyes glow with more shades of color than even the Gods have names for. Inconceivably beautiful, Desma is the grand finale, and the crowd worships her.

  I’m as spellbound by Desma’s dance as everyone else, and Vasili startles a squeak out of me when he nudges me in the ribs with the blunt end of a knife.

  “You should be out there with her, Cat. Make a new act and call it the Fantastical Fisan Twins.”

  I whip the knife out of his hand, flip it, and nudge him back. “Twins look alike.”

  He looks back and forth between Desma and me. “Short. Long, dark hair. Bright-green eyes. Fisan.”

  Okay. He has a point. We’re even the same age—twenty-three.

  I sweep a hand down, indicating my curvaceous figure, and then point to Desma’s much straighter frame.

  Vasili grins, and his wide mustache spreads out, nearly meeting his bushy eyebrows on either side. “There is that. Desma should eat more.”

  I snort. “Or I should eat less.”

  “You’re a woman, Cat. That’s how you’re supposed to look.”

  I make a face at him. Vasili has treated me like family since the day I showed up—fifteen years old, emaciated and dirty, with blisters all over my feet. “There’s nothing like starving to make a person appreciate food,” I say, my eyes roaming the place where I first saw Selena’s traveling circus in action. Eight years have passed, but this southern Sintan dust heap is still my favorite venue.

  Vasili grabs his knife back and twirls the base of the hilt on his palm, spinning it on an imaginary axis.

  I watch the whirling blade. “You know I wish I could do that.”

  Smiling, he increases the speed until the knife is nothing but a blur.

  “Show-off,” I grumble.

  He chuckles, backing up so that Desma can make her way through the gate. She keeps moving, swaying rhythmically, and I turn to follow. We all know from experience that she can’t just stop, or the colors will build up inside her, the pressure unbearable. She takes my hands and spins me into her dance, our feet stirring dust into the shimmering air. We pass Cerberus on our way out, and one head pops up, ears twitching.

  Desma’s colors skitter over me with tiny teeth, nipping at my skin. Her rainbows jump to me, eager, and I absorb them so fast the magic leaves me breathless and floating.

  “You soothe me, Cat.” She guides us along the rough stone wall as we travel down the back side of the amphitheater. “You’re a balm to my soul.”

  “I’m a bucket of water to your torch.”

  She laughs at my tart response, colors pouring from her throat and sinking into me.

  It doesn’t take long for Desma to stop glowing, and her power leaves me energized enough to forget the stifling heat. Rainbows fly from my fingertips, painting the evening shadows with splashes of color. I draw a picture of the Minotaur on the wall and then aim harmless ribbons of magic at friends who pass. Tadd and Alyssa launch into tumbling runs over the burned-out grass to avoid the beams. Zosimo and Yannis take my colorful volley head-on before staggering to the ground with imaginary wounds.

  “Cat! You’re a menace!” Aetos booms from behind me.

  Laughing, I whirl and hit him with everything I’ve got left. The magic can’t do more than tickle, but he acts like he’s on the glaciers again, pitting himself against the man-eating Mare of Thrace.

  His face contorts, turning more menacing with every step. I eye his hulking form and the giant horsehide flapping behind him like dark wings and wish I’d braved the Ice Plains, defeated a monster, and made an offering like that mare’s head to the Gods.

  What did I do to deserve my magic, apart from survive?

  Aetos wades through the color-thick air and then grabs me, crushing me in a bear hug. “Who’s laughing now?” he rumbles somewhere above my head.

  “Too tight.” I gasp, the magic fizzling as my bones shift.

  “Sorry.” He lets go, and I breathe again. His eyes, glacial blue like the Ice Plains, narrow when he gets a good look at me. “Zeus! You look like you’re forty.” He taps a finger against my cosmetic-layered nose. “Your face paints are so thick I can hardly see what’s under there.”

  “That’s the idea,” I say with a cagey grin.

  His expression sobers. “Who are you hiding from, Cat? Who are you?”

  I clam up, humor draining from me like someone else’s magic. Aetos hasn’t looked at me like this in years. Not since he stopped asking where I ran from and why I scream at night.

  I force a cocky smile. “I’m Cat the Magnificent. Soothsayer Extraordinaire.”

  He doesn’t smile back, only letting me off the hook once he gives me a look that says he’s not done fishing. “Time to dazzle some Sintans, Cat the Magnificent. Soothsayer Extraordinaire.”

  The tension I hate so much breaks when Desma pats my rump. “Either those pants shrank or you’re eating too many spice cakes again.”

  I make a sound of disgust. “Why is everyone ganging up on me?”

  She grins. “Because you’re weird, and nobody knows who you are.”

  “My pants are fine.” Actually, they’re verging on truly uncomfortable, but I’m not about to admit it now.

  Aetos crosses his arms, frowning. “They are too tight. If I see anyone looking at you for more than five seconds, I’ll tear his bloody head off his bloody body.”

  My right eyebrow creeps up. “Then everything will be very bloody.”

  “Laugh all you want,” he growls. “Just don’t get splashed.”

  I make a sign to the Gods on Olympus. “Grant me patience.”

  “Seriously, Cat.” Desma grabs my arm, unexpected urgency in her grip. “Those face paints and that outfit make you look a lot older and more experienced than you are. Tread carefully in the crowd tonight.”

  I roll my eyes. “I have done this before.”

  “I know.” She releases me as abruptly as she grabbed me. “But things are different in Sinta now, especially in the south. These people have realized that muscle can overcome magic. Hoi Polloi have been feeling feisty all spring and summer, and you wouldn’t want to kill anyone by accident.”

  Everything in me stills. “What makes you think I can do that?”

  Desma shrugs. Aetos looks way too interested, so I shift the focus to him.

  “You can kill with fire.”

  “I can kill with one finger,” he scoffs, snapping for good measure. “Fast, too.”

  Desma’s small hands land on her narrow hips. “We’re talking about magic, not obscenely overmuscled Giants.”

  “Who are you calling obscene, rainbow woman?” Aetos’s barrel chest heaves with indignation, thunderclouds gathering in his eyes.

  “Stop!” I cut off their bickering before they have a chance to warm up. The Fates got everything backward with these two—a huge, tattooed southerner with fire and flight and a tiny Demigoddess with nothing to show for her Olympian heritage except rare beauty and a colorful glow. What a pair. I wish they would finally sleep together and get all the repressed emotion out in the open. “I have to go. My table’s up.”

  Aetos winks. “Careful out there.”

  I shove him. It’s like ramming my hand into a marble statue. “Why does everyone suddenly think I need protection? Didn’t you just decide I’m the menace who can kill by accident?”

  �
�So you can?” Desma asks.

  I shake my head. “Of course not.” I hate lying to my friends.

  * * *

  A boy with a berry ice in his hand and red dripping down his chin passes me three times before he finally stops.

  I point to the chair across from me. “Sit.”

  Looking skittish, he lands on the edge of the seat. “Can you see my future?” he asks.

  “Maybe.” Never commit to something you probably can’t do. I can try to have tea with Zeus. That doesn’t mean I’ll succeed.

  His expression turns belligerent. “Does that mean you can’t?”

  “Let’s make a deal.” I lean forward, lowering my voice. “If you don’t think I do a good job, you don’t have to pay me.”

  Hazel eyes sharpen, and he nods.

  “Say it,” I prompt.

  “It’s a deal.”

  I sit back, satisfied. “What do you want to know?”

  He shifts uncomfortably. His face, boyish and awkward now, but promising to break hearts in a few years, scrunches up. I wait, trying to look patient until his question finally pops out.

  “Will I ever have magic?”

  I stifle a sigh. You’re either born with magic or you aren’t. Magoi or Hoi Polloi. It seems cruel to dash his hopes too fast, though. “Give me your hand.”

  Trusting, he holds out his right hand.

  I wipe my slippery palm on my leather pants, which does nothing, and then take his hand in mine. His is sticky with berry ice juice, and our hot skin fuses.

  Palm reading is an ancient ritual, one that holds no bearing on anything whatsoever. You can’t read a damn thing from the lines on someone’s hand, but if the boy has even a tiny, glacial shard of the Ice Plains inside him, I’ll feel it. His power will want to come to me the same way mortals reach for the Gods.

  There’s nothing. He’s warm, sticky, and smells like kalaberries. His hand holds no power, although that doesn’t mean magic is forever out of his reach. I hesitate before sending him on a dangerous path. “Why do you want magic?”

  His cheeks color. “I’ll never be as smart and strong as the tribal warlords. If I don’t have magic, I won’t have anything.”

  That’s not true. He has a brain. He seems healthy. He can do anything he wants. The boy believes what he’s saying, though, or else my magic would react to the lie.

  “Are you brave?” I ask.

  He looks surprised. “I-I try to be.”

  “Do you love your mother?”

  He nods, his brow creasing at my question.

  “Say it out loud,” I insist.

  “I love my mother.”

  “Is your family good to you?”

  He starts to nod, and I raise a warning finger with my free hand. I have to hear it. There’s magic in spoken language. It’s binding. There’s a reason people ask for someone else’s word. Every sentence a person utters can be a promise—or a betrayal.

  “They’re good to me,” he answers.

  A loving family. How novel.

  “If you saw a child being beaten, would you walk away or would you intervene?”

  His eyes widen. “But what could I do?”

  “That doesn’t answer the question.” A hard edge creeps into my voice, and he pales.

  Note to self: Don’t scare children.

  His shoulders straighten. “I would intervene.”

  I brace for a ripping in my soul. Surprisingly, none comes. He’s told me the truth, which makes him worthy of my advice. He’s also courageous and has a family that will support him, which means he might actually survive it.

  “The Gods favor kindness and selflessness.” Some do at least, and despicable people like Cousin Aarken get chomped. Ha! “Under the right circumstances, goodness and honesty can be rewarded.”

  The boy looks confused. “I have to be good and ask the Gods for magic?”

  I sit back, releasing his hand. “Yes, but you can’t just go to the temples, pray, and say, ‘please, please.’ It doesn’t work that way. You have to prove yourself. When you’re older, wiser, and much stronger, choose either the Ice Plains or the Lake Oracles.”

  “You mean go north.” His freckled nose wrinkles in distaste.

  “That’s where the magic is. Here, we’re so far from Olympus that it’s weak and diluted in the people who possess any at all. Even Magoi have trouble this far south. It’s harder for most of us to wield our power.”

  “Most?”

  I wink conspiratorially. “Most.”

  The boy chews on his berry-stained lip with teeth that are white and straight. “Which should I choose?”

  He’s so earnest that something in my chest tightens. I’m pointing him toward vicious magical creatures or Oracle fish the size of Dragons. What if I’m sending him to his death?

  “You have to be very strong to survive the Ice Plains. The Oracles are capricious but usually the safer bet.”

  He nods, storing the information away. I should charge two coppers for this kind of thing, especially in southern Sinta. There’s more ignorance of magic and history here than anywhere else in Thalyria.

  “Which lake?” he asks.

  Make that three coppers. Maybe even four…

  “That’s your choice, and it depends on which God you want protecting you.” I pitch forward and then say in a low voice, “But if you’re anywhere near Fisa and you see Poseidon’s three-tentacled trout, tell it Catalia says hello.”

  I draw back, alarmed. What in the Underworld? I don’t blurt things out. I don’t just hand over information about myself that I’ve never told my friends, including my full name.

  The boy’s eyes go as round as clay pots. “You’ve been to an Oracle?” he says far too loudly.

  My stomach lurches while I wonder when I stopped being in control of my own mouth.

  Damn meddling Gods. What do they want with this kid? Or worse—with me?

  I reluctantly nod. “And came out the right end. Not the back,” I clarify. I don’t even want to think about being digested by a giant fish. “Oracles will look you in the eye, poke around in your head, and then taste you. If you’re lucky, they’ll help you. If you’re not worthy, they’ll swallow you whole.”

  He pales. “Eat…people?”

  “Even Oracles need to eat. I have a cousin who found that out the hard way.”

  The boy’s jaw practically hits my table.

  “Oh, he deserved it,” I assure him. Mother knew Aarken and I were rivals and informed me with her usual cruelty and disappointment that I should have taken care of him before the Oracle did. Kill or be killed—the family motto.

  “You’re amazing.” The boy sounds breathless.

  I laugh. Sort of. “Everyone thinks so.”

  He grins at my obvious humility and starts digging around in his pocket for a copper.

  “Keep it,” I tell him. “Buy yourself another berry ice and bring one back for me.” It’s so hot I’m tempted to let one melt down the back of my neck, but I’m sticky enough as it is.

  “Thanks!” He grins even wider.

  I hope the information I’ve revealed about myself remains between us. His smile is charming, and I don’t want another enemy. “How old are you?”

  “Thirteen,” he answers proudly.

  It’s only a small deception. Pain still rips my soul. Flames sear me from the inside, igniting in my core and lashing out to char my bones. I lock my body down, holding still until the burning passes.

  “You’re eleven,” I say coolly. “Why would you lie?”

  His face falls, and he stares at his feet. “I wanted to impress you.”

  “Lies never impress.” I try not to grit my teeth and scare him. “Remember that when you see the Oracle, or you might come out the wrong end.”

  He nods without looki
ng up.

  Sweat breaks out on my upper lip. A bead of moisture slips down my spine. Between the southern climate and the boy’s lie, someone’s going to have to peel me out of my pants. I hope Desma’s up for the job.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Jason.” He’s still hanging his head.

  “Go get me that berry ice, Jason of Sinta. I’m melting in this heat.”

  He flashes me a relieved smile and then dashes off.

  I lean back in my chair, fanning myself and longing for the cool north, a view of the Ice Plains, and a way to take back certain parts of what I just said. At least the kid doesn’t realize it’s important. Poseidon and Fisa are worlds away to a southern Sintan boy. Catalia doesn’t mean anything to him.

  I’m just starting to convince myself that my unprecedented slipup wasn’t so colossal when a deep voice rumbles behind me, making me start.

  “The Gods don’t favor kindness and selflessness. They favor strength and courage.”

  Chapter 2

  The low voice washes over me like the incoming tide on a dark night, chilling despite the heat. I turn, my heart leaping into my throat. The warlord who was staring at me earlier steps closer, his long fingers nearly brushing my shoulder as he points to the banner proclaiming me a soothsayer. “You planted an idea. You didn’t tell him his future.”

  “These conversations are supposed to be confidential!” I snap, springing to my feet. Oh Gods! How much did he hear?

  “The boy asked if he’d have magic, and you never told him if he would.”

  My jaw unhinges. How dare the brute listen in! “I gave him a way to get magic. That’s better than answering a yes-or-no question.”

  “So will he get it?”

  I have no idea. That depends on the Oracle. It depends on Jason. “That’s none of your business.”