Darken the Stars

by Amy A. Bartol

  “It’s not about you or Excelsior, it’s about the prophecy—” Ainsley stops talking when he notices my approach. His scowl is all the indication that I need to understand that I have committed some huge faux pas in his eyes by approaching them in this manner. I can’t help the warmth that spreads inside me at the knowledge.

  “My love,” I address Kyon with pouty lips. “I was just speaking to Phlix and I have figured out exactly what this room needs. I had to rush over and tell you.”

  His eyes dance with amusement. “What does it need, my little savage?” He reaches over and tucks my hair behind my ear.

  “A disco ball!” I smile, like it’s not the tackiest suggestion one could introduce in a circle such as this.

  Kyon shoots me a besotted look that makes me believe he’s a much better actor than I gave him credit for. “I’ll have one made for you right away as soon as you explain to me what that is.”

  “It’s a mirrored sphere that one hangs from one’s ceiling. It reflects light and makes everything shiny!” I flash my most elegant jazz hands.

  Ainsley looks from Kyon to me, and then back again.

  “Will it sparkle like your eyes?” he asks. I almost laugh, but I keep it in.

  “Oh! That’s such a good idea! Can you make it lavender, to match my eyes?” I plead like a spoiled child.

  “Your eyes are more violet than lavender, and I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Kyon replies.

  “I’d like Phlix to stay here too—to help me. She can teach me how to be a proper priestess. I need a mentor, like Fulton.”

  “You don’t need her, Kricket,” Kyon says as he takes my hand and puts it to his lips. “You have me.”

  I stick out my bottom lip. “I want a friend.”

  Our exchange is bothering Ainsley. He interrupts with a prissy huff, scolding me, “You cannot have Phlix. She’s to be Pike’s newest in a matter of a few rotations.”

  Turning on him as if he’s gravely insulted me, I growl, “But I want her! Spike can have her in a few rotations. What would it hurt to let me have her for such a short time?”

  My assertiveness is not something that Ainsley is accustomed to or something he’s ready to tolerate. “His name is Pike!”

  “Spike, Pike,” I shrug. “He can have her after I’m finished with her.”

  Ainsley’s mouth opens and closes several times, like a fish’s. “You were not sent for, Kricket,” he scowls dismissively. “Your master and I are convening on a very important issue—”

  I put my index finger to his mouth, cutting him off. “One moment, Ainsley. He’s not my master. He’s—” Hearing feminine laughter, I look toward the game table across the room and witness a turquoise winged-horse figurine fling off the game board and strike Phlix in the back of her head. Distracted, I murmur, “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.” Ainsley’s face turns red and he blusters behind me, but I ignore him.

  I cross the room to the game table. Brighton, Ryker, and Ashland have their shoulders hunched as their heads lean together in some misery conspiracy. Placing my hands on the cool, marble game board, I give them each a sinister smile. The black butterfly lace of Brighton’s facial adornment rises as her eyebrows do.

  “Hi, I’m Kricket. We haven’t formally met yet, but I’ve noticed that you like games.”

  Sitting back in her chair, Brighton gives me a smug look and says, “I’m enjoying the game I’ve been playing.”

  “I’ve been watching your game. It isn’t funny. I think you should apologize to Phlix.”

  Her blue eyes shine with condescension, “I never apologize,” she replies. Ryker and Ashland both giggle, enjoying their friend’s disdain.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider? It would be a shame if you couldn’t walk outta here.”

  Her lacey eyebrows rise together. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” I nod.

  Brighton’s eyes narrow as she says, “You’re in no position to threaten me.” She flicks her hair back over her shoulder, looks at her friends, and smiles. “You won’t be here long. They’re taking you back to Freming House. You won’t last the rotation.”

  “That’s an interesting thing to say, since you’re not clairvoyant. If you were, you might be a little bit nicer.”

  “I don’t have to have the gift of seeing the future, because I already know yours.”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “It’s only a matter of time before the Brothers kill you.”

  “I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Brighton.” I lean near her ear and whisper, “They’ve already tried.” Then I straighten and add, “So I’ll give you one more chance to apologize to Phlix for being such a knob knocker.”

  They look at each other like I said something ludicrous. Brighton’s eyes leave Ryker and Ashland’s astounded faces. She concentrates on an aquamarine griffin on the game board. The feet of the iconic beast tremble and tap against the smooth surface. It lifts off the game board, heading straight for my forehead. I duck. The griffin sails over me. It strikes the large male behind me in the temple. Standing, the bearded blond Brother clutches his hand to his face as he roars in anger.

  “Many pardons, Adondon,” Brighton says in mortification as she holds up her hand to him and pales. “I did not intend—”

  “I got this one, Don,” I say to the raging Brother before I grasp the edge of the heavy marble game board, saying to Brighton, “You should’ve just said sorry.”

  A rainbow of beautiful, stone-carved creatures tumble off the checkerboard surface, clattering against the top of the wood table as I lift it up. Brighton’s eyes shift to me. Her black, lacy eyebrows flap like bat wings. I swing the marble game board as hard as I can. It connects with Brighton’s cheek. A tooth flies out of her mouth. She falls to the ground with a desperate moan.

  I swing the game board back the other way, and it connects with Ryker on the other side of the table. Dominos don’t fall this easily. Panting a little, I hoist the board over my head, intending to throw it across the table at Ashland, when it’s caught in someone else’s grasp. I’m lifted off my feet as an arm encircles my waist.

  Kyon murmurs in my ear, “Drop it.”

  I don’t. It’s wrenched from my hand and tossed back onto the table, where it makes a tremendous noise.

  “Don’t get in my way,” I growl at Kyon, my breathing heavy from exertion.

  He turns me so that we face the room, which has gone silent except for the moans of the two priestesses on the floor. With his arm around me, Kyon holds me pinned to his body. I glare at everyone. I hate their shocked faces. They have no idea who they’re dealing with, and it shows. None of them has ever had to survive a juvenile lockup.

  I refrain from jerking my arms in an attempt to make Kyon release me. It won’t work, so it’s useless. I don’t like the fact that he’s been testing me ever since we entered this room, like a science experiment. He knew what would happen in here, though. His ability to read me is a bad thing.

  He evaluates the priestesses writhing on the ground. “Fulton,” he calls. Fulton enters the room as if he’s been monitoring the situation the whole time. He has medics with him who immediately attend to Brighton and Ryker’s medical issues. Once sedated, they fall silent as the medics work on them. I may have broken Brighton’s jaw—it hangs at a funny angle when they quickly take her from the room. Fulton remains by the door, watching me.

  Kyon’s hand smoothes my tussled hair as he says to the group before us, “It’s as I said. Kricket is a singular alpha female. You’ve all witnessed it. The beta females of the group will seek to protect her.” He gestures in Phlix’s direction. “The Virulences have no outward effect on her, because she’s not someone who is at all suggestible.” His hand rises to the idle musicians, who are currently eyeballing me with a mixture of fear and dread. “She has little fear of males.” Now he gestures toward Ainsley’s direction. “She only respects an extreme alpha male, and even then, she will
constantly test his mettle. You cannot mix her in with the general population of priestesses. She’s savage. She’ll eliminate all of your potential alphas, even the ones with enhanced fighting capabilities. She’ll outsmart them, outmaneuver them, and in general, reduce them to sniveling weaklings at her feet.”

  “She’s no good to us if she cannot be controlled, Kyon,” Ainsley says, scrutinizing me like I’m a piece of meat.

  Kyon frowns. “We need extreme intelligence now more than ever to rule Ethar. Things are changing. You’re going to have to change with them. Kricket will rule. She’s the one—she’s your empress. It’s the prophecy; it’s unavoidable. And I will reign by her side.”

  “Your father says that she’s impure. The priestess born of two worlds and two houses cannot be allowed to govern—”

  “My father,” Kyon glowers, “is desperate to keep you all in line—to maintain the status quo. The truth is Excelsior fears her, just as he feared her mother when she slipped away from him! He knew the prophecy. He couldn’t stop it then . . . he cannot stop it now.”

  Fear wraps itself around the necks of everyone in the room. They’re restless. They need to run from this change Kyon is presenting, or they need to make a deal with Kyon so the fear they feel won’t bite them anymore. Kyon’s wolfishly strong heartbeat thumps through my own chest as I lean against him. The arm clutching my waist eases, allowing me to come down off my tiptoes. He bends and inhales the scent of my hair. Primal.

  From the other end of the room, Phlix’s timid voice strains to be heard. “I wish to serve our empress.”

  Everyone turns to look at her. She sinks to her knees, bowing her head to me. I pale when I see another priestess do the same . . . and then another, and then another. When the men begin to follow and bow down to Kyon and me, my stomach aches. I don’t want to be part of this charade. “You see,” Kyon breathes in my ear. “They believe, just as I do. You’re the one: the daughter of our most prophetic priestess—born of two worlds and two houses—destined to be the Empress of Ethar.”

  The stars are no longer aligning for me; they’re bleeding from the sky, turning black, and dying around me. What the people in this room don’t realize is that I’m not the one. Whatever they were told in this supposed prophecy is clearly meant for someone else. Arissa had another daughter born of two worlds and two houses—one who our father protects at the expense of all else . . . of me.

  Astrid.

  My father and the Order of the Tempest must believe that she’s destined to be the Empress of Ethar. I’m the distraction from the truth. While everyone in Alameeda and the surrounding houses focuses on me, they won’t see what’s really going on until it’s too late. My childhood has taught me that the mark usually ends up the biggest loser in every scenario. Every time. No exceptions. The Order of the Tempest was created to protect one person. It isn’t me.

  I want out of this room. Out of this opulent cage. Out of this life. There’s only one place left for me now. Earth. “Are we done here?” I ask Kyon.

  “We’ll never be done, Kricket,” Kyon whispers in my ear.

  He looks in Fulton’s direction and says, “Phlix stays. Show her to a room in Victory. She’ll be comfortable there.”

  “Of course,” Fulton replies. He goes to Phlix and escorts her from the room.

  Ainsley’s head snaps up. “You cannot keep Phlix!”

  Kyon lets go of me. With a bad-wolf look on his face, he approaches Ainsley, who is still on his knees. Kyon squats down to look Ainsley in the eye. “What did you say?”

  “She—” His face becomes flushed and he stutters, “Phlix belongs to . . . Pike.”

  “Who owns her?” Kyon asks with a dramatic arch of his eyebrow.

  Ainsley searches for support in the faces of the other Brothers in the room, but none of them will lift his eyes from the floor.

  “It’s okay,” Kyon encourages, “you can say it, Ainsley.”

  Ainsley casts his eyes down at to ground once more. “You. You own Phlix.”

  Kyon reaches out and roughly pats Ainsley’s face. “Now you’re getting it.” Kyon rises to full height once more. Coming to me, he locks his arm with mine. “Would you like to see your new room, Kricket?” he asks. There’s warmth in his stare.

  I want to push him away, but I can’t react without a plan. Instead, I play along, pretending to be under the influence of giants. “Let me guess—is it in the place you call Hostage?”

  Kyon’s smile can warm moonlight. “Your room is in Mercy.” He escorts me to one of the sets of doors in the room. It’s not the way we came in. These doors lead to a different corridor. We exit the tower known as Beauty, leaving the others there on their knees.

  The barrel-vaulted ceilings of the hallway are carved and shaped from gray mountain stone. Windows in the silhouette of snowflakes cast light onto enormous tapestry carpets of blue and spun ivory that form an elegant path. Ancient juggernaut armor and weaponry that resembles something pillaged from some long-ago Viking ship line the walls.

  As soon as the doors of Beauty close behind us, there’s a tremendous noise: terror-filled screams—shattering glass and furniture. Flashes of blue sparks shine beneath the doors as I look over my shoulder at them. I try to turn around, but Kyon won’t let me. He ushers me down the corridor.

  “What’s happening?” I gasp. The thunderous sounds turn my heartbeat stormy.

  Kyon is calm. Unaffected. “They were sent to hurt you, Kricket. I cannot allow that to go unpunished. I thought you learned that at our other reception. We have to keep sending the message that everyone who aligns against us dies.”

  “They were submissive.”

  “They were complicit. I’m not going to kill them all, just enough of them to send a warning. The ones who survive will know they’ll never be safe in the current regime—the regime that sent them here to die. They’ll comply with the changes we make.”

  “Or they’ll redouble their efforts against us.”

  Amid the drumbeat of death, Kyon shifts from the path we walk together. He shoves me up against the hard wall of the corridor. His warrior-shaped shadow engulfs me. My heart wilts. The intensity in his stare holds me prisoner. “You admit there’s an us?” he asks. Darkness grows in his eyes as his hand cups my cheek and he bends nearer to me. “It’s you and me, Kricket. Forever, my little savage.” His lips are ragged against mine. The need in them forces me to meet his kiss with an equal amount of dream-filled midnight.

  It’s not you that he desires, I think. It’s the power you represent. I turn my lips toward Kyon’s ear and whisper in desperation, “I’m not the one.”

  “You say that as if it were true,” Kyon purrs against the flesh of my neck. His voice trembles through me. I feel it everywhere.

  “It is true,” I reply breathlessly.

  He runs his lips down my throat. His teasing kisses causes my body to react to him in ways I wish it wouldn’t. “I don’t believe you.”

  “You should.”

  “You are the only one. You are the true Empress of Ethar.”

  “It can’t be me,” I restate in desperation.

  “Even if that were so, Kricket, which it isn’t, I would kill anyone who claimed otherwise.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s simple. There’s no one else for me. I’ve found what I want. I’ll crush anyone who tries to usurp you.”

  The sound of weeping floats to us on the air, a lamentation that sends a chill over my skin. “Then you might have to kill everyone.”

  “So be it.”

  “Why are you so crazy?” I ask as I gently rest my forehead against his chest. “This is not the way to attain power.”

  “It’s the only way to attain power. Every other way is disingenuous,” he replies. “Everything is going to be all right, Kricket.”

  “For who?”

  “For us. Trust me.”

  I don’t want to argue with a violent man, so I say, “I’d like to see my room now.” I lift my forehead
from him. Finding his hand, I hold it. “Please take me there.”

  He raises my hand to his lips, kissing it. “Come then. I will show you Mercy.”

  CHAPTER 12

  DISCOLORATION

  Mercy has unobstructed views of the most beautiful aspects of Urbenoster: the grounds of Kyon’s estate, the water surrounding the fortress, and the mountains in the distance. The waning sun glows red on the horizon when the gray stone walls fall away, forming a portico of archways and pillars as we walk. Cool mountain air stirs my hair. What strikes me first is that we’re close to the wide river that surrounds the grounds like a moat. Elaborate sailing vessels hydroplane over the surface of the water, hardly disturbing its placid veneer.

  We enter a suite of rooms. A formal sitting room adjoins the bedroom. My new bedroom is more than elegant; it’s divine. Kyon trails me into it. I walk ahead of him to the doors on the far wall. They open onto a magnificent terrace overlooking the water. In the distance between the towering buildings, the snow peaks of the mountains cast grandfatherly shadows on the city as the sun retreats behind them.

  “What’s your next move, Kyon?” I rub my upper arms with my hands, trying to ward off the chill of the mountain air.

  “Hearts and minds.”

  “Whose?”

  “Everyone’s.”

  “How?”

  “We have to build on your little-lost-priestess-returned-home persona.”

  “You mean with the citizens of Alameeda?”

  “I mean with all the Houses. You are seen as the priestess of the prophecy here in Alameeda. To our allies and to all the other Houses, you have been the catalyst for war. We have to make you sympathetic—the stoic leader rather than the villain. Excelsior, will start his campaign against you immediately, now that he knows unequivocally that I won’t give you up to him.”

  “How powerful is he?” I ask.

  “Not nearly as powerful as us.”

  “How do we make me look sympathetic?”

  “We do what no one else has done. We show you to the world. We unveil the hidden priestess. We endear you to them.”