by Lucy Hounsom
They gathered around it: Amon Taske, Mercia and Kait, a Sartyan captain called Dyen, who’d arrived just yesterday. Argat and Yara, even Ma. Char circled above, each wingbeat rippling the grass of the hilltop. A distant roar came from the north and Brégenne raised her head to see other Lleu-yelin, each soaring as Char was, in wide, slow circles.
Mikael stood beside his brother’s grave, one hand resting on the waist-high stones. He wore his grief plainly; fresh tears staining his cheeks. Brégenne looked for Irilin, but the young woman was absent.
There was no formality to it; those who wished to speak spoke, of Hagdon’s dedication to duty, of his leadership, his sacrifice. The wind scoured the exposed hilltop. Brégenne hunched her shoulders against it, and against the strangely tense atmosphere. Scanning the faces around her, she saw resignation rather than grief and that vague aura of sadness shared when someone dies. The only two who openly wept were perhaps the two who’d known Hagdon best: Mikael and Mercia. Brégenne remembered the commander’s haunted eyes, the doom that rode with him. The only person who’d seemed able to lessen it was Irilin, and she wasn’t here.
A flash caught her eye. Kyndra was standing on the far side of the cairn. The Starborn rarely stayed in one place for long. She seemed to consider it her personal duty to put Acre back together. She nodded when she saw Brégenne watching, and Brégenne returned it. On second glance, Kyndra was gone.
After it was done, they turned their backs on the cairn, leaving Hagdon to rest beneath a lowering sky. It was a good spot, Brégenne thought. Perhaps the soldier could find peace here, in the land he’d helped to free from the shadow of the Fist.
The commander’s tent still stood. Mikael had taken a few personal items to bury among the stones, but they weren’t sure what to do with the rest. It was where, an hour later, Brégenne found Irilin.
‘Why didn’t you come?’ she asked quietly, pulling the tent flap closed behind her.
Irilin said nothing. Her face was very pale. Brégenne realized she was holding something: a piece of paper torn, it seemed, from a journal. It slipped between Irilin’s lax fingers and fluttered to the floor. When she did not move to retrieve it, Brégenne picked it up. The handwriting was familiar; she recognized it immediately as Hagdon’s. With a glance at Irilin, Brégenne lowered her eyes to the page.
Tonight, I made a promise, Irilin. That if we survived the battle, I would be honest with you. I should have been honest from the start and can only say I am sorry. I never dreamed I’d find someone I could come to care for so deeply or, more astonishingly, someone who could come to care for me. I should be telling you these things in person.
You frighten me, Irilin. You seem to see every part of me, even those parts of which I am ashamed, those parts I have tried to leave behind. It would be dishonest to pretend I do not have blood on my conscience, and I do not wish to hide it. I admit that in the beginning, I embraced the Republic’s cause as a way to make amends for my crimes. But I’ve truly come to believe in it. The Republic is Acre’s future, just as Sartya was Acre’s past, and I’m proud to have a hand in shaping it.
I’m sorry I ran from you that day in Parakat. I wasn’t prepared to see myself in the way you saw me. But you were right – I should have trusted you, trusted you to know what you wanted, even if I did not understand why.
I still don’t understand, Irilin, but I hope you will agree to teach me.
Brégenne looked up from the page to find Irilin watching her. ‘How could he?’ the young woman flared, knuckles white on her cloak. ‘I hate him. I hate him.’ And with a wrenching, broken cry, she fell into Brégenne’s arms.
Two weeks later, Brégenne stood on the Murtan dock, the Eastern Set whirring gently in its berth. ‘Thank you, Argat,’ she said, shaking hands with him. ‘For everything, I suppose.’
The airship captain smiled wolfishly. ‘It’s been a pleasure, Brégenne. Plenty of fodder for my book.’ Behind him, Yara rolled her eyes.
Brégenne gestured at the scorched hull, the chunk of missing rail. ‘I’m sorry about your ship.’
‘She still flies,’ Yara said, with a fond smile. ‘And this is my chance to make some improvements. I think her design could be streamlined.’ Brégenne watched her expression glaze over. ‘If only I could get hold of this marvellous-sounding ambertrix.’
‘I don’t mean to dash your hopes, but I think the dragons will be less inclined to share it after everything that’s happened.’ Brégenne shook her head. ‘I know good was done with it, but ambertrix also fuelled a bloody conquest. Eventually, it led to the Lleu-yelin’s own imprisonment.’ She sighed. ‘Maybe they’re right and humans can’t be trusted with such a power.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ Yara retorted. Then she laughed and hugged Brégenne. ‘I’ll miss fleecing you at dice,’ she whispered in her ear and Brégenne smiled. When Yara drew back, she nodded in Nediah’s direction. ‘I’m glad you’re happy.’
‘Take care of yourself, Yara.’
‘Oi,’ Yara shouted, ‘Mercia, Kait, are you coming? Don’t back out on me now. Grace and I are in desperate need of intelligent conversation.’
There came a faint affirmative cry from one of the sailors and Argat raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’ Yara shot at him.
‘I didn’t say anything.’ With a last nod at Brégenne, Argat stalked back to his ship, muttering under his breath.
‘Kait.’ Nediah caught her arm as the tall woman turned to follow. ‘You don’t have to leave.’
Kait simply looked at him. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do.’ She flicked her eyes towards Brégenne, who couldn’t read the expression in them. ‘I’ve said all I wanted to say to both of you. What would be the point of stringing it out?’
Nediah exhaled slowly and released his hold, his face faintly sad as Kait turned and walked away. Halfway down the dock, she paused to look over her shoulder. ‘Goodbye, Nediah.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Somewhere new.’ Kait shrugged. ‘I’ve had my fill of Wielders, Starborn and Sartyans.’
Mercia coughed pointedly. ‘You don’t count,’ Kait told her with a fond smile.
‘Charming,’
‘Hurry up,’ Yara called from the rail. ‘My purse is on the thin side.’
Kait spared Brégenne a last glance, but said nothing. She took Mercia’s hand and the two women climbed aboard the Eastern Set. Murtans gathered to watch the airship leave, many open-mouthed as it rose anchorless into the afternoon.
Brégenne felt Nediah come to stand at her shoulder. They watched the craft until it dwindled to a speck in the western sky. ‘I wonder where they’ll end up,’ he murmured.
‘Knowing Argat, somewhere dangerous.’
‘I suppose we’d better go back,’ Nediah said after a moment. ‘I don’t think this Sentheon idea of Shune’s is going to take off. They’ll be killing each other before long.’
‘Not if I can help it.’ She turned, holding out her hand to him. Across the bond newly forged between them, she said, Coming?
Nediah took it. Always. And together they walked through the town.
EPILOGUE
The Starborn
Kyndra stalked up and down the vast hall, boot heels echoing beneath the vaulted roof. She wore what Char had told her to wear – an ordinary tunic, trousers and coat. At least they were black. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in a splash of colour. Why had she given her promise again? She couldn’t see the point in it, but Char had been insistent. He’d taken something she’d said in the past very seriously and, after telling her to remain here, had flown off.
She should be in New Sartya. There was a lot of ground to cover before she’d allow the merchants of the Trade Assembly to visit the court. The Republic at least seemed to have eastern Acre under control. They’d abandoned Parakat and were operating out of Cymenza instead. She gave silent thanks to Avery, Taske and Rogan. And, of course, Irilin, who’d been instrumental in establishing channels between the Republic and the remaining offic
ers of the Fist.
Kyndra realized that she’d sped up. Surely she wasn’t nervous. No, she was impatient – she just didn’t have time for this. Char had been gone a week already. A week! Didn’t he know how delicate the political situation in Acre was? Maybe Ma could talk some sense into him. She’d returned to the children of Khronosta and led them into the wild to start again. Where exactly, Kyndra didn’t know.
Ansu picked up the sound of wingbeats and Kyndra strode to the window. Her home had many windows, hexagonal portals through which the starlight streamed. She’d pulled burning rock from the skies to build her stronghold, raising the castle stone by pitted stone. It was a good spot in the mountains of northern Acre, not too far from Magtharda. Isolated, perhaps, but that was how she liked it.
Char was a rapidly growing speck in the grey afternoon. Kyndra used Dagha to sharpen her eyesight and spotted two people on his back, a man and a woman. Both leaned forward, clinging to his black scales.
The dragon landed gracefully, claws dug into an outcropping she’d made for him. The man helped the woman down. Kyndra watched their awe temper their uncertainty as they gazed at the castle, its mighty turrets reaching into the heavens, and she felt a flash of pride in her handiwork.
With a gesture, Kyndra bade the great stone doors swing open and stepped outside. The wind immediately caught in her hair, tossing her long coat behind her. ‘Welcome to the Reach, Mother.’
Reena turned. Eyes wide, she took a faltering step. Then she was running, slipping on the dew-slick rock, up the wide steps that led to the castle’s door. She pulled up just short of it and stared at her. ‘Kyndra.’ The name emerged as a tentative whisper.
‘Hello, Mother.’
Reena bit her lip. Her hands trembled and she wound them into a knot before her. ‘I … you look different.’ She seemed on the verge of embracing Kyndra, but something held her back.
‘Why don’t you come in?’ Kyndra looked over Reena’s shoulder to Jarand, who had followed his wife up the stairs. ‘All of you.’
In tense silence, they moved into the stronghold. Char fitted easily through the great portal; Kyndra had designed it with him in mind. She waved a hand and the stone doors crashed shut behind them. Reena jumped.
A long table dominated the main hall, capable of seating at least a hundred people – as if she’d ever actually hold a feast, Kyndra thought wryly. Half a dozen armchairs sat before a huge fireplace. Kyndra used Elat to light it and her mother jumped again, the firelight licking over her pale face as she glanced from Kyndra to the hearth and back again.
‘You must be hungry,’ Kyndra said when they were settled. ‘It’s a long flight from Brenwym.’
‘Oh, Kyndra.’ Reena threw her arms around her neck and Kyndra stiffened. ‘It’s really you,’ her mother murmured. ‘You’re here. You’re alive.’
Kyndra was about to extricate herself when, over Reena’s shoulder, she caught Char shaking his head. With a silent sigh, she endured the embrace a little longer.
Finally, Reena drew back. ‘You live here?’ she asked, darting a glance at the shadowy corners beyond the fire’s reach. ‘Alone? How did you find it? It’s surely too big for one person.’
‘I built it,’ Kyndra said.
‘You …’ Reena’s eyes moved over her and Kyndra knew she was studying the tattoos emblazoned in her skin. ‘You’re like him.’
Jarand hadn’t said anything since they’d entered. Unlike Reena, he didn’t move to embrace her – perhaps he sensed her discomfort. Now he looked askance at his wife, who carefully avoided his eyes.
‘Kierik?’ Kyndra said without preamble. ‘Yes. He was the Starborn before me.’
Behind Reena, Char gave her a stare of Great Significance. What? she thought at him.
I told you to be tactful.
I am being tactful.
‘Kierik,’ her mother whispered. ‘That was his name?’
Kyndra nodded. ‘I met him.’
Reena’s fidgeting stilled. ‘You found him? Did he … did he mention me?’
She was aware of Char’s gaze. Tactful. Right. She thought back to that morning in Naris, to the confrontation between Medavle and Anohin, to the moment the stars first marked her and Kierik regained his sanity. ‘He called me “daughter of Reena”,’ Kyndra offered. ‘Asked my name.’
‘He remembered me, then,’ her mother said with a sad smile.
‘Yes. He told me he wished I’d never been born. And then he died.’
‘Oh.’ Reena looked down at her lap. ‘I see.’
Char rolled his eyes. Good work, Kyndra.
This was your idea.
Gods, just change the subject.
Thankfully, Jarand beat Kyndra to it. ‘I told Reena you were alive,’ he said with a brave attempt at levity. ‘She didn’t believe me. Never trusted that white-eyed woman, you see.’
‘Brégenne saved my life,’ Kyndra told them. ‘Nediah too, on several occasions.’ She tilted her head. ‘I have to admit, you both seem less shocked than I anticipated. You’ve just been flown to a lost world.’
‘Not much beats the shock of a dragon landing in your garden,’ Jarand said ruefully.
Kyndra felt herself smiling. When Reena saw it, something in her face eased. ‘What happened, Kyndra?’ her mother asked, almost plaintively. ‘How can you do all these things? Where have you been?’
Kyndra summoned a goblet of wine from the table. It appeared in her hand and she took a sip, meeting Char’s yellow eyes over the rim. ‘Make yourselves comfortable,’ she said, leaning back in her chair. ‘It’s a very, very long story.’
GLOSSARY OF PROMINENT STARS
Ansu – one that listens
Austri – the eastern compass star
Dagha – the far-seer
Elat – the lesser fire
Era – the star of cycles, of passage
Etoh – cleansing, ending
Fas – unseen, unheard, invisible
Hagal – the demon star, whose name means shadow
Isa and Yeras – the bridges over the void
Kene – the banshee star
Lagus – Sigel’s sibling, it has power over all water
Mannas – the star of finding
Noruri – the northern compass star
Pyrth – the preserver of secrets
Raad – to move swiftly
Sigel – a ruinous star, its name roughly translates to fire and force
Soruri – the southern compass star
Tyr – relentless, the warrior
Thurn – a binding star, it tangles, imprisons
Ur – the bastion star
Veritan – truth-seeker
Vestri – the western compass star
Wynn – the greater wind, another sibling of Sigel
Jointly compiled from notes kept by
Kierik of Maeran and Kyndra of Rairam
Praise for the series
‘Evocative, original world-building and a wonderfully feisty heroine: top marks to Lucy Hounsom’
KAREN MILLER
‘A brave heroine, a perilous destiny, and an intriguing world full of myth and mystery make for an enthralling read’
GAIL Z. MARTIN
‘I thought it was great, reminding me of Trudi Canavan; it had me turning pages way into the night … What a mix: immersive world-building, secret societies, a flawed and hugely likeable protagonist, and awesome magic. There’s a lot to like here, but be warned, this book will seriously damage your sleep’
JOHN GWYNNE
‘Has all the elements to become a modern classic of the genre. It’s essentially a coming-of-age story that breaks out into a widescreen fantasy extravaganza with huge stakes’
Independent on Sunday
‘For those readers with a yearning for a novel with a Trudi Canavan/David Eddings-type vibe, but with a contemporary twist, Starborn may be just the ticket’
SFFWorld
‘An exciting new high fantasy story … the story moves alo
ng at a brisk pace’
SFBook
‘A genuinely impressive debut, and Lucy Hounsom is definitely one to watch’
TheBookBag
‘Highly imaginative, complex and original’
FantasyBookReview
BY LUCY HOUNSOM
The Worldmaker Trilogy
Starborn
Heartland
Firestorm
Firestorm
Lucy Hounsom works for Waterstones and has a BA in English and Creative Writing from Royal Holloway. She went on to complete an MA in Creative Writing under Andrew Motion in 2010. Her first novel in the Worldmaker trilogy, Starborn, was shortlisted for the Gemmell Morningstar Award for Best Debut.
lucyhounsom.co.uk
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I can’t quite believe I’ve reached the acknowledgements for the final book in the trilogy. I began this journey at the same age Kyndra began hers – seventeen – when I’m sure I was just as naive and twice as stubborn. We’ve been on and off the road together ever since; it will be strange and a little bit sad to watch our paths finally diverge.
Between my head and these lovely printed pages are a fair few people, who worked hard to make the books the best they could be. I’ve been lucky to work with two brilliant editors, Bella Pagan and Julie Crisp, whose guidance and insight have, I feel, made me a better writer. Bella, thank you for your belief in this series and for always championing my corner. Julie, thank you for untangling my confusing nest of paradoxes. I promise I won’t do time travel ever again …
Thanks to Phoebe, Saba, Natalie, Alice and the teams at Pan Macmillan for their help with all the trappings – copy-editing, cover design, publicity – you’re all superb and I owe you cake. To my agent, Veronique Baxter: this trilogy wouldn’t have happened without you. Thank you for taking a chance on me and for your continued support. I’m excited to see where we go next.
To my colleagues at Waterstones Exeter who are such fine folk to work with: thank you for being as excited about my books as I am, for your immense hand-selling skills, your beautiful artwork and superior table arrangement. You are all champions – especially those baristas who give me free coffee – and I am lucky to know you.