When Stars Die (The Stars Trilogy)

by Forbes, Amber Skye

  He puts a hand on my back. “We’ll be all right.”

  I turn toward him, my eyes wide and pleading. “Please, Olly. You have to talk them out of this decision.” The only good thing going home will do for me is I’ll be out of the reach of those shadows. Since I haven’t seen them in two days, when I used to see them every day, I’d prefer taking my chances with them than having to face two parents I left three years ago. “Please, I’m begging you.”

  A small blush creeps into his cheeks. He looks away with half-lidded eyes, biting his bottom lip. He fidgets with his hands and rubs his feet over one another. “D-don’t look at me like that.”

  I pull away, throwing my hands on my hips. “I’ll look at you however I please, and I’ll keep looking at you this way until you tell me you’re going to talk to the Order about sending me home.”

  Oliver holds his hands up. “Fine! Fine, I’ll talk to them tomorrow. Just don’t look at me like that again, please.”

  I cross my arms. “Thank you. And just what is wrong with the way I looked at you?”

  His blush darkens. His words come out jumbled. “Youlookedadorable.”

  “What?”

  “You just--” He shakes his head. “That look does things to me, things that make me uncomfortable.”

  I smile, the first real one I’ve managed in a while. “Oh, I thought you said I looked adorable.”

  He snaps. “That’s not what I said!”

  I laugh. “Liar.” But truthfully his compliment has me giddy in a way I’ve never been giddy before. At the same time, I don’t know why he’d believe I’m adorable. I’m far from it. I’m a wilted flower, one that has been introduced to neither sun nor water. Can male friends even think their female friends attractive? I suppose they could, if I find him attractive in a charming way. We’re strictly platonic though and will never go beyond that. Oliver knows this. “But thank you.”

  Oliver looks at me, smiling as he says, “I never said you were adorable. I said nothing at all.”

  Chapter Seven

  When I visit Colette in the infirmary in the morning, the burns are still on her body. She does look at peace though, fully alive in a white gown, tucked under crisp sheets, and her breathing is a steady rhythm that seems to indicate she is in no pain. I want to sit down next to her and hold her hand, but fear keeps me at arm’s length from her. The fear isn’t present because of her appearance but present because I don’t understand why I can see burns no one else does. Or why I can’t see what everyone else sees.

  I don’t want to believe I’m insane. I don’t feel insane, so why am I experiencing something only the insane do? I want to touch her flesh to feel for raw skin; I am too afraid of what I might feel. The life flowing through her body will have to be enough to assure me she will be all right. The tangibility of what I see before me will have to be something I accept and keep to myself, lest I give the Professed Order a reason to send me home.

  Breathing in, I sit down on the stool next to her bed. The physicians haven’t determined what’s currently wrong with her. They think epilepsy might have put her in a coma--or done something worse to her mind. Those with epilepsy often recover within a few hours. Not Colette. The physicians claimed she has not stirred since the incident in the cell. I have seen her stir though. I just do not wish to remember that moment.

  I think to say a prayer to her, yet the longer I stare at her, the more I become uncomfortable with the thought that I may never stop seeing the burns. “Colette, please wake up and tell me you’re all right, that you’re not in any pain,” I whisper. “Tell me you are free of wounds.”

  She doesn’t move, and just continues to lie there, breathing her steady rhythm.

  I groan, then smile to shadow my displeasure. “Oliver called me adorable.” A soft laugh escapes me. “I already know what you’d say to that, Colette. You’d tell me, ‘Now you know you can’t have feelings for him, Amelia. It’s forbidden. If you continue this flirting, it will only grow. Either you force yourself to banish you feelings, or you break your friendship with Oliver.’ And of course I’m not going to listen to you, I’m going to continue seeing Olly, and I’m going to promise you that nothing more will come of our friendship.”

  Her eye twitches, drawing me to my feet. With my breath held, I wait for her to open her eyes. She doesn’t, and I sink back down on the stool.

  “I tried, Colette. I really did.”

  A groan escapes my lips over the realization that the only way for me to accept this is to touch her. As I reach out to brush the pads of my fingers over her face, I hear the sounds of boots stomping behind me, followed by a voice that sends me spiraling back to the trials, to the hair pulling, the lashes, the leeches, the fainting, the cell--all of it.

  “They say if you speak to those lost in sleep, they will eventually wake up.” The words sound mocking to me. “I don’t believe in such nonsense though, but if you feel you must speak to her to comfort yourself, then carry on.”

  Theosodore moves to the other side of Colette’s bed and replaces a vase of wilted flowers with freshly cut perennials. “Really, carry on. Don’t stop because of me.” He arranges the flowers in the vase. “That girl has quite the tongue on her though. Perhaps she needed a long nap.”

  I shift on my stool, my nerves cutting through my muscles. I have never spoken a word to this man before and know not what to say. The spiteful part of me wants to curse him for what he just said. Another part of me, however, knows he is in Mother Aurelia’s favor, and should it get back to her that I said anything sinister to him at all, I’ll be granting the Professed Order more reasons to send my brother and I away. The only thing I can do is practically kiss his scuffed boots.

  “Why don’t we pray to her then, Mr. Branch? That’s the least we can do to try to aide in her recovery.” I fumble with my hands, trying to find more words to say. “Why don’t we say our Master’s prayer to her?”

  Theosodore stops arranging the flowers and looks at me with a cocked eyebrow. I think he was expecting something more biting from me. He won’t get that, not today. “Our Master’s prayer? Why, Miss Gareth, you know that is reserved for Mother Aurelia only. Allow her to grace Sister Colette with it.”

  I’ve never understood why that prayer is reserved strictly for her. There aren’t any special words. It just repeats ‘O Master, O Master,’ sometimes followed by ‘free us from despair’ or ‘raise us with your light.’

  “Well,” I say, “I just assumed that since Mother Aurelia is so busy, she hasn’t been able to grace Sister Colette with this special prayer. I thought that since you’re close to her, she would have entrusted you with the power of our Master’s prayer.”

  Theosodore’s jagged smile overtakes his face as he turns on his heel to exit the infirmary. “That is a lovely thought, Miss Gareth, but I know what is at stake for you.” He turns to leave, pauses, and looks over his shoulder. “Between you and I, I think it would be in your best interest if the Professed Order sent you home. But not for any reasons they have.” His smile turns lascivious. He turns his head away and exits. “Mother Aurelia is nonetheless concerned. She knows what’s best for you.”

  An uncomfortable heat rises in me as I watch him go. What was all that about? Why does he believe it’s in my best interest to send me home? I grip Colette’s bedspread, my knuckles whitening. Theosodore…how dare he say what he said. He has no say in Mother Aurelia’s decisions; therefore, he has no right to comment on what to do with my well-being. I stand and walk to where the perennials sit. I grab the vase, dash over to a window, and dump his “thoughtful” gift all over the snow. I then think to hurl the vase out, but other sisters might want to bring her flowers, so I set the vase back on Colette’s nightstand and settle myself back on the stool, some of my anger cooled.

  I will not let the Professed Order dictate my life!

  I sigh and turn my attention back to Colette. “If only you knew what Mother Aurelia wants to do with me, but I think that’d be too distr
essing for you to hear with the state you’re in. You only want to hear nice things, don’t you? I don’t have much else to say that is nice. Just consider Oliver’s compliment to me nice.”

  Colette’s hand twitches. My eyes widen, all of me hoping that the next thing she’ll move will be her eyes. Instead she moans and starts twitching. I think to shake her by the shoulders to pull her out of this fit, but she starts writhing, and all I can do is shove the stool out from under me and start backing away. Her eyes fly open in harmony with her mouth that forms a wide o. Her face begins to crack like a dry desert, and I swear to Deus blood seeps from her flesh and slides down her face.

  My hands flutter while my mind tries to grasp what I should be doing. My pulses thrum all over my body, speeding my heart rate so that it slams against my chest. My breathing comes out hurried. “C-Colette…please…stop.”

  I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what I can do. Deus, why are you doing this to me? Just when I think my fear can’t mount any higher, Colette contorts her body at an unnatural angle and locks empty eyes on me. Her arm reaches out. Any closer, and she will be a foot from the hem of my overcoat.

  The voice that rises from her throat does not sound like hers. “They’re going to come for you all. Deus will not save you. Deus will not stop us because we are his. You will not stop us because you cannot see us.”

  Instinct says I should bolt, yet fear the density of a cinder block keeps me rooted in place. “Colette, please. This isn’t you. Bring back my best friend, the girl who is always, always happy.” Tears leap to my eyes as her condition sinks into my heart. Never did I imagine she would be so helpless to whatever has her confined. “Come back to me.”

  Colette then starts spouting off frightening things that make stemming the burgeoning tears impossible: shadows that will come and kill us, beings we will not be able to see, death that will swallow us silently. She can’t be talking about the shadows I’ve seen, can she? She can’t be. That’s impossible. She can’t even see them. They can only affect those who can. I attempt to rationalize her nonsense, but she keeps gushing out strings of omens; I can no longer tolerate her presence. If I stay here any longer, I’ll wind up having a fit similar to epilepsy that will ensure that I should never come back to Cathedral Reims. Without even a good-bye, I hurry out of the infirmary and make my way to the cloister to pray for her.

  #

  The cloister yard is quiet, the perfect respite I need to clear my mind. There is no witch propaganda here. The twenty foot stone wall keeps out the outside world while allowing nature to take root in the frozen earth. Pine trees, their needles and flimsy branches crusted with snow, line the sides of the cloister and provide a fresh, earthy scent that clears the mind. In the center is a fountain of a cherub holding an urn that spills water during the spring and summer. Professed nuns walk the small path through the snow that the priests sweep daily to keep pristine. Their heads are bowed, and as I walk behind them, my head bowed, I hear snippets of their prayers, all about Colette.

  “Deus, please grant this child another chance.”

  “Deus, she is an innocent among us.”

  “Deus, her purity is a beacon to us all, a shining example for what we should all aspire to be, and we should all aspire to remain.”

  I can’t help but to wonder what they would say about me if I were in Colette’s position. Would they say these nice things? Would they even pray about me at all? I doubt they’d even be aware of my absence with how readily Mother Aurelia is willing to let me go for an entire year. Then again, I have always been the sister who is seen but never heard, always the quiet, obedient one. My presence is a feeble breeze to them. Colette, on the other hand, is a tornado. She was never afraid to engage the Professed in conversations like they were her equals. They found this charming about her, and one of the nuns, who is a schoolteacher, offered to let Colette do an apprenticeship. Now she can’t.

  Tightening my overcoat, I break from the monotonous path and head to the corner of the cloister where a cluster of pine trees provides shelter for those who desire to be alone. They weren’t grown for that reason, but I’m using their solitary space as an excuse to get away from people in general. I squeeze through the tight space. If I were any heavier, I wouldn’t fit. I suppose I’ve had one honeyed bun too many. Gluttony is a sin I need to be mindful of.

  I turn and step on something soft. A small yelp arises beneath my foot. I pull away, and gasp. “Nathaniel! What are you doing here? Were you taking a nap in this wretched cold? You could freeze to death.” I start fretting over him, pulling him to a sitting position, wrapping my coat around him, and he wipes tired eyes with a small hand. Snow dusts his wool coat that I swipe off as though I’m beating a rug. Despite our meeting being awkward, I am overjoyed to see him. Two weeks is an eternity for a brother and sister who have such a close bond. The sister in me scolds him. “You shouldn’t be out here, Nat. You should be in class. Isn’t Sister Allyn looking for you?”

  Nathaniel yawns and blinks sleep from bright blue eyes that remind me of the ocean. He shakes snow from hair mixed with the colors of autumn. My brother was just born beautiful. It’s almost a shame he’s going into the priesthood because he is going to be desirable when he’s older. “I-I wasn’t trying to sleep. I was hiding.”

  I pull him to me and rest my head on top of his. His hair smells like snow and mint leaves. “Hiding from what?”

  Nathaniel goes rigid in my arms. A single shiver passes through him. “You’ll think I’m being silly or just playing games.”

  “Well, according to Mother Aurelia, the Professed Order thinks the exact same thing of me, Nat. One can’t get any sillier than me, so whatever you have to say will probably seem perfectly reasonable.”

  He shakes his head and looks up at me with eyes full of uncertainty. “I know what Mother Aurelia wants to do with us. Sister Allyn told me. She wants to send us home, doesn’t she? But you said it would have been bad if we stayed at home. Why would she want to send us back there?”

  I know Nathaniel is just avoiding my question, and I suppose I shouldn’t badger him about it now. Perhaps this is what Mother Aurelia meant when she claimed Nathaniel is being as out of sorts as I am. I suppose a penchant for lunacy runs in the Gareth line indeed. I’ll have to figure him out later.

  “I’m trying to get her to change her mind, Nat. I don’t want to go home any more than you do.”

  Nathaniel pulls away from me and looks me full in the face. “Why did you take us away from Mother and Father three years ago?”

  The question sends an uncomfortable jolt through me. I don’t want to have to remind him of what he is, of what I may be too. The thought is already ghastly enough, but to have to speak it out loud in a cloister where only peace is supposed to preside is damning, something I’m certain is a Seven Deadly Sin somewhere. I pull him back to me and keep him tight in my arms. Even if everything else is going wrong in my life right now, at least I have him to cling on to, the last shred of hope that gives my life meaning.

  “Mother and Father…they would have eventually hurt us, Nat, do you understand that? I didn’t want them to hurt us. You know I came here for you.”

  Nathaniel dips his head low. “But I hate it here.”

  A pang of guilt twists my heart. Mother Aurelia said he wasn’t fitting in, but I had no idea he hated being here. “Why?”

  “Because the nuns can be mean. If I talk out of turn, or if I even fidget in my desk, they beat my hand with a ruler, sometimes a leather strap. And none of my classmates are friendly. They think I don’t belong. A girl named Ann cornered me and asked me what I wanted to do here. I said I wanted to join the priesthood, and she just laughed. Her friends laughed with her.”

  No wonder why he doesn’t want friends. It’s hard to trust people if one’s first true interaction is unpleasant. Back home, Nathaniel and I didn’t interact with outsiders much. The only outsiders we interacted with were our tutor and maids, but they grew to be like family t
o us.

  Nathaniel starts picking at his nails. I notice they are ragged, the cuticles caked with bits of blood. My eyes widen, and I have to cup his hands with my own to keep Nathaniel from maiming himself more. “People tease me so much that I’ve wondered if I’m even capable of joining the priesthood. Amelia, why do you want me to join the priesthood? What if I don’t want that for myself?”

  Anymore pangs of guilt and I think my heart will implode. I’ve never told Nathaniel in concrete detail why I do the things I do for him. I just assumed at the time when he was five that his mind wouldn’t be able to comprehend. Now that he’s eight, I still feel that way. I still want to give him vague, childish answers full of the innocence I see dying in his eyes. Girls and boys sent to the convent at a young age are already ruthless because their parents bred them that way. Nathaniel was never prepared, and I should have known this. But I was just as naïve then as I am now.

  “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do, Nat. These things ultimately work out for us in the long run, even if we hate it every step of the way. This world doesn’t give us much when we’re born. It doesn’t assign us a higher calling. I wanted to give that to you, Nat, and I know you hate it now, but I hope one day you’ll thank me for it. I know it’s hard. It’s hard for me too, but it’s something we have to pull through.”

  Nathaniel sighs and hugs his knees to his chest, retreating more inside himself. “I want to go home. You’re just being mean to me now and keeping things from me. I’m not a baby.”

  His comment stings me. I release my hold on his hands, growing small against him. “They would have hurt us eventually.”

  Nathaniel stands, fists balled at his sides. A flare of anger erupts in his eyes, anger I have never seen in him. “How would they have hurt us? You keep telling me that because of who I am they would have hurt me eventually. I bet they’ve spent all this time looking for us!”