When Stars Die (The Stars Trilogy)

by Forbes, Amber Skye

  The men stop encircling us once they cannot squeeze together any further. Now they just stand there, a human wall.

  Nathaniel’s voice comes out small. “Amelia, what are we going to do?”

  I ignite a flame in the palm of my hand. “Nat, can you control your fire?” He shakes his head. I sigh and hold the flame up to one of the men. He doesn’t flinch. Gisbelle’s marking must have also suppressed their instincts. If they were on fire, would they put themselves out, or would they keep trying to block me in, even while aflame? That is my primary concern, for I cannot stay back and beat the flames out for them. “We’re going to have to make a few sacrifices, Nat.”

  Nathaniel shakes his head, letting out a teary, “No.”

  I swallow hard. “We have no choice, Nat. It is either us, or them. And if we’re dead, then that leaves Theosodore and Colette to deal with all these Shadowmen.”

  “But what can you do?”

  “I can convince Oliver to stop this, Nat. I have to.”

  Tears sting the backs of my eyes, and I build the fire up inside me. Nathaniel tugs on my hand, tears sliding down his sooty face. “Amelia, don’t!”

  I shake my head. Tears choke me. “There is no other way.” I squeeze my eyes to fight the tears. “This won’t be me. This will be Gisbelle. She is the one who put me in this position.” And I know Colette said we won’t let any more people be harmed; however, not even she can predict how this rebellion will finish -- whenever we can stop it.

  I bring my hand back to funnel forth the burgeoning fire. Nathaniel screams, and I let the fire fly free, wispy flames unfurling like butterfly wings as they fly out and latch on to the men. Our surroundings cloud with smoke. With Nathaniel under my arm and a hand over my mouth, I run headlong into what was once the barricade, and push free, breaking into a sprint.

  “Forgive me, Deus,” I say, forming a cross on my chest that will hold my sadness for a later time.

  Nathaniel and I have to run in between alleys, duck into shacks, and hide behind rubble to avoid further Shadowmen encounters and reach Cathedral Reims. Weeds now choke the roads, tendrils creeping along the sides of the cobbled stones and buildings in search of more victims. Blood paints the stones of the roads, forever marking Malva with the history of those who died today.

  We fast come across the dormitories of the north transept and cross through the same place where Ann accused Nathaniel of being a witch. We stop by the doors to the north transept, a minuscule part of me hoping that, with one tug, the door will open. It does not. After sermons are through, Cathedral Reims locks all of its portal doors, and only unlocks them when schedule demands. With this war going on, I doubt the cathedral is maintaining its tidy schedule. If anything, Mother Aurelia would have done the responsible thing and herded everyone in the basement.

  But it is unusual that Cathedral Reims remains intact in the first place. Perhaps Oliver cannot disengage himself from this place any more than I can.

  Nathaniel squeezes my hands. “We can’t get in!”

  “Shush, Nat.” I pull him along and scale the side of the cathedral, searching for a loose brick, something that will let us in. This cathedral is hundreds of years old, so its structure is not as fortified as it once was. There has to be a way in, particularly to the basement.

  We wander to the east transept, scale the wall there, then come across the south transept, and that is where I spy a small frosted window peaking up from a pile of snow. I let go of Nathaniel’s hand, fall on my knees, and shovel the snow away. Gesturing Nathaniel down, both of us use our hot breaths to melt the frost. We peer in, finding an archive crowded with ancient bookshelves.

  “Find a rock, Nat, a good one.”

  Nathaniel leaves and comes back with several. I choose a sizable one with enough density and a jagged surface that should make at least a good crack in the window. Pulling my arm back, I hurtle the stone at the window, and to my surprise, the glass shatters. Excitement bubbling through me, I get back on my knees and clear away the remaining pieces of sharp glass stuck into the craggy wood.

  “I’m going to go in, Nat, and you’ll come in after. I’ll catch you, all right?”

  He replies with a curt nod.

  I slide in with ease. I land on a pile of dusty books, a sheet of dust encircling me. I hold my arms out for Nat, and he slides through, landing square on my chest and knocking me backwards. Both of us cough as we stand.

  “What are we going to do now?” Nathaniel asks, running his hand along the cracked binding of a book.

  “I’m going to deposit you with Mother Aurelia, and then I’m going to leave.”

  He cries out. “You can’t leave, Amelia! You can’t leave me alone again! What if you don’t come back?” He frowns. His next words come out unsure. “I want to go with you.”

  “Nat…don’t be silly. Don’t try to play brave. The bravest thing would be to let me do this on my own.”

  “But I need to know what is happening with you.”

  This entire time I haven’t even been worrying about what would happen to me. I’m still not concerned. Whether or not I live or die, that doesn’t matter to me now. I know what is after for me. Fearing death is pointless.

  “Don’t worry, Nat.” I offer him no more condolences.

  His hand in mine, we leave these dusty archives and enter the familiar corridor Theosodore used to bring my sisters and me to our second trial. As Nathaniel and I make our way through the narrow hall lined with cells, I find the cell Colette and I were in. Its walls are tinged with soot, and the prie dieu has been reduced to a pile of wood. The setup is chilling, and it reels in memories of that day and the innumerable feelings that overwhelmed my body. I have to hasten Nathaniel and I through this hall. I can’t bear to be in the space where Sash killed Colette.

  We wind our way farther through the basement, the corridor widening. The space around us grows colder. Scant light from tapers fills the corridor, revealing more cells and shut doors. Before Cathedral Reims was built, I once learned that this basement used to stand in its space as a prison. I don’t think the Professed Order has done much with it, other than make it a place that could be used for the trials.

  It isn’t long before we push through a set of double doors and find ourselves in what looks like a common area. It is filled with sisters, priests-in-training, priests, and all of the Professed Order, including a few cardinals--which means Pope Gilford must be here. They’re all huddled together, wrapped in threadbare blankets, and perched on straw pallets. There are tapers scattered among old tables and fell bookshelves.

  I step into the common room, and everyone turns toward Nathaniel and me. Hushed whispers erupt, almost as if all of Cathedral Reims knows Mother Aurelia sent Nathaniel and I away. I ignore their curious gazes and whispers in favor of seeking out Mother Aurelia. She doesn’t appear to be anywhere in this small space, but there is a shut door ensconced between two fell bookshelves. Squeezing Nathaniel’s hand, I step among the crowded floor, careful to avoid kicking any blanket-wrapped inhabitants. Upon approaching the door, one of the sisters stops us by grabbing the hem of my coat.

  She coughs. “You can’t go in there. Mother Aurelia is currently in a meeting with Cardinal Brandon and Pope Gilford.” She hunches over, trying to warm her bare hands. I almost want to hand her the pair of fur-lined gloves I have in my pocket, but it would be an insult to one who has devoted her life to shirking luxuries. “I think they’re talking about what will happen from here. Best not to get involved in that.”

  I clench my teeth. I have no time to waste. Not even Pope Gilford’s presence is enough to stop me. “I’m sorry,” I say, “but I have some business myself to conduct.”

  I push past the sister and tug on the iron rung handle. The door opens up into a heated conversation, Pope Gilford’s words being the first to register.

  “--burn every last one of them!”

  “They are demons sent from Deus,” Mother Aurelia says. “Burning will do no good. What is g
oing on out there is something we cannot comprehend. Perhaps this is our day of Judgment.”

  “No,” Cardinal Brandon says. “This is something more. This is not a day of Judgment. Our day of Judgment will not occur in this manner.”

  “And just how do you--”

  I cough, cutting Pope Gilford short. I close the door behind Nathaniel and I, shutting out the scant light from the tapers in the common area. Pope Gilford grumbles. He strikes a match and lights a taper, whose flickering flame soon reveals Mother Aurelia sitting at the helm of a desk, with Cardinal Brandon and Pope Gilford flanking either side of her.

  “I didn’t want to waste a blasted match, you know,” Pope Gilford says.

  “Miss Gareth,” Mother Aurelia says, “what is the meaning of this? Can you not tell I am in a serious discussion?” She flits her eyes from me to some point behind me. “I do not see Theosodore with you.”

  Nathaniel retreats behind me as Pope Gilford turns his penetrating gaze on me. During the burning he looked regal; now he just looks haggard, as though the consequences of his actions are beginning to weigh heavily in all the folds and wrinkles of his face.

  “Theosodore is preoccupied at the moment, Mother Aurelia. I am here to leave Nathaniel in your care.”

  She blinks once. “And what of you, Miss Gareth? Where do you intend to go?”

  “Just take my brother, please!”

  Pope Gilford raises his head. “I’m assuming you came from outside. Not sure how you found your way in here, but, if I may ask, what of the outside?”

  I suck in a sharp hiss of air, tempted to fill every furrow on his body with the biting truth that he made himself a part of what is going on outside by leading the witch burning. He still had free will to refuse, and he didn’t. Pope Gilford is no more innocent than Oliver.

  “I have no news.”

  Mother Aurelia furrows her thick eyebrows. “Cardinal Brandon, I leave you to this matter. Pope Gilford and I have much to discuss concerning the matter of the Professed Order and Cathedral Reims. You’re good with children.” She gestures Pope Gilford out of the room, keeping trusting eyes on Cardinal Brandon until they are gone.

  Cardinal Brandon sits on the edge of the desk and folds unlined hands on his lap. Even through the muggy glow of the candle I can tell he is young, possibly his late twenties. He runs a hand through ruffled brown hair and settles calm eyes on us.

  “I won’t question why you feel the need to leave your little brother here.” His eyes follow me as I pull Nathaniel against my side. He relaxes me with a smile. “It seems you have important business to take care of that extends beyond this cathedral. I will care for him.”

  I look down at Nathaniel, wondering if I could trust this man to care for him, this man who assisted Pope Gilford in the witch burning, who can’t be any more innocent than Pope Gilford, in spite of Mother Aurelia’s trust for him. But then she’ll believe anything Pope Gilford tells her. If Pope Gilford told her the witch burning had to happen because Deus commanded it, she would have accepted that reason. After all, in Warbele it is the belief that only the pope has access to Deus’s will, and no one else.

  Cardinal Brandon lets out a rasping cough into his fist. “I can tell you don’t trust me. You have no reason to.” He closes his eyes, a crease indenting his forehead. The frigid air turns solemn. “I ran an orphanage before becoming a cardinal. This is why Mother Aurelia believes I’ll be the best fit to care for your brother until your safe return.”

  Nathaniel rubs his face against my side. “Don’t leave me. I want to go with you. I know I’m brave enough.”

  I turn him around and bend to his eye level. “It’s too dangerous for you to come. You know I have to do this.” I cup his face in my hands, my thumbs catching the tears that fall down his face in little rivulets. “You have to promise me that no matter what, you will not leave this cathedral.”

  He grabs my wrists, his hands shaking as he openly sobs. “No. I won’t promise you anything!”

  Tears threaten to ruin my composure. “You have to, Nat.” My voice cracks. “You have to. I don’t, I don’t--” I don’t want those feelings to return, those feelings that sapped every bit of will out of me, those feelings that made me accept my brother’s death, that threatened to make me accept my own. “I want to know you’re safe, Nat. That is why you cannot come. You are the most important person in my life.” I brush his bangs aside, cupping his tearful face. “You are all that I have.”

  Nathaniel latches on to me. “Don’t make me feel helpless again. I don’t want to feel that way anymore. I’ve always been helpless, and I’m done being that way.”

  My heart weakens. I wish I could grant Nathaniel’s wish without putting him in danger.

  Cardinal Brandon rises from the desk and gently takes Nathaniel by the shoulders. “I shall fix you a cup of tea. Perhaps with honey.”

  I embrace Nathaniel. “I love you, Nat.”

  Cardinal Brandon leads Nathaniel into the common area. I don’t know what will happen to him, as I don’t know what will happen to me. So I latch my thoughts on to Oliver and of all the places he could be. He wants me. I know he does. Since this is the case, why would he want to put himself somewhere I can’t find him?

  I should have thought of this before when Theosodore and I were searching for him earlier. There was just too much going on. Still…how could I have been so foolish?

  Now I realize that he is in the most obvious of places that should have occurred to me right from the beginning: the gazebo.

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  The plum orchard is ripe with fresh, green leaves and fat plums that look ready to burst. Fresh flowers alight in grass that is too green, too earthy for this time of the year. Even the sky above the gazebo is a clear, bright blue, lacking the winter clouds that grace the rest of Malva outside of this spring-enshrined orchard. Oliver has toyed with nature to make this place as enticing for me as possible. He knows both spring and summer are my favorite seasons: spring for its flowers and summer for its fruit.

  I peel the coat away from me, stripping down to the layers beneath my dress, and pick my way among a group of fragrant white roses. Oliver stands atop the gazebo, his arms behind him. I pass beneath a plum tree, and Oliver moves his hand. A plum drops right at my feet. I smell all the pies and jams and ice creams and every sweet this single plum can produce. I shake my head, dig my heel in the plum, and decide to tear apart the roses on my way to Oliver. Once I’m at the bottom step, I incline my head at him.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  He draws his hand through the air, circulating the slaughtered rose petals around my head. “I don’t have to do this? You witnessed how far Pope Gilford was willing to go to rid Warbele of witches.” He drops his hand, the rose petals fluttering in small piles around my feet. “They say revenge can tear a man apart and reduce him to nothingness, but we Shadowmen can already reduce each other to nothingness. There is no difference to me.”

  I climb the first step, balled hands at my sides. “There is a difference to me, Oliver. What happened to the boy who sat with me beneath Deus’s Eye and practically promised the world to me?”

  Oliver holds out his hand for me. “That boy never existed. He died the day he killed his best friend, then everyone else, then himself.”

  I take Oliver’s hand, a tiny part of me praying I can convince him that he is wrong. “I don’t care what you did in your previous life, what mistakes you made, what your regrets are. I only care about the boy standing before me, the one I gave every part of myself to! That was a special night to me, Olly, and still is, and you’re going to throw it all away on some petty vengeance.” I shake my head, trying to free myself of tears. I have cried too much already. I am tired of crying.

  “I love you, Olly. I love you, I love you, I love you…” And as I keep repeating these three simple words, anger captures my heart in a fiery inferno knowing that what I say is the truth. Why is the heart so foolish? Why can the heart not let
go when it knows it is supposed to?

  Out of despair, my words of love turn to words of hate. If there is no turning back for Oliver, then the least I can do is free myself of him. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…Purgatory!” The words taste bitter. I shake my head again.

  Despite how much I want to hate him, I can only love him. There are too many good memories outweighing what he’s doing. I want only to fill the vengeance in his heart with my love.

  “You have love, now. Why can’t you see that?”

  Oliver tilts my chin and brings his lips to mine. I push him away, dragging my bare arm across my lips in an attempt to erase any kiss he has ever placed upon me. “This is what I love about you Amelia, your ardent passion, your willingness to do something. So you should understand why I will not turn back.”

  He tries to kiss me again, but I step away from him until my back is against the railing. Calm passes through his eyes.

  “To suddenly change my mind would snuff out that passion, and that isn’t who I am Amelia. When I start something, I finish it, no matter how heinous it may be. And believe me, I know this is heinous, but I have never felt so alive before.”

  Oliver draws near me. I sidle against the railing to emphasize that I do not want him. He complies, stopping a foot from me.

  “You’re throwing away everything,” I cry. Damn tears. I cannot hold them back. “Me, anyone who ever cared for you in this life, and the future you could have had.”

  There is no saving him. Colette misread him. His love is deluded. He might believe he loves me, but his Exaltation latches on to any remote feeling that might evolve into love and nourishes it with lies until his victim--me--is branded.

  His Exaltation makes him feel false love.