Starbright: The Complete Series

by Hilary Thompson

  “You have a girl in a cage?” I whirl on Hadeon, who is watching me with unabashed amusement.

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Trea, don’t-” Lexan says close to my ear. We are in a precarious sort of balance with Hadeon, and I can’t mess that up now. A game, I think yet again, forcing my breathing to slow. Hadeon is playing, and I won’t let him win. He wants to see how much this bothers me, even though my stomach is threatening to throw back the food and wine I’ve just consumed.

  “Dance,” he commands the girl, and my heart lurches for her.

  The music swells in response and she rises to the tips of her toes, which are laced into elegant slippers, similar to mine. Her skirt of feathers swirls around her legs, brushing the edges of the cage as she twirls. Feathers drape along her arms, and a small cluster is fastened at the back of her head, furthering the illusion of the bird. Her fingers come within inches of her carved walls, and one foot is always touching the base of the cage, as though she is somehow fastened to it.

  She performs beautifully, gracefully, and silently. I feel tears gather in my eyes at the beauty and injustice of what I see before me. My eyes want her to dance forever, but my heart aches that, here in Hadeon’s palace, she certainly will.

  Several minutes pass and the song slows and ends. She pauses in an elegant arabesque, with one leg curved to the top of the cage. She doesn’t move again, even as the cage begins to follow its track around the room and back through the woven screens. The two servants push the screens back in place and disappear.

  I can only gape at Lord Hadeon of Tartarus. Where could I possibly begin?

  He smiles again, obviously pleased with himself.

  “That was Irana. Her name means-”

  “Peace,” Lexan finishes.

  “Very good,” Hadeon nods, narrowing his eyes at Lexan, though his smile never falters.

  Lexan shrugs at my questioning look. “I read it somewhere.”

  “I’m sure you did,” Hadeon says thoughtfully, as though he has learned something of great value.

  “She was very colorful,” I say. There are other words I could use, but I’m curious why, in a palace of white and black, the girl Irana alone wears rich blue and green and purple.

  Hadeon gives me the same sort of look he has just given Lexan, and I wonder what information he is gleaning from our actions and reactions. The game, I think again, desperately trying to calm myself.

  “She performs for me when I ask. But she is not a prisoner. She stays for another reason,” he says after a moment of silence.

  “What reason?” Lexan asks.

  “To keep the peace,” he answers. “There is more than one way to fulfill a destiny, Astrea.”

  He rises suddenly and snaps his fingers. The door opens almost immediately and a guard holds his arm out in a gesture for us to follow.

  “Until the morning,” Hadeon says. As I turn to go, he presses a hand lightly to the small of my back, walking me toward the waiting door.

  As Lexan makes a bed on the couch, I pace the sitting area. “What are we going to do?” I don’t really expect an answer I can handle.

  “Be careful with him, Trea. I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

  I smile. “You sound jealous.” But I had been thinking the same thing.

  “Let’s get some rest.” Lexan’s voice is quiet, as though he is falling asleep, but when I glance at him, his eyes are open and bright, staring beyond me and beyond everything.

  I wait a few more seconds, but he remains silent. “All right, then. Good night.” In the bedroom, I see sleeping clothes waiting on the bed for both of us. I glance back to the sitting room, but it is dark and quiet, so I lay Lexan’s clothes aside before hurrying to change into mine.

  I huddle beneath the blankets, trying not to imagine the sleeping circumstances of Stian and Zarea. Did they rent a room for the night? Are they trapped in a prison? Or perhaps just tucked into an empty doorway, as I saw so many citizens doing earlier.

  My eyes grow heavy and sleep comes before I realize that I’m slipping into dark dreams. They twist around my thoughts, making everything gruesome.

  In my dream world, a guard with a leather face mask crunches Stian’s forehead with the hilt of his sword and drags him to a cell beneath the arena. He waits for his turn as the crowds above scream in an ecstasy of the ritualized killing. Zarea is nowhere, and I see the world through Stian’s eyes - bleak and hopeless. He is broken and no longer cares whether he lives or dies. He has lost everything, and there is no home left.

  They come for him, prepared to shackle him and drag him by the arms, screaming. But he goes willingly. He is ready, finally, to trade his life for something.

  Then I shift from his perspective into the hovering, floating one of my regular dreams. I try to call out that he is not gaining anything in this trade: he is giving up, losing. But he is ignorant of my presence.

  Stian steps proudly into the arena. He bends his ear to the ground, listening for the stamping of animal feet and the roar of beasts. He climbs the walls as best he can, sniffing the air to find the metallic pinch of armor. Then he runs, navigating the maze like no one has ever done before.

  He is a wanderer.

  And I pray that today, Hadeon will be surprised.

  Stian finds the armor room. He rushes to strap on a heavy chain vest and brandish a great long sword, grabbing a bow and quiver of arrows as he leaves the room. The crowd roars louder than the waiting lions.

  He weaves expertly through the maze, avoiding the lion’s den, but not the second curiosity room. As soon as he enters, a spiked ball and chain shoots from the wall, barely missing him. Another, and another. The balls anchor themselves in the opposite walls, creating a network of chains. Then the floor begins to collapse - quicksand.

  Stian whips an arrow from his quiver and yanks a chain from the wall above him. He wraps the chain around the arrow and shoots it beyond the open door, back into the passageway of the maze.

  Lord Hadeon materializes beside me, insinuating himself in my dream as much as he has in my waking thoughts.

  “He is a surprising young man,” he says in my ear, his breath tickling my skin. “But the day is only beginning.”

  Stian has escaped the room, but he must still fight his duel in the center ring. Just as he rounds the final doorway, I see his opponent. And I begin to scream at the horror.

  And my screaming becomes real, and I shoot upward in my white bed, black curtains billowing around me as an impossible breeze from nowhere ruffles my hair.

  Lexan is on the bed with me in seconds, the air blowing in with him, or because of him, and he wraps me in his arms as I continue to babble. Even as I try to describe what I saw in the center circle of the arena, the fiery image vanishes from my mind like smoke. All I remember is the feeling of horror, and the knowledge that Stian was certainly going to die.

  I pray it was only a dream. Not a vision. Please, not a vision.

  “We’ll find them,” Lexan says, knowing instinctively who I’ve been dreaming of. “I promise, Trea, we won’t let Hadeon get them. We’ll serve Justice on him and his whole city if need be. Hadeon’s days of destroying are done.”

  I slump into his arms and we lie back on the pillows. Lexan doesn’t move to return to the couch, and I don’t ask him to.

  FIFTEEN

  Strong emotion has always been heralded as a specifically human trait. We look with pride at our ability to feel love and hate and pride - as though other beings do not possess these emotions and are therefore beneath us. I believe this is wrong - our very stories teach us that the stars care deeply about humans, and about each other. The spring star valued human life, and the autumn star loved the spring star. The sun felt jealousy, and the moon felt guilt. There are many reasons to be proud of being a human - but using these as a way to place yourself above others is surely a great wrong.

  Secret Journal of First Leader Firene

  In the morning, our serva
nt seems to make extra noise to waken us. She uses a bizarre combination of hand gestures and actual pushing to make us aware of the expectation that we should hurry.

  The clothing laid out for me is an improvement - although the stretchy fabric clings to my body, it’s geared more for training exercises, so at least it covers my skin. While Lexan occupies the bathroom, I dress and sit on the couch, my stomach rumbling in anticipation of another hot meal. When the door opens, a guard stands there, but he holds nothing. He only beckons for me to follow, not waiting for Lexan.

  We stop at the throne room yet again. I’m beginning to wonder if Hadeon sleeps there.

  “Good morning,” he says to me from the long couch. He is draped along its cushions, the very picture of beauty at ease.

  I sit on the very edge of the chair opposite him, distinctly not at ease.

  “We will have breakfast shortly, and then I will tell you what I want from you,” he announces loudly. I startle at his volume, but then I realize Lexan has just entered the room as well, and Hadeon’s remark was for both of us.

  “I trust you met your servant?” he asks, waving the guards away.

  I nod.

  “Is there a reason the guards and servants are not allowed to speak to us?” Lexan asks.

  He shrugs. “Language is useless in people such as those. I prefer silence. But you may ask anything you want of them, and they will do it or find it.”

  “Anything, Lord Hadeon?” Lexan repeats. A challenge.

  “Of course. Your comfort is my greatest pleasure. But do call me Hade,” Hadeon laughs insincerely.

  “What if I ask for our freedom, Lord Hadeon?” Lexan asks. Another challenge.

  “Ah. That. Of course you are free to roam parts of the palace if your door is unlocked or your guard answers your knock. But outside the palace? No. I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t sound sorry, Lord Hadeon,” I say.

  “Well. Because I’m not. I do try to be polite, you know.” He winks at us. “And again, I’d like you to call me Hade. I’d say that all my friends do so, but I really don’t deal in friends.”

  “No friends?” I ask, taking the opportunity to scrutinize him. Today he wears all white: light pants that brush the floor over white slippers, topped with a white tunic that lies open at the throat and is edged everywhere with intricate silver scroll embroidery. His hair is again slicked back in shiny perfection, and for a strange second I feel the urge to run my fingers through its blackness, destroying the illusion of control.

  I wonder if Lord Hadeon has a penchant for perfection because he feels out of control. Now I just need to see what causes him to lose this façade of constraint.

  Lexan clears his throat and I realize in embarrassment that I have again been studying the young ruler of Tartarus far longer than necessary, and that he still hasn’t answered my question. Instead, he has been watching me as I watch him.

  The breakfast trays are delivered, and Hadeon dips a delicate finger in each dish - tasting, but never eating.

  Lexan and I eat enough to make up for his restraint.

  “Today you will train, so I can see your powers. If you do well, your training will proceed. If you do not, expect to see the arena much more closely and intimately than you desire.”

  “Are you threatening us with death?” Lexan asks.

  “Yes,” Hadeon answers, as though it were a perfectly normal thing to do over breakfast. “Oh, and Astrea, darling? Tomorrow will be your first test of dispensing Justice. We have a public sentencing.”

  My stomach reels, and the food I’ve just eaten threatens to climb back up my throat. “Public trial?”

  “Of course. I may be the Destroyer, but I am certainly not hiding from my people,” Hadeon laughs gleefully, standing and smoothing his shirt. He snaps and two guards appear, one for me and one for Lexan.

  We are led in opposite directions. After descending several flights of stairs and passing many closed doors, I step through an open door into a large square courtyard surrounded by stone walls. Against the palace wall are piles of chopped wood and chunks of broken metal, but the other three walls are bare. The stone is at least ten feet high and smooth, with no possible holds for climbing. All I can see above me is blue sky and bright sun.

  My guard steps back into the shaded portico near the door as a short, slender man approaches. I shudder when I realize it is Commander Charon.

  His eyes are dark and unkind, and his skin seems stretched too tightly over his skull, as though he has almost nothing between his bones and the outside world.

  “Girl of fire and ash. Burn this stick for me,” he commands, holding a piece of wood no larger than his arm.

  I shrug, calling a few inches of flame and holding it to the wood. The branch soon catches fire and he studies it for a moment before dropping it on the tiled ground. He retrieves a larger piece of wood, perhaps the thickness of a man’s leg. I can tell the wood is wet before I touch it.

  My fire merely smokes and dances lightly around the wood, without catching.

  “You are weak,” Charon says, glaring at me. “Even if the wood is wet, the hottest fires will catch. You could never burn away evil with that puny flame.”

  I recoil from him - he is the first who has been summarily unimpressed with the talent I have. He is the first who expects me to be more - to actually make the words of the prophecies into a reality.

  “The Maiden of Justice has not yet returned,” Commander Charon calls to someone behind me. I whip around and see Hadeon watching us.

  “Astrea, my beauty,” Hadeon says as he glides toward me. “You must reach a little deeper within yourself. Awaken the star that lies dormant in your soul.”

  “I have,” I answer, my hands on my hips. “I can call fire when I want.” I allow the flames to dance a little higher, coaxing them to arc together in front of my face. I don’t have the strength to make the larger ball I’ve done with Lexan, but surely this is enough.

  Hadeon steps closer to me, only inches from the arc. He leans in, his face centered in the fire, and whispers, “It is not enough.”

  Then he places his palms over mine, never flinching as he smothers the fire until there is nothing left. His mouth is so close that I can feel his breath, hot on my forehead when he laughs softly.

  “You must do better.”

  He steps back, releasing his tight grip on my fingers. I flex them to encourage the blood to flow again and try to push away my nervousness as Charon brings the wet log to me again.

  I try harder, squinting my eyes in effort and focusing on each horrible thing I’ve witnessed here in Tartarus, hoping to heighten my anger.

  Smoke billows from the log, and the very end dries out just enough to catch fire. It flickers for several seconds before sputtering out. I drop my hands, the first edges of exhaustion bringing a chill to my body, even though the sun beats down on us.

  “Better. But not enough,” Hadeon says. “You are using anger as your source, yes?”

  I nod, rubbing the chill from my arms.

  “And other emotions have not worked?”

  “Grief and anger work well. Loss,” I say, speaking before I should. Agitation skitters across my shoulders as I realize that I have just told the Destroyer how to increase my power.

  I still have much to lose, I think, an image of Lexan sliding behind my eyes.

  Hadeon stares at me for several long moments. I’m reminded of the sensation of Keirna’s power - as though Hadeon is searching my soul for a hidden vulnerability. My heart pounds harder and louder with each passing second as I see his eyes narrow until they are black slits for his soul to knife though.

  He turns and beckons to the guard who still waits in the shade.

  “Defile her,” he says as the man approaches. The guard blinks twice, and time pauses long enough for both of us to process what is about to happen. Then he lunges for me. I shriek and move to run, but he catches the edge of my braid and yanks, tumbling me to the hard, hot tiles.
/>   I struggle with every reserve of strength and fighting maneuver I have, forcing myself to push down the panic and stay brave, but he is too large. Too strong.

  “Burn him!” Hadeon yells, and I feel sick that he is still here. Still watching me. “Use your power for Justice, or you will lose your innocence while we watch!”

  My fingers catch on the guard’s face mask and I yank it free, but seeing his eyes, steady and blank as he pulls me closer by my hair, only makes everything worse. Now I can smell his breath, sour and hot on my cheek. Then I see the stillness in his face, and I realize I’ve been transferring my own bravery directly to this man. So stupid - I squeeze my eyes shut, but it’s too late.

  His rough hand rips at my waistband and grabs at my bare stomach, then lower.

  And I snap. The band of careful tension that has been holding my fire inside for days and months and years - the band tethered tightly to my morality - breaks apart.

  And he burns, white-hot and screaming. Until I am screaming with him, because I don’t know how to stop what I’ve started. Until there is nothing left of the guard but a pile of ash and a shiny, purified dagger.

  Until my own voice burns away into nothing, and the world goes black. There are no points of cool this time - my world is all combustion.

  When I wake up, I feel so chilled that the inside of my bones seem to shake. The weight of several blankets covers me, but does nothing. My arms and legs rattle against each other so much that I barely feel the weight of a person climbing onto the bed with me and curling around my back, just the way Lexan always does. Gradually his body heat drives the cold from me and I begin to relax.

  A gentle hand brushes the hair from my forehead, and I open my eyes.

  Lord Hadeon stares back at me, a smirk on his beautiful face.

  “Welcome home, Lady Justice,” he says. “You are truly breathtaking when you display such power.”

  I try to scoot away from him, but I am tangled hopelessly in the blankets. “Don’t-don’t-“ I stammer, imagining the guard’s fingers on my belly.