Starbright: The Complete Series

by Hilary Thompson

“There is always more,” I say, unsure what he means and unwilling to give anything away.

  “I will look forward to seeing it, then.” He turns and saunters back to the crowd. I wonder what his soul looks like.

  I close my eyes to test it, and find that he is more black than white. There is no color there. When I open my eyes, the servant is watching me with a raised eyebrow. I watch him back before looking again at the maze, dismissing his curiosity. I’m not willing to give anything away to the servants either. They may be more loyal in Elysium.

  When we return to the palace, Hade announces another ball will occur tonight. Bands of nerves squeeze my stomach as I try not to think about the last one. A guard delivers me to my room, with Lexan trailing close behind.

  “Did you find out anything interesting?” I ask him. The annoyance shows in my voice, although it’s misplaced. It’s not his fault he’s so charming and easy to look at. Of course the Sisters would want to sit with him. Hade said as much this morning.

  “Perhaps I’ll tell you if you actually wear clothing to this ball,” Lexan shoots back. His voice is strained as well.

  I feel my anger ripple into a soft boil, but then I push it away, breathing out a loud sigh. Lexan isn’t the one I’m angry with - it’s myself.

  Lexan looks at me strangely. “Did you just make it warmer in here?”

  “Styx, I hope not. I better not start breathing fire too,” I say, slouching onto the couch.

  He flops down next to me, running a hand through his hair. He’s close enough that his scent drifts out to me, and I feel a pang in my chest. I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, allowing the cool, earthy smell to permeate my lungs.

  “You still smell like home,” I say before I think about not saying it. Lexan is silent and I screw my eyes shut tighter so I don’t have to look at him.

  “What does my soul look like?” he asks me, and my lids slide open despite my efforts. He faces me, his jaw tight with anxiety.

  “It’s…” I hesitate, still embarrassed. He lays his hand over mine.

  “Please, Trea.”

  “It’s the whitest one I’ve seen here,” I say finally. “It’s beautiful.”

  “And Stian’s?”

  I pull my hand away and rub my eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this, Lexan.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.” He straightens on the couch, moving a few inches away from me. “The Sisters are here to test you in some way. They want you to prove that you are Justice. But they won’t tell me what the test is.”

  “They’ll kill me if I don’t pass.”

  He nods. “Hade told you?”

  I nod. “If he asks me to kill someone else, it’ll be him instead.”

  Lexan laughs, breaking some of the tension between us. “I was a little worried this morning, seeing him with you…”

  His unspoken words say more than describing it could.

  Anger flares up, flushing my face. “If one more guy tries to force himself on me, I will go crazy.”

  “And that’s what you should do. Nobody has that right over another person. I wanted to shove him off the pavilion with a tornado.”

  “I saw Stian last night,” I say, partially to stop thinking about Hade, but also because I need to let Lexan know. “He’s alive. Not healthy, but Hade says if I cooperate, he’ll get there.”

  “That’s good news.” His voice is measured, careful. “What about Zarea?”

  “Hade hasn’t told me, but I think he wants her alive too.” I think of the strange glint in his eyes at the ball, and his confusing words - you have brought me everything.

  “Even though Hade didn’t like it, you made the right decision, Trea,” Lexan says, bringing me back.

  “I know. I could feel it, like a sense of rightness.”

  He is quiet a few seconds, then stands, stretching his arms to the ceiling. His white shirt pulls up, and I notice again how his body has changed since leaving Asphodel. Lexan is turning into a man, and I still feel like a young girl.

  I glance up at him and see he’s caught me watching. “I told Stian…what you told Zarea.” It’s awkward even to say.

  “What’s that?” Lexan smiles. He knows, and he wants me to say it aloud.

  I glare at him and his smile grows. “That we shouldn’t be together. That he should go back to Zarea.”

  Lexan’s smile slips and shifts to something more real. He reaches a hand down to me and I take it, allowing him to pull me up. He gathers me in for a hug.

  “Now just don’t fall for the Prophet, and I might have a chance,” he whispers into my hair. I laugh, and it feels so good to joke - even with such a serious subject as love.

  For the first time, the palace is alive with color. Women swish past in gowns of brilliant emerald green and palest yellow, the hue of a ripe orange, or the shimmer in the blue sky on the hottest afternoons. Even the men sport red and gold vests and scarves, or lavender shirts beneath their dark coats.

  My dress still stands apart, though, with its swirls of orange and red. I’m uncomfortably reminded of the dress I wore at the Choosing Day Ceremony, so many weeks ago. But instead of flames, the fabric resembles the furl of rose petals - one whorl begins at my hip, while another begins over my heart. Both radiate outward toward the floor, intersecting as though the dress had been grown rather than stitched.

  “I like this one much better,” Lexan whispers in my ear as he pauses to grab a drink from a nearby table. His breath tickles my bare shoulders, and the smallest shiver ripples across my skin. My hair is piled atop my head, leaving my arms and neck open; I still feel very bare.

  The girl pouring drinks shifts her eyes to mine for the barest second, and I realize she looks familiar. Until tonight, Ama is the only female servant I’ve met. The girl’s veil flutters, exposing her jawline, and suddenly everything clicks in my head: Serah. The girl before me must be the sister of the girl from Hebron. The twin of our rescuer.

  I nudge Lexan and he looks, his eyes growing wider as she holds his gaze.

  Another servant arrives at the table, bearing a dish. He, too, looks familiar. I close my eyes briefly to remember the portraits from Kedesh, and I know he is a match to one of them.

  Lexan is surveying the room. His eyes meet mine.

  They’re all here, Trea. Like Hade brought them together just to make a point.

  My heart squeezes out everything except anger and I search the crowd, turning a scorching gaze on the ruler of Tartarus. He narrows his eyes, then smiles and raises his glass, taking a long draught. Then he looks pointedly to the walls, where several guards stand at attention, their hands on long swords. The message is clear.

  “Maybe they’re safer here, in the palace,” I whisper to Lexan, hoping the girl cannot hear my shameful, selfish argument.

  “That’s bad logic, Trea. Maybe safer for now, but still servants. Slaves. Destined for the arena if they slip up.”

  I know he’s right, that I’m trying to justify something that is wrong. Yet I know if I speak up to Hade, try to promote Justice, more people will be hurt. If I stay silent, perhaps they will keep what is left of their lives.

  “You’re acting - refusing to act - out of fear. Not Justice,” Lexan whispers to me, just before Hade approaches. He holds a hand to me, and I take it, giving Lexan one last guilty look. I’ll figure something out.

  A complicated couple’s dance begins, wherein I am handed from Hade to another gentleman, then another, until I am dizzy with twirling in strangers’ arms. Eventually I meet Lexan in the dance, and I relax for a few seconds before being spun away. I try to follow his movements around the crowded dance floor, but it’s impossible.

  I meet Hade again. “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks. I roll my eyes and stay silent, looking for my next partner.

  Finally I am back in Lexan’s arms. “What should I do about the slaves?” I whisper, drawing close to his ear.

  He holds me tighter at my waist. “I don’t know, but the longe
r we stay here with Hade, the more of our purpose we lose. I feel like part of me is wasting away here, Trea. The part that cares about people.”

  Another cycle begins. I find myself dancing with the Prophet. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes sear into mine the whole time. I want to break the contact, but I don’t know what game he’s playing, or when their test might begin. As my fingers slip away from his to my next partner, he smiles, as though approving.

  The dance ends and I slip away to a column, allowing the curtain to hide me for a few brief seconds.

  Lexan finds me there, and we whisper hurriedly, the sensation of time spinning away heavy on my bare shoulders.

  “Every time we help Hade, we lose part of what makes us care - the part that makes us human,” he says.

  “But caring isn’t exclusively human - didn’t the spring star care so much about the people that she gave up everything?” I ask.

  A flash of panic crosses Lexan’s face before he nods. “We don’t know what he wants from us, Trea. But I know he isn’t going to help us - not the way we want.”

  “I know.” I think about Keirna, and how Hade might help kill her, but then he could just turn the people of Asphodel into slaves.

  “I think the Sisters and the Prophet can help us more than Hade can,” Lexan says, pushing into my thoughts. “But we have to figure out their test.”

  “Indeed you do,” a voice grates against my other ear. I turn to see the Prophet there, sipping from his glass of iridescent bubbles. “If you would excuse, us, Sir, I would love to chat with the Lady.”

  Lexan nods and slips obediently away.

  “I have heard that you can look into a person’s very soul and judge them in darkness or light. This is indeed a rumored ability of Justice. So tell me, Lady, what do you see of my soul?”

  The test has begun. “Surely your soul is as white as the clouds of Elysium,” I stall.

  “Do not stall. Close your eyes and tell me.”

  So I close my eyes, although I already know what I will see there. I think briefly about lying, but surely he will know, and it might look as though I’ve failed the test. My heart pounds as I examine the darkness trailing from his heart. “You have much light. But there is more darkness than…”

  “Than what?”

  “Than I expected,” I finish, hesitant to tell him he has more darkness than light. That doesn’t seem the sort of news a person would like to hear.

  “Anything else?” he asks. I narrow my eyes - does he know something about the colors? He scowls back. “Any gray?”

  “Oh. Yes, some. But mostly black and white.”

  “Thank you,” he says, turning to go.

  Lexan is soon back by my side, and together we watch the crowds. Hade is deep in conversation with the Sisters, all of them ignoring the clusters of Tartarian and Elysian royalty, who circle their leaders at a distance, hopeful for a glimmer of acknowledgement.

  “Lexan, look,” I whisper to him, jutting my chin toward a woman who is standing apart from the others, her pale green gown lighting up her green eyes even in the weak light of the torches lining the walls. Lexan’s eyes scan her tall, slender physique and the dark brown curls that cascade down her back. As she walks closer, headed for the table of food, I notice the thinnest gold chain, circling her neck before joining together between her breasts, and flowing down her stomach, encircling her waist.

  I’ve only ever seen a chain like that on one person - Zarea.

  “Who is that?” Lexan wonders out loud.

  “She is the Lady Thema,” the Prophet answers, appearing from nowhere again. His servant trails him again, the same pale freckle-faced boy. “She is an assistant to the Third Sister.”

  “Does she have any children?” I ask before thinking better of it. The Prophet studies me for several long seconds. Lexan also looks at me shrewdly, and I can tell he is puzzling through my question.

  “No.” The answer lifts at the end, asking for my question’s purpose.

  “Oh. It’s just…she looks familiar.”

  “But you have not met anyone else from Elysium. You told me as much?”

  “No, that’s right.”

  “Elysians do not have children with those who are not from Elysium. And any children born in Elysium do not leave. Whatever you’re thinking is impossible.”

  I nod, but something in his statement rings false. He doesn’t even know what I’m capable of thinking, yet he dismisses all possibilities. A bold statement, even from someone who claims to know the future.

  “That’s a beautiful chain,” Lexan says. “I wonder if I could have one made for Astrea.” I sneak a glance at him - where is he going with this?

  “Absolutely not!” the Prophet sneers at the evident stupidity of the request. “Chains such as those are specific to Elysian families. Once a design has been created, no other family may use it.”

  “I apologize - I meant no insult.” Lexan bows his head, but not before I see a tiny half-smile on his face. Suddenly I want to plant a kiss on that half-smile, because I see his brilliance. If the chains match, there is an undeniable connection between this woman and Zarea. Regardless of what the Prophet thinks, this woman could quite possibly have broken the rules of her society and had a child outside of Elysium.

  Why she would do such a thing is a whole other riddle.

  The Prophet sighs and beckons to his servant, who hands him a full drink, taking the empty glass from his master.

  “Perhaps you could entertain us and read my servant’s soul as well?” he says, boredom lacing his words.

  “I am not here for your entertainment, Your Grace.”

  He snorts, dribbling a bit of liquid down his chin.

  “But as an ambassador between Lord Hadeon and your city, I will do as you ask.”

  “Certainly,” he smiles. The servant looks between us, his brows drawn together in uneasiness. I hold onto his gaze for a moment, trying to send him a bit of courage. But he resists, dropping his eyes. I close my eyes and look for the boy.

  My knees buckle and I sway just a bit before recovering, but Lexan has already wrapped his arms around my waist.

  “What is it?” he whispers. “Are you okay?”

  I open my eyes and stare at the Prophet. “You, sir, are an imposter.”

  A look of rage passes over his face and I feel Lexan shift behind me, ready to give me his air. My heart sings just a little that he hasn’t jumped in front of me to protect me - he knows when to let me save myself, and he is there if I ask for his help.

  “You are not the True Prophet,” I say, holding his black stare. I lean slightly back against Lexan, and his fingers rest along my bare shoulders.

  “Then who is?” the Prophet sneers.

  I close my eyes, focusing on the weight of Lexan’s fingers on my skin, and scan the boy before me again, to make sure.

  His soul is pure white, with no darkness. No color. He is a vessel for truth.

  I open my eyes and smile, looking at the boy’s pale face. “I am pleased to meet you, Your Honor.” I dip my head, and the boy stands straighter. He steps slightly in front of the dark-haired boy, his freckled cheeks flushing.

  “As am I pleased to meet you, Lady Justice. Congratulations - you have passed your test. Please do not tell anyone of my disguise,” the young boy says. His voice is the unchanged timbre of youth, and his smile is as sweet as a child’s.

  “Of course. Lexan and I will keep your secret.”

  He nods, then follows the false Prophet away, again assuming the invisible role of servant. Lexan’s fingers loosen from my shoulders and I turn to look at him.

  “That was amazing,” he says with a grin. “How did you even know what to look for?”

  “I just followed my heart,” I answer. “A wise person once told me that.”

  He grins even wider and my heart gives a strange little leap in knowing that I have made him happy.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Many of us have wondered why our city is limi
ted to this cave - why we must wait one hundred years to see the sun and moon and stars. Perhaps the question we should ask instead is why do we need to see these things to continue to believe in their existence? Is not our faith comfort enough?

  From Personal Journal of First Leader Firene

  Published after her death, year 2170

  In the morning, I wake alone in my room, a wrinkled spot on the covers the only evidence that Lexan was there.

  I am still alone, eating breakfast, when the door opens. The true True Prophet stands there, holding a letter on a black tray. My guard lets him in and locks the door.

  “I’m here to talk. The letter is blank,” he says, handing me the paper anyways. I open it, and it is indeed blank. A decoy.

  “Your test was just the tip of the trials you will face,” he begins abruptly. “I needed to be sure you were the true Starbright Maiden.”

  “That I could see people’s souls?”

  He nods. “That power is only granted to the one destined to fulfill the prophecy. It is the last of your known powers. I expect you have found and practiced lending bravery and summoning fire?”

  “Yes, but I still don’t see how it’s enough-“

  “It will be enough because it must be enough. If you do not succeed, this world will be cast into darkness again. Surely you heard the stories of before. The wars, the genocides.”

  “And then the saving of the people by Lakessa and her sisters?” I ask.

  “That was not saving. That was sacrificing. Nearly the entire human race was cleansed. But it was not darkness which they sought to eradicate.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Lakessa and her sisters had but a shadow of your power, and even then they used it for evil. The survivors of the Cleansing were not all good people. They were not all bad, either, but more light was taken from this world than darkness when that plague swept through the nations.”

  “So they did the opposite of what I’m supposed to do?”

  “In a sense, yes. You are meant to cleanse the darkness from this world. But you could just as easily be forced - or persuaded - to cleanse the light.”