Starbright: The Complete Series

by Hilary Thompson

  I feel my own magnetic power rallying and opening to her. Then she starts to respond to it, and I nearly lose control.

  Together, we could be everything.

  She stops moving, but we still get closer. My hands circle her waist without my brain telling them to. Her hips line with my hips as though unseen currents pull us together.

  And then I kiss her, and I can’t think of anything else but kissing her, until I can’t take it anymore. I break away from her lips, and it’s the hardest thing I can remember doing.

  Her body feels limp in my arms, so I wait, ignoring my body screaming for more, until she stands straighter.

  I blink, realizing my eyes have been open the whole time. My mind has been open. And I have definitely given away too many of my secrets with that single kiss.

  She opens her mouth as if to say something, and the motion of her lips makes my hands shake as they let go of her completely.

  “That’s how you should be kissed,” is all I can manage to say.

  And then I have to walk away, leaving her sputtering for words and flickering for air. Because if I don’t walk away now, I will never walk away. And if I never walk away, Trea will never come to me on her own terms. I know her better than she knows herself sometimes, and I know with every bit of my soul that she will only come to me when she’s ready.

  This is not the time, but with each step I pray that the time comes, one day.

  And my body fights against our separation with every fiber. Now that I know what I’ve been missing, I’m ruined for any other girl.

  Trea has me, and she will always have me.

  I’ll pledge to protect her life with my life until the moment of sacrifice, but I can’t pledge to stop protecting her then. I’m the autumn star to her spring star, the moonshine to her sunfire, and the balance to her justice.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This novella seemed to pour out of my heart with the star-struck connection of a Libra author to a Libra character. But once Lexan’s story was rough words on a page, I called in the dream team to help make it what it is now.

  Thanks go always to David, for continuing to help me find snatches of time to write, even though our lives are already too tightly scheduled. Somehow, I’m a better person when I let these stories out, and I love that you see that. Maybe one day I’ll make a movie version for you.

  To Mom and Dad, for encouraging me to continue this journey. And to my extended family and friends, for spreading the word about Justice Buried.

  To my babies, for watching one more show while I made use of one more snow day. And then for pulling me from the computer so we could all remember how much fun real life is too.

  To Cecily, beta reader, editor extraordinaire, and now advertising executive. You know too many of my secrets for us to ever part ways! One day I will buy us a vacation home on Lake Erie.

  To Kayla and Corrina, my first and forever best young fans, and the pioneers of my fledging street team! See their Instagram page “starbight_trilogy” for some sweet fan art!

  To my OCHS family, including the LitWits, my fellow teachers, and of course, my students. I gain so much inspiration from working with each of you.

  To my cover designer, Najla Qambar, for another enchanting piece of artwork. I can’t wait to see your plans for the next book!

  And of course, to my readers, who let me turn you right round - I promise to keep jumbling up Trea’s life, because it’s so much fun to unravel again. Keep your sights in the stars!

  A Starbright Novella

  DESTINY RISEN

  HILARY THOMPSON

  OFTOMES PUBLISHING

  ONE

  LEXAN

  Be strong alone. Be strong together.

  Forgive yourself. Forgive each other.

  Create your world. Create your destiny.

  From Lexan’s Journal

  Trea is different.

  Of course, anyone would be changed by the burdens she’s carried for so long. But there’s something else. Something dark and cold about her. She won’t admit it to me, of course. But in my dreams, she swirls in darkness. As though part of what she burned from the others’ souls has somehow leached into her own.

  And some of that darkness remains in her, even now.

  But nothing I’ve read or seen can explain that – Justice should not be influenced, only Balanced.

  She sleeps now on the bunk below mine, her peaceful rest mainly a result of the medicine I finally allowed Tariel, the ship’s healer, to give her. My heart aches when I think of how I failed in the courtyard – how she turned on me then. How she killed Ama when I was wallowing in my brokenness.

  A lot has happened in the three days since she first woke, and then, she was only calm enough to remain awake for a night. The memory of that last kiss – that first true kiss – warms my cheeks as I watch her sleep. Shifting, I fasten my eyes instead on the mountains drifting by the small round window as I struggle to lock down the guilt of my part in what has happened.

  I pull my journal from beneath the pillow where I left it last night and open to the page that I cannot explain. The words mock me there: three pairs of contradictions.

  I don’t remember writing them, but they are in my own handwriting – in Firene’s code, no less. I don’t even remember the vision; I haven’t told anyone anything, other than to instruct Captain Javan to turn us west instead of east. He only smiled, as though he had known all along that his ship was destined to take us to Elysium.

  Asphodel will have to wait. I need the True Prophet, not Saloman. This was my first true prophecy, and I have no idea what it means.

  A rustling noise draws my eyes back to the bunk below. Trea’s eyes flutter, and she opens them. Suppressing a visceral shudder, I watch the solid black of her eyes, watch as it shifts, swirls, focuses, then finally retreats, leaving the natural ashy gray.

  I sigh in relief. Last night I dreamed of a morning when the black did not retreat, and I have been awake ever since, praying it was only a dream, and not a vision.

  “Morning,” Trea smiles up at me, then yawns. I smile back, relieved at her calm. Despite the breakage in both of us, I know I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

  She is still my path to Justice, and I’m still her scale of Balance.

  “Did you sleep well?” I ask, climbing down from my bunk and settling on the edge of hers. A shadow passes over her face. Of course, I know the answer without asking. I have rarely left this room since we boarded the ship, and her dreams wake me as regularly as my own.

  But she only nods. “I feel refreshed,” she says, stretching her arms up over her head.

  “You’ve been asleep a long time,” I hedge.

  There are so many things she doesn’t know, and the whole crew is terrified of what will happen when she learns these new developments.

  She frowns, and I know she’s noticed her legs. “You strapped me in again.” She yanks the covers back to reveal the thick straps wrapping around her legs, binding her to the narrow bed.

  “The healer wanted to do your arms too,” I answer softly. I clench my jaw, remembering the argument with Tariel and the captain. Everyone is afraid of what might happen now if Trea loses control of her temper.

  “You’ve been unwell for so many days, Trea. You won’t remember a lot of it.”

  “Did I hurt anyone?” Her voice is wary as she begins to understand what I’m leaving unsaid.

  “Not more than a scratch,” I answer lightly. She narrows her eyes, but accepts my answer for now. It’s basically the truth, although I’m not sure she would want to know if there were more.

  Knowing what she did to Ama – and almost to me – nearly broke her apart.

  I take a deep breath. It’s time to tell her something else. “Ready to see the ocean?” I ask. A slim stretch of water is just visible from the deck now.

  She bolts to a sitting position, struggling against her leg braces. “Ocean!”

  “We – the healer and I – didn’
t want to upset you before, while you were so…weak. We’re not going to Asphodel first. We’re about a day’s journey from Elysium.”

  I brace, waiting for the fury, the grief – something. When the medicine finally put her to sleep, she believed we were returning home to save our friends and family.

  While she was lost in her own mind, I had my first true vision – the Garden as it should be. It remains little more than a blurred mirage in my mind. Then several nights ago, I made the prophecy – words I remember but understand even less.

  And now, we’re thousands of miles from Asphodel.

  “We need to go home,” she says, her voice quiet but insistent.

  “We will. But the Starbright prophecy is not ready. We’re not ready.” I’m not ready, I think to myself.

  “I can kill Keirna now, Lexan,” she says, her voice flat.

  I wince a little. “I’m not worried about that. I had another vision, Trea. Do you remember Saloman’s prophecy about the three children?”

  “A child of peace, born in a place of war. A child of right, born in a place of many wrongs. A child of lawfulness, born in a place with no laws,” she recites, her voice already losing some of its insistence. Becoming resigned. “The Garden prophecy.”

  “Right. So this Garden is where we need to settle. Together, the three maidens will create a new city. Not in Asphodel or anywhere else. And not separate, like before. We need to all be together.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I had a vision,” I say again, trying not to let my frustration with my own limited ability to turn into frustration toward her questions. “It’s hard to describe, but I think I’ll know the place when I see it.”

  “So…what? We’re just supposed to hope we find everyone? Wander around until you recognize some rock or something?”

  “Trea, the True Prophet can-”

  “No, Lexan, I need more than that. I need to go home!” Her voice is rising, and I feel her heat pulsing in the air. Still, this is better than the defeated tone of just a few seconds ago. Sweat dampens my neck, and I pull a breeze from beneath the closed door. I brush my fingers along her arm, cupping her elbow.

  “We will, Trea. Let’s just talk to the True Prophet first. I’m hoping he can help me.” It’s hard enough not knowing exactly what my vision might mean, but asking thousands of people to drop their whole lives and just trust me – follow me? Impossible.

  She stares at my hand, and surprisingly, she backs down again. “Just promise me we’ll go back for them,” she says in barely a whisper.

  I nod and open my mouth to tell her about the words I don’t remember writing, but just then the massive land ship jerks wildly and I’m thrown to the floor. Trea twists awkwardly as the leg straps keep only half of her body on the bed. Shouts from the deck above us grow louder, and as I’m tumbled to the other side of the room, the window’s hatch bangs open.

  And I smell it. The air is churning, but it’s not just wind this time. I smell the water it carries, taste the salt as it whips against my lips.

  I look at Trea and she nods quickly, sensing my question before I even ask it. I hurry from the room, gripping the corners of the wall, then the banister as I race up the stairs to the deck.

  The shouts are closer to shrieks up here, and the crew is running in every direction across the deck, swerving and nearly colliding as they struggle to tie up loose items and prepare for the storm.

  “Hurricane!” Tariel yells to me, her blond hair whipping across her face. She points to the horizon, and I stumble a bit as the cone of water and wind separates itself from the murky gray skies.

  I can feel the power in this storm. It’s similar to the tornado I pushed away once, but more raw. More vicious, with the water inside bubbling and swirling. Clumps of leaves and branches whip past me, thudding against the deck and smacking the windows.

  Our crew is tiny for the size of the ship, but the five of them seem like fifty as they race frantically around the deck, securing boxes and latching doors. The vehicle lurches again in the wind, and some tumble to their knees.

  “Everybody inside!” the captain yells, but I don’t even look back. Regardless of how well they’ve prepared the ship, it’s more likely that this wind will smash us against the cliffs up ahead or batter us to pieces with trees and debris.

  We can’t be beaten by a storm, so close to Elysium.

  I have to try and push it away. Why else would I have power over wind, if not to use it to protect these people? To protect Trea?

  I close my eyes and raise my arms, feeling the power of the wind surging toward me, drawn to my fingertips like electricity. It wakes up every cell in my body, and I feel at once god-like and too, too mortal.

  This power could be mine for the taking, or it could kill me in a second.

  A figure steps into my peripheral vision, and I see Captain Javan waving wildly at me. I watch as he opens his mouth to yell, but I can’t hear him above the roar of the wind and water whirling directly toward us. I turn away, hoping he’ll forget me and save himself.

  The wind blows my arms wide, stretching the tendons and pulling bone from socket. A branch the size of my arm smacks into my left wrist, but I grit my teeth against the immediate throbbing and brace my legs wider on the deck. Every muscle tightens as I turn into the storm. The roar fills my brain until I wonder if it’s my own roar. Water bites at my eyes and salt sours my mouth, but I don’t back down. I can’t.

  The power builds and surges in my chest until I feel like my whole ribcage might simply fly apart – and then I push. Straining against a funnel cloud wider than our ship and stretching endlessly into the clouds, I focus every thought on push.

  The very air itself vibrates and thrums as the pressure builds, ripping through my skull. The deck beneath me shakes and tilts, throwing me to my knees. But still I cling to the thought of pushing the storm just a little farther away.

  And finally it breaks. The water wrenches from the wind, exploding into a wave that sweeps across the deck in a sludge of leaves and mud. The remaining cone of wind diffuses into thousands of tendrils which snake away into the forest. And my palms hit the rough deck just before my face.

  TWO

  ASTREA

  Cerulean blue, crested with white,

  The ocean is wild and deep as the night.

  Some waves are gentle, some batter the sand,

  In Elysium, the ocean constructs holy land.

  From The Book of Ministry, Addendum to Chapter Seven: Prayers

  First Leader Firene, year 2162

  When I finally manage to wriggle out of the thick straps on my legs and stumble from the bed, my voice is hoarse from yelling for help. I’m going to throttle the healer who suggested these restraints. The ship only stopped bucking and tipping a few seconds ago, and I can barely hear anything – my ears are ringing from the roar of the wind and water through my window.

  I throw my door open and haul myself up the first set of stairs I see. The effort required to move my own body is ridiculous, and I wonder if they drugged me. I can almost feel my eyes darkening with anger, but I bite it back.

  Lexan. I have to focus on finding Lexan.

  Finally I make it to the top of the stairs and shove open the door. The wood scrapes against sand and mud as it heaves open, and I see nothing at first.

  Then I notice a tall figure bent over someone slumped on the deck. I stumble toward them as well as I can.

  “Lexan?” I call, my voice rough. The figure turns. Not Lexan. He shifts aside and gestures. Lexan lies face-down on the deck; his clothes are soaked and dirty sand coats his hair. “Breathing?” I manage, tumbling to my knees beside him.

  “Yes – barely,” the man answers. “But he did it…” His voice is dazed, as though he can’t quite believe what he’s saying. He gestures around us, apparently in awe that the storm is gone.

  I can’t help but smile. I remember feeling exactly the same after witnessing Lexan with the tornado. So far, his eleme
nt control has proven much more powerful than mine or Irana’s.

  “He needs a bed, and blankets. Lots of blankets,” I say, as another man appears beside us, gaping at the destruction around us. The two of them haul Lexan to his feet and half-carry, half-drag him back down the stairs to a different bedroom, one with four bunks. The beds look clean and unused, and I wonder whose room it is.

  They dump him on the closest bed, and I immediately crawl in next to him, pressing my body to his. The men make embarrassed noises and begin to back away.

  “He needs heat. Blankets!” I shout at them. The men scatter, and I wrap my arms around Lexan’s shoulders. His body has begun to shake as though he’s going into shock. “Come on, Lexan, I’m right here. We’ll get you back,” I whisper, closing my eyes to focus my fire into heat. Lexan’s heat has always restored my power, so mine should do the same. Hopefully.

  Finally the men return and pile several blankets over both of us. One says, “I’ll find the healer,” and I hear the door close as they leave.

  I continue muttering to Lexan and myself, alternating between encouraging and threatening, and gradually his shaking subsides into deep, even breathing. His skin has warmed to a more normal temperature. I’m carefully brushing the sand from his cheeks when the door opens again and a beautiful young woman enters.

  “I’m Tariel, the healer,” she says, her voice soft and smooth.

  “He’s doing better. His temperature is back to normal. He probably just needs rest,” I say, not moving from his side in the slim bunk.

  “Still, I should check his vitals-”

  “Check what you want, but I’m not leaving.”

  She startles a bit, and her face settles into something just shy of a glare. She doesn’t challenge me further, but I can tell she isn’t comfortable being around me. I realize with distaste that this is probably the healer who has been recommending I stay strapped and drugged in bed. But as long as she’s helping Lexan, I guess I can’t throttle her.