Starbright: The Complete Series

by Hilary Thompson

  “Liar.” She sits up and faces me, impatiently shaking her hand until the tangle of diamonds breaks and drops into the pool at our feet. They sink to the bottom, resting among other crystals, until the ripples of water make it impossible to distinguish them.

  “Then have you learned our truth yet? My Sisters’ and mine?” she asks, staring directly into my mind, it seems.

  “The goddesses of Fate…” I whisper, thinking of the bits of legend I found in Head Minister Saloman’s office so long ago.

  She grins. “Some lives we have been Fates. But not this round.”

  She stands and paces a few strides toward the edge of the city. I rise and follow her, curious. If they aren’t the three Fates, then who?

  Then she turns, and the heat of the sun flashes to my core, bringing with it a violent vision of darkness and fury. I feel as though I am falling, toppling off the edge of the cliff before us as her eyes seem to drip blood, and the bones beneath her flesh glow with an inky magic beneath her skin.

  And then it is over, and I am still standing, sweaty and breathless, at the edge of the world with a beautiful woman.

  That was my strongest vision yet.

  She smiles gently at me and shakes her head.

  No, Lexan. It was real.

  Despite the heat of the sun, my face surely pales as the vision replays in a split-second, and I suddenly remember another word from my reading. “Erin-“

  “Don’t say it!” she shrieks. “You are not ready, and if you say my name aloud, I must take my true form!” She turns and flees the courtyard, disappearing inside a door where I cannot follow. Leaving me with my mouth open, fear creeping over me like night comes to take over the end of the day.

  Eventually the sun does grow too hot to bear, and I carefully trace my prescribed crystal path back to the building and bedroom where I must stay until I have learned something.

  Yet I have learned something – these Sisters are not mortal, and if they stay true to the scant stories I have heard, they are a ferocious, unforgiving version of what Trea must become. The Erinyes were judges just as she is, but they also dealt punishments. I hope they do not teach her their cruelty while teaching her their judgment.

  I’m so caught up in my task of cataloging what information I’ve gained that I nearly run into the True Prophet’s servant, who stands beside my bedroom door.

  “You will freshen your body and follow me to the temple,” he says, then holds his hand against my door to open it.

  SIX

  ASTREA

  Fire is life and fire is death.

  Control the flames and calm the breath.

  Air was the first, and air is the last.

  Ignore the future and neglect the past.

  Water inside, and water without.

  Immerse your skin and release all doubt.

  Earth is around you, above and below.

  Close your eyes and let energy flow.

  From the meditations taught to Astrea by her grandmother

  “I see you have managed to infiltrate our city,” a voice sounds from a long corridor ahead. The form moves slowly into the common room and the light reveals Captain Javan.

  “Infiltrate? It was my understanding we were supposed to be guests here,” I answer, rubbing at a sore spot beneath the strap of my pack. “Look, I’m hot, confused, and aggravated with your whole city just about now. How about you just tell me where my room is?”

  He just stands there, assessing me. I glare. “What is it with you? And Tariel, for that matter? I’m sorry I gave you trouble on the ship, but I guess I expected a little understanding for everything I went through in Tartarus.”

  At this he actually looks surprised, but he masks it quickly, his features settling into a glare. “Here’s what you can expect here, young Arien. You can expect a race of people who have worked from birth to perfect their minds, bodies, and souls. You can expect a city that is clean, efficiently-run, and free from the wallowing grime of Tartarus or the lurking nature of Asphodel. Elysium sits on this rock at the edge of the world because we have earned it. We are the shining beacon of hope for what is left of humanity. We are not a people who have been waiting for you to cleanse us.”

  The last words are so bitter that I flinch backward a step. This is not what I’ve expected, despite the animosity that rings true to what I’ve felt from Tariel.

  “But the True Prophet has told me…”

  “He is young yet. He has made mistakes before. The Sisters are not convinced you are ready, and I am not the only one inclined to agree.” He turns and opens a door in the hallway. “Follow me and I will show you to your room. Then you can properly clean yourself, at least.”

  I glare at his back as I follow him up two sets of stairs and down another hallway. My brain is whirling with the implication that the Sisters actually have more influence here than the Prophet. I had thought it the opposite – and how could the Prophet have been wrong?

  I really need to talk to Lexan, and he’s hidden away in some building I cannot enter.

  “Here,” Javan says, pointing to a door. There is no handle, so I nudge at the door with my forearm. It does nothing. Javan sighs. “Press your palm against any door you wish to open. If you are allowed inside – if you are worthy to enter – the door will open for you.”

  “So there are crystals in the doors too?” I ask, somehow biting my tongue against his repeated accusations that I’m inferior. I hold my palm as directed and the door slides open. I step inside, and the door closes, leaving me alone again. I turn to re-open the door, but Javan has already vanished.

  Muttering curses under my breath, I shrug off my pack, gather what clothes I need, and exit the tiny room in search of the bathroom. Because it obviously isn’t in that bedroom.

  Several doors later, I find a communal bathroom – empty, just as all the other spaces I’ve encountered. Of course, most of the doors wouldn’t open for my unworthy hands. It takes me another ten minutes to figure out how to work the showers, but this at least is worth the effort.

  Elysium sure is serious about being clean.

  Water falls from above, but also pushes at my back and chest, surrounding me as I lather with soap that smells of pine and some delicate flower. When I finally exit the stall, I feel as though a lifetime has passed. And although I may have fantasized about locking Javan behind his own unworthy door, I do feel much better for being properly clean. I hope dinner is soon, because I haven’t eaten all day, and the cured meat in my pack is my last resort.

  Walking back to my room, I actually glimpse a girl; entering the room next to mine; she startles as soon as our eyes meet and ducks behind her door. On my bed waits a small stack of new clothing: a pair of flowing white pants, three tunics in colors of the sunset, and a dress that mimics the blue and gray ocean beyond my window. I gaze down into the courtyard below and see a few people exiting their buildings, streaming toward the last building on the right.

  They’re all dressed in gowns and silken tunics, so I pull on the dress. It’s surprisingly soft and light, and nearly as comfortable as a nightdress.

  I’m towel-drying my hair when I hear voices outside my door.

  “But Mama, I–”

  “No, Hesten. The Prophet has need of you. Perhaps this is your final test.”

  A minute of silence, then a knock on my door. I glare at my reflection. I really hope I’m not someone’s final test.

  But of course, when I open the door, there stands the girl I saw earlier.

  “I am here to bring you to dinner,” she says, her voice flat and her eyes fixed on the floor. She’s an inch or so taller than me, and likely the same age. Her hair falls in soft blond waves, and I’m struck with a pang of heartache for Isa. I could use a friend here.

  “Thank you,” I answer softly, trying to keep the overwhelming emotion out of my voice. I could really use a friend here, and it certainly won’t be crusty old Javan or that witch Tariel. Who is probably escorting Lexan to dinner. The t
hought sours my face, and of course the girl looks up just then.

  She glares back at me. “Or perhaps you can just find your way alone,” she bites out, turning to leave.

  “No! Wait–” I put my fingers on her bare arm, and she gasps and snatches her arm away, clutching her skin. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to–”

  “No…it’s okay,” she says slowly. “I’m Hesten.”

  I pause, confused at what has just happened. “Trea,” is all I say, and she nods. I bend to tug on the white slippers left for me, and then I follow her out the door. A few others pass us in the hall and on the stairs, glancing and whispering. Once we reach the door to the outside, Hesten looks at me again.

  “Keep close, and I’ll show you the path.”

  I do as she asks, glancing around for signs of Lexan, or anyone else I recognize, for that matter. Others watch me back, some in anger, some in fear. Nobody seems overly welcoming.

  “Why do your people hate me so much?” I whisper, half to myself. Hesten pauses, and I nearly run into her.

  “You have power over one of the elements?” she asks instead, looking back over her shoulder.

  I nod, and she scowls. “A person who possesses raw power but does not know its truth will always be a danger to the people.”

  She resumes walking and I hurry to follow. I need to make it through this journey as soon as possible, if I am to earn any trust at all from the people of Elysium.

  I grit my teeth as we pass another group who stares, then descends into a flurry of whispers. Physical pain I can handle – once over, the body can return to normal. It’s this constant embarrassment and uncertainty that will be my undoing. My whole life has been a series of days where people both doubt me and expect me to do impossible things. Is it any wonder I wish I could escape their expectations?

  I glance up and see we’ve traveled the length of the concrete river back to the entrance, passed to the other side, and now we stand before one of the buildings we passed earlier upon entry to the city. It makes sense that the dining hall is open to all, whether they have finished their journey or not.

  We enter, and I put all my effort into ignoring the open stares and holding my chin high as I follow Hesten through the maze of round tables to the front of the room. Here is a gauze curtain which blurs, but does not block, a large, oval-shaped table set on a platform.

  “The Sisters and the Prophet often dine at this table. You and the other boy will join them.”

  “Do you know where Lexan is?” I ask, peering at the curtain. The table appears to be empty. I glance back at Hesten, who just shrugs.

  “Thank you,” I say again, holding out my hand, but she flinches away, then hurries back into the crowd. I sigh and turn to part the curtain. Just as I enter the semi-private space, Tisiphone does too, from the other side.

  “Hello, Astrea. I see you have found your room and been able to freshen up.”

  “Yes, and thank you for the clothing.” I sit where she gestures, with my back to the crowds beyond the curtain. I hear more and more people entering the room behind me, talking and laughing. A handsome young man enters the curtain with a tray of water glasses. I watch him as he sets out the six sparkling glasses. His hair is a light brown, with patches of dark purple, and his body is slim and fairly tall, like all of the people I’ve seen so far.

  When he leaves, I turn to Tisiphone. “Is the color genetic? Or fashion?” I ask.

  She studies me for a few seconds, her expression carefully blank. “It is neither. When the path is walked by mortals, the sin seeps out of their pores. Some of it seems to be caught in the hair. We do not know why, precisely.”

  “But it is so beautiful!” I muse, thinking of Tariel’s aquamarine and teal streaks.

  “Sin often seems beautiful at first,” she answers. “That is what attracts us to it, is it not?”

  “So your Sister – the middle one – all of her hair is colored.” I can’t read her soul, so I’m trying to tactfully ask how evil she is. Or was. I’m not doing a very good job, if Tisiphone’s peals of laughter are any indication.

  “That is true, and my Sister would have loved to revel in sin.” She stops laughing and levels her gaze at me. “But she is not mortal.”

  My stomach constricts in the nausea of rightness that is so wrong as she stands and parts the curtain, her gauzy skirt floating behind her like a cloud.

  “Then how–” I call.

  “Hair dye,” she says over her shoulder with a sly grin, then she slips beyond the curtain.

  A giggle escapes me before I can bite it back down, and I’m glad none of the Sisters was here to see my amusement at their vanity. I guess my own hair will not become streaked with color as I learn my path here in Elysium.

  Hadeon had hinted that I might not be wholly mortal, and now the True Prophet insists this is the case. For all their faith in me, I don’t think Father and Mother had any idea this prophecy would become so huge.

  I fiddle with the shining forks and spoons at my place, clamping down on the despondency that begins to filter through me. I’m considering just leaving the table and heading back to my room, or trying to go sit with Hesten, but then the curtain parts and Tisiphone returns, carrying a tray of steaming dishes. The other Sisters follow her, bickering at her back.

  “Really, Tisiphone,” the middle one says, “you should let the people serve you.”

  “It’s simply counterproductive to all of the work we’ve done instilling respect and a twinge of fear,” Alecta adds, slinking down into a seat across from me. I can’t quite stop myself from fidgeting with the silverware, uncomfortable with sitting so close to their eyes and judgments.

  Tisiphone ignores them both, handing out the deep bowls of clear broth. There are several chunks of a green vegetable floating in the soup, and it smells like springtime dusk – earthy and clean. The smell wakens my stomach again, which growls loudly enough for the middle Sister to notice. She scowls at me as she sits.

  Soon they are lined up across from me, barely three feet away. They sit in order of apparent age, so Alecta is first along the curve of the table, then the middle Sister whose name I still don’t know, and finally Tisiphone. I lower my eyes from their gazes, thinking again of how in Tartarus I thought them ferociously beautiful – intimidating without quite needing to try.

  Now I realize what I didn’t know before – they are here to judge me as I judge the world. The word fear barely begins to explain it.

  There are two more seats left, and just as I open my mouth to ask if Lexan is coming, the curtain parts again, and the True Prophet enters. He seats himself on the short curve, creating a sort of head of table.

  Lexan finally follows, and when he catches my gaze, I see his eyes are shining with understanding. I glare into my soup – of course Lexan is being given new information. I’m the one bearing the fear and prejudice of the people, as usual, while he gets attention from beautiful women and people who know our fate.

  A line from my grandmother’s meditations slips into my head, and I grasp it like a mantra: Fire is life and fire is death. Control the flames and calm the breath. I repeat it like a silent refrain of prayer. And dinner begins.

  We sip at our soup in silence for longer than I can stand, and twisting a little toward Lexan, I finally break the quiet with my usual bluntness.

  “The people of Elysium do not trust us. They do not want us here. I think this is because you,” I gesture to the women across from me, “have not shown them any reason to be welcoming. The three of you are barely even friendly.”

  Someone hisses across the table, and I force my hand to be steady as I continue to drink the clear broth from my golden spoon. Lexan reaches to rest his fingers on my arm, and I startle in surprise as the air wells up within me, filling my lungs to bursting with a sort of sweetness. Even when he returns his hand to his lap, the breath is slow to leave, filling my limbs with a sharply pleasant tingle.

  I feel like I did the first time we kissed, and my ch
eeks heat up. This is not the time for such lack of control.

  “It appears the young Libran’s air also sings of passion,” Tisiphone says almost under her breath. Alecta cuts her eyes at her Sister, but a smile plays about her lips. The tension I raised has just been ratcheted to an entirely different level of discomfort.

  Lexan’s spoon clanks against his bowl, and I look over, his eyes meeting mine.

  I’m sorry, Trea. I have so much to tell you, and I don’t know when we’ll be alone again.

  I nod, sighing inside at this truth.

  “You needn’t communicate like that,” the middle Sister says with a sly grin. “We can all hear your thoughts to her.”

  Now Lexan flushes deeply, and I feel the anger rising inside my chest.

  “Games and riddles. Is this what we have come all this way for? A people who do not want to be saved, and leaders who are too self-indulgent to explain themselves, or even give their names?” I say, my voice ringing out. Apparently it even rings beyond the flimsy curtain, for the dining hall quiets significantly for several long minutes as I stare down the Three Sisters in turn.

  They meet my gaze with something akin to amusement, which only fuels my anger. I stand, pushing my chair away so violently that it screeches on the concrete floor and nearly topples backward before Lexan catches it. My fists are clenched against the fire burning there: I’m determined not to lash out at them again.

  It only ever makes things worse.

  I reach for the curtain, intent on leaving if they won’t do me the courtesy of speaking.

  “Wait, please,” the Prophet’s young voice is what finally arrests my flight. “I will tell you what you want to know, if my compatriots are unwilling.”

  “You’ll tell her nothing she hasn’t earned,” one of the Sisters barks out, and I whirl.

  “I have earned a few courtesies, surely,” I fire back at the table. “Any simple child can see that we have been treated little better than prisoners or attackers here, when we have come only at the request of Your Grace.” I can’t quite keep the sarcasm out of the last bit, and I regret it as the Prophet’s face falls a little. His freckles stand out more clearly as his small face pales.