We Are Bound by Stars

by Kesia Lupo

  Katherina appears to be too weak to speak any more, but she gazes at Elina, then Zia – who somehow summons a loving smile through her tears – then at Valentina and Ofelia, sat next to me on the opposite side of the bed. I can’t help noticing how her eyes pass across me like water sliding over rock, as if I’m not here at all.

  ‘Safe journey to the Godsworld, elder sister,’ Valentina says, leaning over and planting two kisses firmly on Katherina’s cheeks. But there’s a tremor in her voice, even though she tries to disguise it.

  Katherina once told me of the moment she inherited the mascherari powers. She said it was like lying upon the ocean and feeling the suck and pull of the waves, the cold of the deep at your back. I never liked to swim further out than the shallows – I didn’t like the way the sand dropped off beneath you so sudden, how you could feel the darkness twisting in your stomach and creeping over your skin. I reach for her hand now, intending to say goodbye. Instead, it is she who speaks, her eyes flickering open: ‘Run, Beatrice.’

  Her eyes meet mine at last, and I am shocked at the impact.

  ‘Sorry?’ I say, astonished by her lucidity, unable to understand what she means.

  ‘We had no choice …’ Her breathing is laboured, her eyes roving wildly as if she’s trying to fix on something behind me. She’s feverish. I know she’s talking nonsense – she must be – but I can’t help the way my body tenses. ‘We had no choice …’

  My heart is pattering. ‘What do you mean?’ I manage.

  ‘You should run,’ she manages, ‘Bea …’

  I can do nothing but breathe. I shake my head, stepping backwards in confusion.

  ‘She’s out of her mind with pain,’ Elina says, laying a hand gently on her shoulder. ‘The fever has addled her brain.’ She wipes my eyes – I didn’t know I was crying – pulls me close and whispers, ‘I know this is frightening. Remember, we went through the same thing the night of our Inheritance.’ She pulls away, smiling. ‘But all is as it should be, little sister. Your time is coming. Soon you will have Mythris’s power running in your blood – use it well. Pray every day and remember we are watching over you from the Godsworld.’ She lets me go, but I feel far from comforted, Katherina’s warning ringing in my ears.

  I embrace Zia, who sobs on my shoulder and wishes me ‘goodbye, darling’. I shiver mutely, feeling sickness twist in my belly.

  The Contessa enters without ceremony: this woman who watched us cut from our mother’s womb; this woman dressed, like us, in perpetual-mourning black. We curtsey again, waiting for her permission to rise. I gaze up at her through my eyelashes as I hold myself low. She is an old woman: her hair entirely grey, her brown skin wrinkled. But her eyes are bright as they scan the room, and she still holds herself tall. The cane at her side is as much an affectation of the nobility, I know, as it is designed for support. Is it my imagination, or does her gaze linger on me a moment longer than the others? I avert my eyes quickly, heart thumping.

  ‘Is everything as it should be?’ she asks the room. Although she must be in her eighties, her voice has the strength and power of a much younger woman’s – someone accustomed to obedience.

  ‘Of course,’ Elina replies. ‘We are ready.’

  Are we? My heart is hammering against my ribs.

  But I hold Katherina’s limp, hot hand, Valentina on my other side, and Ofelia next to her. We all form a circle around the bed. We’ve been preparing for this moment our whole lives – we know what to do. The candlelight flickers as the Contessa starts to speak.

  ‘I summon you, Mythris, Lord of Shadows, God of Many Faces. I summon you. I summon you.’

  The back of my neck tingles in the silence before she continues.

  ‘We call on you to accept your three elder daughters into your bosom.’ Her voice is slow, deliberate. My senses prickle as a breeze snakes through the room as if from nowhere. ‘Summon their souls into the Godsworld and release their powers into these three fated vessels, their younger sisters.’

  Valentina’s hand tightens on mine. I feel light-headed, the air in the room buzzing as if it’s full of flies. The candlelight flickers. Sparks dance in front of my eyes – I blink, shaking my head. Is it my imagination, or are the Contessa’s eyes fixed on me, filled with worry even as she utters the ceremonial words? My face tingles.

  ‘Honour your promise, Lord of Mysteries, Lord of Secrets, Lord of All Things Hidden. Honour your vow and grant your humble servants the gift you have bestowed upon us for generations past.’

  The candles self-extinguish, snuffed out by an unseen energy.

  ‘Stay calm,’ says the Contessa in a different, lower voice. ‘Do not break the circle.’

  ‘You’re hurting me,’ Valentina hisses, and I realise I’m clutching her hand as hard as I can. I loosen my grip slightly. A bead of sweat runs down my cheek. I feel dizzy. I feel as if something is closing in on me. I can smell incense, though none is burning. And now, I can feel a velvety presence against my cheek.

  ‘So mote it be,’ the Contessa says. ‘So mote it be. So mote it be.’

  The tension in the room is unbearable. The ringing in my ears grows louder and louder, and then, in the semi-darkness of the moonlight spilling through the curtains, I watch as Zia and Elina start to tremble. Katherina’s hand jerks in mine, and I have to force myself not to pull away as it goes suddenly limp.

  The two other sisters drop down, like puppets with cut strings, their bodies thunking on the wooden floor.

  A wave hits me – almost a physical impact, cold and dark, making me stagger and dragging me down into an unbearable deepness, stealing my breath. I feel another person standing beside me where Katherina’s dead hand lies in mine – something old and cunning and cruel. A cloaked, hazy figure. Bodiless, faceless – a shadow in the corner of my eye.

  Mythris is here, I think, my thoughts loud as a siren.

  The god’s cold laughter fills my senses like gurgling water.

  I try to scream, but my mouth gapes open in silence.

  Where is the air?

  And I am gone.

  THREE:

  Bad News

  Vico

  Elisao and I enter the palazzo square and stop in front of the great domed library, moonlight glinting off its four glass spiralling towers. The library is reserved for scholars at the university, and I’ve never been inside. I’d like to step through the grand wooden doors, breathe in the smell of paper and learning. I sit on the steps, gazing in the opposite direction at the masked temple looming against the star-spotted sky. It’s isolated and dominating on its crags of stone.

  I feel sick just looking at it.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Elisao asks, standing in front of me.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say through the pain throbbing across my face and in my heart.

  Elisao lifts his hand as if he’s reaching out for me. I lean forward slightly … but at the last moment his hand hesitates and changes course, lifting to his spectacles, which he pushes up his nose. ‘I guess there’ll be a rematch against the Raven,’ he says hurriedly. ‘Probably a good thing. You looked like you were losing.’

  I snort – wince. ‘That’s not fair. I was distracted. Next time I’ll win for sure.’

  Elisao shakes his head. ‘Oh for a fraction of your confidence, Vico. I’ll keep my ear to the ground anyway. I can get a message to you … if you—’

  ‘Old Jacobo knows how to reach me,’ I blurt, guessing what he’s about to ask and feeling my face flushing. ‘I mean …’ I break off, balling my fists.

  Elisao’s expression hardens, and he glances down at his feet. ‘Look, I can tell you don’t want me to know where you live. I’m going to guess from the way you speak that you’re … I don’t know … some kind of nobleman. The son of someone who doesn’t want you running around the streets at night.’

  I stay silent, my heart thudding. Of course he suspects. Of course.

  ‘I just want you to know that you can trust me, Vico.’

/>   I’d love to tell him the truth – I’d love nothing more, in fact. But I’m not sure our friendship could survive it. Would Elisao want to know me if he knew who I really was? I shrug. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble.

  ‘When you’re ready then,’ says Elisao with a sad half-smile. ‘I’ll see you soon, Vico.’

  He turns away, heads towards the university district. I watch him for a while, his slender figure disappearing between the buildings. Then I walk up towards an area in the palazzo district where the richer students take their lodgings. When I’m sure he’s not following – hating myself for thinking he might – I take a sharp right and head into the palazzo grounds, via the crumbling wall by the mask-maker’s house. The sea whispers on the cliffs far beneath.

  As I drop down into the undergrowth of the garden, I’m surprised to notice lights in the windows of the mascherari house, the flicker of candles. Normally the house is silent at night, while the mascherari are working and the young triplets learning their craft in the basement.

  No time to investigate. I’m in deep shit this time, I realise: there’s no way I can magic this broken nose away before morning. But I’ll have to try. If I don’t, questions will be raised, secrets uncovered.

  I could lose my life as Vico forever.

  I head round the house and sneak into the elaborately arranged palazzo gardens, with tightly knotted beds of bone roses. The heavy-petalled, black-stemmed flowers sway slightly to their own current, unconnected to the breeze – but they pay me no mind. There’s a light on in Grandmother’s room, but I crouch low in the shadows, relying on her poor eyesight and my familiarity with the route to conceal me.

  At last, I round the palazzo to reach the drainpipe below my own room, which overlooks the city. The bells of Faul’s temple are still ringing and, as I climb, carefully avoiding the vicious thorns of the bone roses crawling up to my window, my mind returns to the sandwolf. I was angry at the beast – shocked at what it had done to the girl … And yet, despite the fact that my limited magic would have provided scarce defence against its attack, I didn’t feel afraid. And the creature didn’t hurt me – why was that?

  I drop on to my balcony, then slide through the glass doors into my room and curl up on the floor. The marble is blissfully cool against my tired muscles. Now that I’m still, my whole face is a knot of pain.

  A purple light flickers on from the chair in the corner, and my stomach sinks fast in mingled shock and horror. ‘Livio,’ Grandmother says, her voice dry and hard as she holds the mage-light in the palm of her hand. ‘Foolish boy. Where have you been?’

  I scramble to my feet, but when I am upright a sudden dizziness comes over me and I lean against the wall, knocking over one of the many piles of books I have stacked up on the floor. The histories and mythologies of Scarossa slide down in an untidy avalanche.

  ‘Sit on the bed, for gods’ sake,’ Grandmother says, ‘or you’ll wake the whole palazzo.’ With a wave of her hand, she lights the four oil lamps in my room by magic. Reflected light gleams in the large mourning ring on her right hand, woven from locks of the dark lustrous hair that once belonged to her daughter, Patience. As always, Grandmother is dressed all in black: black gown, embroidered in a deeper shade of darkness; black lace shawl, despite the warmth of the evening; and a black ribbon tied around her neck, the golden sun-and-stars medallion upon it her only concession to colour. There’s a pause of shock as she takes in the full extent of my injury. ‘Your face.’

  I swallow, the taste of blood in my mouth – how could I explain a broken nose in a way that doesn’t involve brawling in the city streets? ‘I … uh …’

  Grandmother arches her eyebrow at me as I sit obediently on the bed. ‘Don’t bother, boy. Whatever you decide to say, I won’t believe it.’

  I try to smile ruefully as she stands over me, her brown eyes shadowed with concern, but I wince at the movement. She starts to prod my nose with, I think, a little more force than necessary, sending bright blooms of pain across my vision.

  She sighs. ‘While you were cavorting in the streets like a commoner, doing gods know what, the eldest mascherari sister passed tonight from a sudden illness – and I officiated over the Inheritance.’

  My heart sinks.

  ‘I had wanted you to accompany me, seeing as next time, miracles aside, I won’t be around – and you’ll have to deliver the knowledge to my heir yourself. But of course, you were not here. A priceless opportunity, missed forever. When I returned I decided to wait and see what exactly had kept you from your duties.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumble, feeling hot and unhappy. I don’t like to disappoint Grandmother – ever since Father died twelve years ago, it’s just been me and her, the only two Santinis in this huge palazzo. I just wish she could understand that the life she’s set out for me isn’t the one I’m destined to live. I can feel it, sure as a heartbeat: I am meant for the city, not the political schemings of government or the magical intricacies of the temple. The city – where I can live, and fight, and breathe, and love, and feel like I’m part of something greater than myself. If only I could make her see.

  She continues. ‘Now you shall have to rely on the masked temple to relay the ceremony accurately, without ever having seen it yourself. Hardly ideal, Livio. Hold still. Gods, I can’t see anything under all this blood.’ She rises carefully, dips a linen cloth in the washbasin and starts to clean the mess from my face.

  I swallow uncomfortably, my mouth tasting of iron.

  ‘Your cousin knows nothing of our customs. I was relying on you for that. You are a link – a vital link – between Constance and her heritage.’

  I shift on the edge of the bed. I don’t like to think about the future Grandmother dreams for me, my role as my estranged cousin’s right hand, the font of all her knowledge about the Santini dynasty. If Constance would only make haste and arrive in Scarossa, as she’s always promised, Grandmother can tell her all this herself, and I …

  I close my eyes and imagine myself as Vico, the name I carry in my other life. He’s a student at the university, like Elisao. I imagine him studying in the library and attending classes in the university buildings. I imagine him winning the Fighter’s Crown as the Wolf, celebrating with Elisao and a big group of friends down by the docks, drinking cheap panacea until the sun sets. Maybe I don’t have to give up on this vision entirely. Maybe there’s a way I can meld my two lives together …

  I clear my throat. ‘Grandmother … I wondered if there was any chance … if maybe I could leave the temple. If I could study at the university instead? Like Father did? Magic has never been my strong point—’

  ‘This again? Here, stay still.’ The linen cloth disappears, and I feel the warmth of her magic tingling across my face. With a sharp cracking sound, and a rush of clean, nearly unbearable pain, my nose resets and my airways clear. I grit my teeth, tears running down my face, until the worst passes. I dab my cheeks on my sleeve.

  ‘Holy twins, that hurt.’

  She leans back, examining her handiwork, then sits down again on the chair opposite me. ‘You’ve nothing to complain about – it’s close to perfect. Only a mage of Imris could’ve done better. Were you planning on attending the temple tomorrow with a broken nose?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I say, clenching my fists in my lap as I realise how quickly she has dismissed my question. ‘I was going to fix it myself.’

  Grandmother laughs, a little unkindly. ‘You just said magic isn’t your strong point, and yet you think yourself capable of such a delicate operation?’

  I feel my cheeks grow hot.

  Her expression hardens and she leans in closer to me. ‘Livio, I wish it were not so – for your sake – but you are second in line, after Constance, to inherit my position. Whether you like it or not, you were born with magic – and not all are so lucky. Your father wasn’t. You can’t simply ignore such a gift. The gods marked you out as one special to them.’

  ‘Just not as special as virtually every other mage i
n the Wishes,’ I mutter.

  Grandmother continues as if she hasn’t heard me, though I know her hearing is as sharp as it has ever been. ‘You need to start taking your future seriously. Do you think you are the first Santini to escape every now and then? The first to rankle under the chains of duty? To wish for a simpler life? To think that destiny has determined a different, more important path for them?’

  I blush. I hadn’t meant to imply that I thought I was more important – if anything, it was the opposite. ‘I … Sometimes it just feels like there’s another life I should be living. Like my destiny is’ – I wave my hand towards the window – ‘out there. In the world.’

  ‘Well, you are not the first – and you won’t be the last. But there comes a point in everyone’s life when you have to face up to your duties – and to the truth. You will never be like those people.’ She glances in the direction of the city, the thin curtains blowing to reveal, just for a moment, the sparkling lights like a fiery mirror of the clear night sky. ‘You are the mage-born son of a Santini. And our destiny isn’t like that, my boy. Trust me. It doesn’t bend to our will. It doesn’t care for what’s in our hearts.’

  Her voice is oddly strained, full of pain.

  ‘One in a hundred are born with magic, Livio – maybe fewer. Even on these islands, where such powers run strong and deep in the native bloodlines. The power in you is a gift from the gods. It may not be a gift that you want, but it’s one you have no choice but to accept. More than that – you have a duty to realise its full potential. If anything, Livio, destiny – like magic – is a burden we all have to bear. You cannot cast it off, so you might as well embrace it.’

  Grandmother looks as if she’s about to continue when she’s interrupted by a knock on the door. Our eyes meet in shared surprise.