We Are Bound by Stars

by Kesia Lupo

  I open a page at random – a line illustration of a great carved chair. A throne. I read the inscription below, my eyelids heavy.

  The throne upon which the queens meted out law and justice was known as the Starlight Throne. Carved of volcanic stone, it is said to remain in the ancient throne room, buried somewhere beneath Scarossa.

  Beneath Scarossa. In Dark Scarossa, then. The graffiti. Shadow. Old Jacobo’s warnings. The city beneath. A throne. Astromancy. I feel as if I’m teetering on the edge of something. But as my eyelids droop, the questions circling my mind feel less and less urgent …

  I close the book and flick off the light. The curtains are open, and I watch the stars for a few moments. Do I need to be in the temple to read the stars, or can I do it right here, right now? I tug gently on my astromantic magic, and my vision shifts. The stars stretch back in layers, past, present and future, rattling their chains. I wonder, are they the prisoners, or are we? And with that lingering thought, I fall asleep.

  I am in a dark room. Suddenly, a great flash of lightning throws the room into ugly brightness, and I distinguish – for a split second – wooden faces peering down at me from every angle.

  And again, a pregnant darkness, leaving me panting as if doused in a great wave. I wait a beat, unable to run – although I wish I could. And then, a loud rent of thunder splits the air and lightning flashes a second time.

  The light’s icy visitation reveals a changed scene. Now, the faces – the masks, I realise – have been swept from the walls, lying destroyed on the ground as if discarded by the raging ocean—

  *

  I gasp, open my eyes to sunlight, gritty and dry, my heart pounding as if some part of me is already aware of what’s going to happen next – and perhaps it is. The remnants of a horrible nightmare cling to my mind: masks; lightning; destruction. But was it a nightmare? Or a vision?

  I breathe deeply as the adrenalin slowly drains from my blood, my body clammy and cold. There’s no doubt the dream had the visceral feeling of the vision from before – the burning wooden face … But what does it mean?

  I can hear the wind whistling round the glass towers – the sound of a storm blowing in from the ocean. Hurried footsteps sound outside my room – low, panicked voices. Something is wrong. Before I can get up to investigate, my bedroom door flings open and Hal is in the doorway.

  ‘The mascherari sisters have been assassinated,’ he says. ‘Get dressed – quickly, now – and meet in the back parlour. You and the Contessa are in grave danger.’

  The door shuts, and I’m left with a freezing, sinking feeling as the curtains blow in from my window like wild spirits. I get up, shut the glass doors and prepare to face this day.

  The palazzo is in upheaval. Servants are heaving chests from room to room, packing valuables in swathes of soft sheets. Two guards collide on the stairs transporting a pair of finely carved chairs I recognise from Grandmother’s rooms – a pot of shadow ferns is knocked over, soil scattering over a half-rolled-up rug. Curses and commands ring out across the hall.

  ‘Did you see it – the graffiti in the square?’ one of the maids is saying to another as they manoeuvre a huge porcelain vase into a sheet-padded box outside my room. I stoop outside my door to tie my shoelaces and listen. ‘Everyone’s talking about it.’

  ‘Saw it on my way in. That sun – over and over, in bright red paint. Almost every wall covered with it. No stars though.’

  ‘Doesn’t make sense, does it?’

  I stand up, feeling oddly light-headed – I slump against my doorframe. The graffiti outside the Battaglia that night was identical. What had Elisao said? The Santini sun existed on its own as a sigil. Before the gods. Back when the rulers of the Wishes were queens in their own right. I feel suddenly cold. It’s no coincidence that this huge graffiti statement was scrawled across the palazzo square the very night Shadow had the mascherari sisters assassinated. No: one thing is clearer to me now than ever before … Shadow seeks to overthrow the order established by my family thousands of years ago – the alliance with the masked god, as embodied in the mascherari – and to replace it with something older … And it’s happening right now.

  And then I remember how my mother’s book, The Queens of The Wishes, has the exact same image on the cover. Did someone leave it for me as a warning? Or – I feel cold at the thought – did Shadow leave the book for me?

  ‘Stop dawdling!’ someone yells nearby. It’s not directed at me, but I jump and hurry away nonetheless. I have to see Grandmother. Disorder fills the air like a flock of frightened birds. I descend the stairs, weaving between the servants and guards, the huge arched window in front of me framing a cloudy, bruised sky.

  Nobody notices me as I reach the foot of the staircase and wait for a group of guards to pass before I head towards the back of the palazzo. I’ve dressed not in my novice robes, as usual, but in the plain clothes I generally wear in the city at night – cream shirt, black trews in the close-cut northern style, an open dark blue jacket of fine wool. I could be a scholar or a merchant’s son. The Cardinal emerges from the back parlour, Carlotta at his side – their red hair is the brightest thing in the grey hall. I stop in the shadows and listen.

  ‘It was unseemly to express disagreement in front of the Contessa, Carlotta. Do not disrespect me again,’ says the Cardinal, his voice stiff and cool as he fastens a purple cloak brought by a yellow-liveried servant.

  Carlotta’s voice is pleading. ‘But, Father, don’t you think we should be helping—?’

  The Cardinal nods the servant away and pulls Carlotta into a small alcove. I lean forward, straining my ears. ‘We must present a united front. Your opinions, such as they are, are irrelevant. You must learn to control your emotions.’

  I peer around the side of the staircase. Carlotta is facing me – I can see two crimson spots rising on her cheeks. ‘It is not emotional to do the right thing,’ she mutters. I’m reminded uncomfortably of my own discussions with Grandmother.

  I can’t see the Cardinal’s expression, but I watch as he reaches out, grabs Carlotta’s arm. I watch her face stiffen with pain. ‘Why do you insist on defying me? Always one step away from what you should be. If you are not more careful, I’ll send you to some backwater temple to finish your education where you can’t do any harm.’

  ‘Please,’ says Carlotta, and, mercifully, her father lifts his hand from her arm. Before she pulls down her sleeve, I see how little lightning-like impressions have surfaced on her skin. I feel a jolt of shock – he was hurting her with magic.

  ‘Come, we’ve wasted enough time here,’ says the Cardinal and, stepping into the corridor, he stalks towards the door. Carlotta follows but hesitates. Suddenly she glances towards me, her eyes locking on mine. Her face wavers expressionless for a moment … But then she scowls, following the Cardinal outside.

  Hal meets me right outside the parlour, his expression rigidly professional. ‘Go in – the Contessa is waiting. I’ll be in your rooms afterwards – there’s lots to do.’

  ‘Thanks, Hal.’ I feel an impulse to apologise for what happened last night. ‘I …’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ he says, smiling tightly. ‘There are more important things to worry about now.’

  Before I can reply, he’s slipped away and is climbing the stairs.

  When I finally step into the back parlour – a room constructed nearly entirely of salt-spotted windows overlooking the ocean – I find a haven of quiet, the only sound the waves hissing and thrashing at the rocks. Grandmother is sitting in a high-backed chair with her back to the door, a pot of tea and an empty cup on the small table beside her. The large round table has four chairs pulled out around it, and I guess that’s where Grandmother sat with the Cardinal and Carlotta.

  ‘They were right here again, Livio. Shadow’s people. The mascherari sisters are gone. The chain of a thousand years is broken, and all the True Masks have lost their power. The bargain with the masked god is null and void, and Shadow knocks on our d
oor, ready to destroy us entirely.’ Her voice is flat and cold. ‘Sandwolves roam the city streets. Our people are dying. Our trade fading. Our powers both secular and magical are severely diminished. I have failed.’

  I take a seat beside her in a chair gazing out to sea. ‘Grandmother, what’s going on? Are we leaving?’

  But she doesn’t seem to notice my question. She looks paler and older than I’ve ever seen her: her face heavily lined; her eyes tired; her hair a cloud of steel grey around her head. ‘Why didn’t the stars tell me this?’ she asks in a whisper.

  Gently, I reach out and take her hand. ‘Grandmother … what’s happening? Why is the palazzo being packed up?’

  At last, she looks at me. ‘If I cannot defend my own people, and I cannot turn to Mythris for help, I must rely on secular powers. I must appeal to the King.’ I can tell it pains her to speak it from the way she spits the word.

  My mind is racing. ‘I just saw the Cardinal leaving … Did they refuse to help us?’

  ‘The servants of Mythris are slippery creatures, Livio. They have offered to assist us, but only in exchange for a granting of greater powers – secular powers.’ She shakes her head angrily. ‘If I agree, we would no longer rule Scarossa, in truth – the temple would. I cannot accept it.’

  ‘I see …’ I nod, wishing I could feel more surprised. But everyone knows Mythris’s temple is full of mages whose particular talents tend towards control, deceit and unbounded ambition.

  ‘To the King I must go. He may be bought with other advantages. Trade. A closer political alliance. A marriage, perhaps.’ At this, she glances at me. ‘The King has a niece who may be of age …’

  I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. ‘Can’t you send an envoy? Why pack up the whole palazzo?’

  Her voice is suddenly impatient. ‘You really don’t understand, do you, boy? Perhaps, like all young people, you think you are invincible. Well, you are not. Shadow’s assassins are everywhere. They are powerful enough to defeat several of my True Masked mages and a whole battalion of highly trained guards – and to do so without detection.’

  I run a hand through my hair, feeling my heart pounding in my chest. ‘Grandmother, this graffiti that’s been drawn everywhere … it’s an old symbol. The symbol of Scarossa’s old queens. And there’s the book I found … It was left where I could find it. Do you think Shadow—?’

  ‘We don’t have time for this talk of books and symbols. We’ve discussed this, Livio. Shadow is exploiting an ancient movement in our city, yes – whipping up popular fervour. And gods, it seems to be working – my guards are stretched thin, calming unrest in the streets.’ She shakes her head, and I nearly press my point – but she is already speaking again. ‘We are in grave danger if we stay here … and yet, that is what I must ask of you.’

  I blink, and everything I was trying to piece together – about Shadow, about the symbol – flees from my mind. This wasn’t what I was expecting. ‘But the palazzo …’

  ‘No, you are not to remain in the palazzo. As soon as I am gone, this place will be the most dangerous place in the city. The temple will send its mages to protect it, ostensibly in my name. And Shadow will likely want to seize it as the seat of power. No, I need you to disappear in the city. I trust you have friends there?’

  I baulk, my throat seizing.

  ‘There’s no point lying to me, Livio – it was clear the broken nose wasn’t a result of your first time in the city. We might as well use this to our advantage. Now, do you have someone you can turn to – a place you can stay?’

  I think immediately of Elisao … But I couldn’t – not after how we left it. Old Jacobo, though, perhaps. I nod once, sharply.

  ‘Everyone beyond my closest household circle will be told you are leaving with me. We set sail at dusk – the worst of the storm will have passed by then. In any case, the light will be low. I shall dress one of my servants as you, and this double shall accompany me on the ship. But in reality, you will remain in the city. I have something I need you to do.’

  ‘What is it?’ She’s starting to scare me with her serious eyes and thin, sharp voice. Thunder rumbles outside, a counterpoint to the whistling wind and the waves’ restless turning.

  When she speaks again, her voice is tremulous. ‘Livio, I need you to burn the mask room. Will you do that for me?’

  I stare at her. The nightmare – the vision – I had last night plays through my mind. In the second strike of lightning, the masks were destroyed. But Grandmother’s request makes no sense: with the mascherari sisters dead, the masks are useless anyway. ‘But the masks have lost their power. What’s the point?’

  She shakes her head. ‘It’s a long story. When all of this is over, I will tell you everything. But for now, I need you to promise me, Livio. Will you do it?’

  I swallow, nod. ‘Of course.’

  ‘At dusk, then, when the city is distracted by my departure.’ She stands up and – my manners ingrained – I stand too. ‘By whatever means necessary, destroy the mask room, and afterwards, hide until my return,’ she says, holding her cane white-knuckled. ‘And this must remain secret. You tell precisely no one. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say.

  ‘Then this is goodbye. I have much to prepare. Things will be … unstable in my absence. You mustn’t try to fight Shadow, Livio. Remember, if I return, I will have all the power of the King at my back. And if I do not return …’ She sighs. ‘Well, a Santini will remain in Scarossa. Perhaps you can find a way to win back our city, in time.’ Her posture is stiff and upright, her gaze challenging.

  I nod. ‘Come back soon, Grandmother. I promise I’ll be waiting.’

  SIXTEEN:

  Nurse’s Story

  Beatrice

  I daren’t return to my room, where the assassin lies – instead, I brace myself and enter Ofelia’s. Her green dress is crumpled on the floor, and I need a disguise. Although everything in me screams that this is wrong, wrong, wrong, I lift off my white nightgown and pull it on, fastening the buttons with trembling fingers, throat choking with tears, my back to the bed. To Ofelia. The puppets sway before me in the darkness, regarding me with their gleaming painted eyes, but I’d rather that than to watch my lifeless sister.

  I pull on her sensible black shoes, leaving the dancing slippers for practical reasons, and her ordinary black cloak because I’m too scared of being recognised. My hands are shaking. I feel like I’m dreaming. Maybe I’ll wake up soon. Maybe everything will be as it was before.

  You didn’t want that life, a small, hard voice says in my mind. And now you’ve lost it. Aren’t you happy?

  The faintest, greyest light is starting to creep through the curtains as I hurry downstairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy a form laid out on the threshold of the kitchen – Anna-Maria – and stifle a sob. I have barely enough of my wits about me to grab the empty basket lying on the doorstep. Once I am out in the city, heading for the market, I need to look natural. I need to look like I have a purpose.

  The light of dawn is a bright, thunderous red. Corpses of guards litter the narrow path down towards the mask room, a path which I choose because I’m less likely to run into any staff from the palazzo. One woman’s body clutches a red Ornamental mask with a crack down its centre. One of the Contessa’s elite True Masked fighters – by all accounts, masked guards are not easily defeated. I gulp and continue, the sea struggling and roaring like a chained beast on the rocks.

  In the palazzo square, I encounter my first living people – servants on early duties, eager scholars waiting for the library to open, even housewives on their way to the market for the best of the produce – like me, I think. Just a housewife, or a merchant’s daughter, on her way to the market. Everything feels oddly normal – everyone going through the motions of an ordinary day. Except, I’m out at dawn, dressed in my dead sister’s party gown, and my throat is throbbing with a suppressed scream. I clutch my basket, white-knuckled.

  I barely notice the graffiti
until it’s right in front of me, painted in stark black on the wall of the library as I’m passing by. I stop, nearly tripping over my own feet in shock. A swirling Santini sun – but without its consort of nine stars. Just like the tattoo behind the assassin’s ear. Someone has painted it over and over again, as high as a person can reach, all around the square. I look up. Painted prominently across one of the shops that sells snacks to the tourists are four words:

  THE REVOLUTION IS HERE

  The matching symbols suggest the graffiti was painted by whoever killed my sisters. I breathe deeply, blink slowly, the world spinning, the strange energy rising up … I wrestle it down. I hate whoever did this so much, I have to stop myself from attacking the stark, bloody words with my basket as if I could beat them off the wall. I clutch the handle tighter and walk on.

  By the time I reach the docks, the storm has hit. The clouds are roiling and black, though thunder sounds some way off. I recall Nurse’s directions: I’ll be living on the top floor of the old grain store at the bottom of Silver Street, round the corner from the fish market. Even so, it takes me a while to find the right building, all the while the early vendors are yelling prices at the girl with the empty basket, and my mind replays, over and over, memories of my sisters – first in the nursery, the argument, the last words I spoke to them, in anger and bitterness. Just go. Then images of their cold bodies. Ofelia’s dreadfully peaceful – Valentina’s ravaged.

  I duck into the shadow of the doorway and climb the stairs. The stairwell is quiet and damp, and my steps feel heavy under the velvet skirts.

  I knock on the door at the top and wait – and suddenly, Nurse is there on the threshold, smelling of almonds and sunshine. Surprise pales her face, her expression stiffening as she stares at me for two long breaths. Then, her eyes soften.

  ‘Beatrice, my bambina. You’d better come in.’

  The apartment spans the top floor of the warehouse – it is comfortable but sparsely furnished. A fire burns in a small hearth, which serves, I can see, for both warmth and cooking. A kettle is already bubbling above the flame, and Nurse lifts it out, sets it on an iron stand.