We Are Bound by Stars

by Kesia Lupo

  ‘Let me go!’ the girl shouts hoarsely.

  ‘Scream all you like, little mask-maker – there’s no one to hear you down here but people like me.’

  Hal turns to me. I try to stand, and this time I manage to stagger to my feet, leaning heavily against the wall, breathing hard. I hold out my hand, try to summon my magic – any kind of magic will do. But I’m woozy – slow. Hal repeats the gesture with which he bound the girl, and instead of fighting back, I find my arms pinned exactly like hers.

  ‘Right – now you’re both set, let’s go.’ He starts forward. But – to my confusion – he’s not heading towards the stairs but towards the far wall. I feel my feet stumbling after him, against my will, as if pulled along by invisible chains.

  Hal appears to be searching for a door in the panelling, pushing and feeling for gaps in the woodwork. I glance over my shoulder at Elisao, desperate to know he’s all right. He lifts his head gently. Relief floods my body: he’s conscious, at least. Once Hal has led the mask-maker and me to wherever we’re heading, Elisao can find a way out of here into the city. He blinks. I see blood smeared on his temple, the scars of a magical attack running down his neck. At last, he focuses on my face. I wish I could tell him to be quiet. I wish I could tell him I love him – and that when I get out of this mess, coming back for him is the first thing I’ll do.

  ‘Livio?’ he whispers. ‘What …?’

  ‘Oh,’ Hal says, pausing at his work. ‘I almost forgot.’ Casually, he turns and shoots another glittering red-purple attack at Elisao.

  ‘No!’ I scream, my voice ragged and broken. But it’s too late. I watch in horror as the magic runs through the Elisao’s body, tensing all of his muscles. The veins on his forehead swell – his eyes full of fear, like a horse about to bolt. And then the magic leaves him – and now he is limp and empty. His beautiful green eyes fixed on the ceiling.

  Everything feels muffled, distant. I stare at Elisao, willing him to blink – to move. But he’s … he’s …

  Dead, a flat, cold voice supplies in my head.

  TWENTY:

  Beneath the City

  Beatrice

  The man, Lord Livio’s friend, lies dead on the floor. I blink at the strange scars over his neck, echoes of Valentina’s. I struggle, but my hands are bound by an invisible force, tingling and burning my skin as I wrestle to break free. My throat throbs where magic squeezed my windpipe; my head feels light and spinning, like a falling feather.

  Next to me, Livio has fallen to his knees, tears streaking his face. I know how he feels. Numb. Like he’s trapped in an impossible nightmare. It’s how I feel, too.

  Hal pushes one spot on the wall, then another. A click. ‘Got it,’ he says triumphantly, pulling the panel aside.

  Beyond is a deep, cold blackness – I can tell by the quality of the air that there’s a whole passage beyond, not simply another cupboard or antechamber. I feel my heart lurch with fear. Where does it lead? Nowhere good – I know that for sure. All the time the mascherari have worked in this room, passages winding into the earth beyond their walls. Like when you’re swimming in the ocean, feeling the cold beneath you but not knowing what lurks in the darkness.

  ‘Where are you taking us?’ I ask in a small voice. I wish I sounded stronger – instead I sound about five years old. He doesn’t answer. He slips into the darkness, leaving his magic to hold us.

  As our captor’s footsteps retreat. I glance across at the Contessa’s grandson. His head is bowed. He wipes his eyes awkwardly on his shoulders, appears to gather himself together. And then, he glances up at me. ‘You’re … one of the mascherari sisters? How did you survive?’

  How to explain? I have to be brief; we don’t have long. ‘My name is Beatrice. I always thought I was a mascherari sister … But it turns out, I’m really someone else wearing a mask. The original middle sister died.’ My words feel stilted, but Livio pales, shaking his head, and I know he understands.

  He speaks in a low, wondering whisper. ‘So you’re wearing a True Mask based on …?’

  ‘Based on the dead infant’s face,’ I finish softy. ‘On the Contessa’s orders.’ I can’t help the anger that creeps into my voice as I speak her name. ‘She didn’t want the line of inheritance to break, so …’ I shake my head.

  ‘She tried to trick Mythris,’ he says quietly. ‘Of course she did. She would never give up her power willingly. It’s her legacy. She’s determined to pass it on intact.’

  ‘You were here to burn the place down?’ I say.

  ‘Yes.’ He nods, as if he’s worked something out. ‘She must have wanted the mask room destroyed to cover up the evidence. If the masked temple finds out, she’ll lose their allegiance once and for all. And they’ll have a case against her. They’re already manoeuvring for more power …’ He pauses. ‘And you were here because …?’

  I swallow. ‘I wanted to get close to the Contessa, to ask her who … who I am. I thought if I could get a Grotesque, I could maybe get close enough …’ The plan sounds foolish now, but Livio flashes me a sad smile.

  ‘What were you going to do after that?’ he asks gently.

  I blink. ‘I … I don’t know any more. I’ve always dreamed of sailing somewhere, seeing new things, exploring new places. But now my sisters are gone …’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  I’m so taken aback by his apology that, for a second, I can’t speak. When I’ve gathered myself, I say softly, ‘What for?’

  ‘For what my grandmother has done. She stole you away from a life you never knew. Gave you another identity, then failed to protect it – protect you.’

  He understands. I feel my eyes sting with tears – but I glance away, blinking.

  He goes on. ‘I love my grandmother, but I’m not sure I always agree with her approach.’ He smiles slightly, fondly. ‘If I ever get the chance, I’ll try to make amends. I promise.’

  Hal’s footsteps are returning already. Livio and I meet each other’s eyes and, in spite of everything, I feel calmer. I nod slowly, acknowledging his apology.

  ‘If you’re going to make amends,’ I whisper, ‘we need to get out of this alive.’

  TWENTY-ONE:

  In Dark Scarossa

  Livio

  I don’t think I have ever hated anyone before – I can’t have. Because I’ve never felt like this, as I stare at the back of Hal’s head, his tight curls casting wisps of shadows on the tunnel wall as the reddish mage-light bobs at his side. The sensation is filling me like it’s a living being, a parasite inhabiting my very soul. Stronger, even, than my grief.

  We’ve been walking for ages, through the dark. Beatrice follows me, the scuff of her footsteps as quiet as the rats who emerge from time to time to escort us into their domain. She’s so quiet, in fact, that I sometimes forget she is there, and have to glance over my shoulder to reassure myself that the presence behind me is a living, breathing human – not the ghost of someone I’ve left behind.

  Elisao’s body, forgotten in the mask room among the ruins of my family’s power, flashes in my mind.

  If only I’d understood my vision for what it was – a warning from the stars. I brought him with me, into danger. It was me who killed him, as much as Hal. And that knowledge will weigh on my soul for as long as I live.

  We’ve been traipsing for what feels like hours along tunnels I never even knew existed. Every now and then, the passage widens, and I have the sense of cold air – of deep space – wafting around us into places the mage-light doesn’t reach. Once, I catch sight of an opening in the side of the tunnel – a window, I think, its ancient lintel carved into intricate swirls. The mage-light casts some of its glow inside, and I swear I see a room in there, with rotted furniture shrouded in cobwebs – but then we pass by, the shadows lengthen, and the room is plunged into its darkness again.

  One realisation cements itself in my mind: Dark Scarossa is real – and the rumours Old Jacobo heard were right. Shadow is here.

  And then I st
art to see lights further ahead.

  ‘Nearly there,’ Hal murmurs, and he picks up the pace. From the tremor in his voice, I think he’s scared of this place – or at least it makes him uncomfortable – and that thought makes me glad. Voices murmur, the chattering increases, and I realise we’re heading for a crowd.

  An archway off to the right reveals a huge hall full of mage-lights in various colours hovering near the cracked ceiling. Hal leads us inside. The wide circular space contains at least seven or eight other doorways and appears to be something of a meeting place. The hum of voices fills the room, and the members of Shadow’s gang surround us. A few eyes are drawn towards us briefly but drift away, as if they’re quite used to seeing captors from the outside.

  Hal grabs my and Beatrice’s arms, tugging us through one of the doors off to the right. Another narrow passageway, propped up by wooden pillars, gradually opens out until we face a grand set of double doors guarded by four women. After a short exchange, we’re inside.

  We’re standing at one end of a long, enormous hall, partially lit with a combination of floating mage-lights and lanterns. The far reaches of the hall are shrouded in darkness. The scale of it snatches my breath away – how can this be underground? I feel dizzy, and for a moment I sway dumbstruck in awe, standing on the threshold of a lost world.

  Hal tugs me forward, my shoes scuffing the half-destroyed mosaic on the floor. The ceiling soars above us, mottled with huge damp patches like black constellations. In the centre of the room, a cracked fountain trickles with hot sulphuric spring water – I can see steam drifting off it in plumes. The same springs, I assume, that fill the palazzo baths. The windows, lined on one side of the enormous room, are high and arched. A clump of thin-stemmed mushrooms is growing on one of the windowsills, fleshy and pale. Some of the windows are reinforced with iron or wooden bars, holding up the crumbling stonework, but all of them open on to … yes, on to a whole street, lightless but for the glow spilling through from the hall … I see a broken cobblestone pavement littered with bits of fallen masonry – a crumbling arch, a statue missing its head – before Hal yanks me on again.

  And suddenly we have stopped beside the fountain – Hal is shoving us down to our knees. He kneels between us.

  ‘Lady Shadow, I bring you Livio Santini and the surviving mask-maker. There are at least a hundred surviving Grotesque masks through the east passages, too.’ His voice is thick with pride, and I feel a fresh jolt of revulsion before I register his words. Lady Shadow? I raise my eyes. Shadow is a woman.

  She stands beside the fountain, trailing the tips of her fingers in its waters. Her dark hair flows loose, lightly streaked with grey and clasped back from her face with jewelled ornaments. Her face is typical of a Scarossan – brown-skinned, brown-eyed. She’s beautiful – her lips a perfect bow shape; her brows strong and serious – but there’s a cruel, determined set to her jaw. She’s dressed in a close-fitting black tunic and trews in the continental style, an assortment of knives, pouches and trinkets strapped to her body with leather bindings. Her boots are fine brown leather, decorated with delicate stitching. Her hands are heavy with rings, and I think of Grandmother – but whereas Grandmother wears mourning rings, this woman’s fingers are laden with ostentatious jewels.

  ‘The false mask-maker? Good work, Hal,’ says Shadow in her soft, low voice. ‘I’ve half a mind to kill her … She left one of my best assassins mortally injured.’ Her hand moves to one of the knives at her belt. ‘Do you know he died, girl? It was a painful death – a head wound. You left him to bleed out where he lay.’

  I see Beatrice’s eyes widen – her mouth opens, but nothing emerges.

  ‘But then, maybe I won’t kill her,’ Shadow continues, eyes flicking back to Hal. ‘She will make a fine bargaining chip. What do you suppose the temple will want to do with her?’ She looks Beatrice up and down, as if she is livestock she’s considering eating.

  Hal replies without emotion. ‘When they find out the truth, I expect the masked temple will want her dead. The forbidden mask she’s wearing has powers they don’t want out in the world.’

  ‘In other words, they won’t want her in someone else’s hands. In my hands.’ She slips a ring from her thumb – a great golden circle set with a huge glittering emerald – and presses it into Hal’s palm. ‘That’s a powerful card to hold, Hal. Good work. You know how I treasure a strong hand when I gamble.’ He bows his head in thanks, sliding the ring into his pocket. ‘Now, take her away. I have much to discuss with Lord Livio.’

  As her eyes settle on me for the first time, ice shivers down my spine.

  Hal stands up and tugs Beatrice to her feet. I glance over at her. Her face is a grimace of determination. Hal can’t be expecting any resistance – after all, what could the girl possibly achieve? – but suddenly, crazily, she pulls away from his grasp and starts to run straight towards Shadow, her hands outstretched.

  In a split second, something flickers in the darkness at the hall’s far end – two pinpricks of red light. I feel its energy – huge and restless and bound with unbreakable power to the woman standing in front of me.

  I try to warn Beatrice, but I’m not fast enough – the red lights blink out, and a hurricane of a sandwolf appears on the mask-maker’s chest, catapulting her backwards and pinning her to the ground.

  The huge creature’s hissing susurrations sound like nothing so much as a growl. It happened so fast, my heart is leaping in my chest.

  The sandwolf is bigger than the other ones I’ve seen; its eyes red, not yellow. And rather than glittering black, its body has a bronze hue, which catches the lamplight in darts of bright gold.

  And it’s under Shadow’s command. I frown. Isn’t the control of sandwolves part of astromancy? Grandmother appeared to think we were the only two astromancers left in the world, she and I. But clearly she was wrong.

  ‘Easy, Silas,’ Shadow says, her voice as soft as it was before. The beast’s spinning form lifts away from Beatrice, her face pale as she gasps for air. Shadow appears to notice my interest. ‘Beautiful, isn’t he?’ she says in a low, confiding voice, meeting my eyes. ‘Did you know, the more magic a sandwolf consumes, the more powerful they grow? Their eyes start out a pale yellow. With time, they turn darker – a beautiful amber. And eventually … red.’

  I swallow, my throat suddenly feeling tight. How many mages had the beast killed?

  ‘Hal,’ Shadow says now, her voice sharper, ‘pay closer attention to your prisoners. I should not have to rely on Silas for protection while you are in the room. From now on, the mask-maker is your personal responsibility.’

  I can feel the humiliation rolling off Hal like heat. ‘Yes, my lady. Apologies.’ I never thought I would see Hal grovel like a scolded boy.

  ‘Now go.’

  Hal tugs Beatrice out of the room with unnecessary force, her feet stumbling on the mosaic floor. I’m left alone with Shadow.

  Shadow – whose orders killed the mascherari, attacked Old Jacobo’s base, stole the lives of countless palazzo guards. Shadow – who tore away the last of my family, my grandmother. Shadow – who tried to bring me close by tricking me into trusting Hal.

  Shadow – whose orders as good as killed the man I loved.

  TWENTY-TWO:

  The Mirror

  Beatrice

  I lie panting on the filthy floor, listening to his footsteps retreat. Hal has thrown me in a dark, dusty room, carrying away the leather backpack Nurse gifted me containing the old guard uniform that was to be my disguise.

  If there were any hope left of me confronting the Contessa, it’s gone. The sun must’ve sunk by now, although time is impossible to trace in the constant darkness of this place. The old woman is likely on her ship, sailing to the mainland.

  Like I would’ve been, had I done as Nurse advised.

  The paths we could have taken are so quickly lost in darkness, unreachable, leaving only the one we are walking.

  I blink, sitting up, and the room shifts
into focus. In the light of the oil lamp Hal left burning next to me, my eyes find old mouldering puppets hanging from hooks. Others lie decomposing, crumbling on the floor, their outfits chewed by rats and worn to rags, only their porcelain heads peering up from the detritus with a semblance of what they once were.

  I wish bitterly for my sisters. I imagine pressing my face into Ofelia’s hair, closing my eyes; Valentina sharply telling me to stop wallowing. Then I remember how they were tugging the old chest between them, how I’d felt suddenly separate, cut out. I didn’t realise how true that feeling was. Tears pool in my eyes, and I sob into my shirt. Now they are together in death, and here I am, alone.

  Nurse was right – my plan was foolish. I will never know who I really am under this identity the Contessa gave me. I might as well have fled when I could. What does it matter who I was, anyway? What mattered was the people who loved me, the dreams I could have followed. Now all have forsaken me.

  When I feel strong enough, and the crying has passed, I lift my head and examine my surroundings more closely. The room is small – no larger than a closet, really. I could walk across it in three short paces, if it weren’t for the debris strewn across the floor. Ancient spotted mirrors are stacked up against the walls, laden with cobwebs, alongside panels painted with various kinds of landscape, the paint chipped or blooming with mould. Stage scenery. A storage room for a puppet theatre, I suppose – and yet, I am far underground. Whatever theatre this once was, it has long been forgotten.

  There’s another face staring straight at me, ghoulish and pale, and I start back – only to realise it’s my own reflection framed in ancient, cobwebbed gilt.

  The only working puppet here is me. And now Shadow holds my strings.

  Shakily, I crawl to the mirror in front of me on my hands and knees. I sob again as I see my face close up, because in myself I see Valentina and Ofelia, and their dead faces return to me so fresh and full of horror that it feels like there’s a knife twisting in my heart.