We Are Bound by Stars

by Kesia Lupo

  Unthinkingly, I gently raise my hands to the mask.

  I tentatively push my fingers into the skin around my face, like I did before at Nurse’s place. I still don’t know what I’m feeling for – but here, alone, is a good time to find out. The tips of my fingers tingle. I feel … something odd. Like before. Is it an edge?

  In my excitement I lose concentration, and the sensation slips away … but I’m determined. I try again. And again. On the fourth time, I dig my fingers in when I feel the something, and I start to pull. Hard. It’s so painful, again, that I wonder if I’ve made a terrible mistake. Am I lifting my own face away, somehow, exposing only the bloody mess that lies beneath all skin? No. Keep going. A burning sensation pulses through me. Energy seems to swirl inside my heart, quickening as the mask pulls away.

  I give one last tug, crying out as the mask comes free and drops to the floor. I lift my hand up to my cheek and touch … skin. Not blood. Skin.

  Still in shock, I pick up the mask and examine it. From the back, it looks like any other mask I have made during my short time as a mascherari, or during the training of my childhood – a smooth white underside with eyeholes cut out. My hands tremble as I turn it over. Now, this is different from the masks I know – the realism is startling. The brownish flesh, the gentle flush of the cheeks. I’m looking at the eyeless face of my sisters.

  So … what exactly is the face underneath? My face?

  Slowly, slowly I raise my eyes to my reflection.

  At first, I fix on the trembling, grazed hands holding the mask – these are not so different. My eyes comb the grubby shirt and travel up, up to the tangled mass of hair draped over my shoulders. And then I’m looking at a girl I don’t recognise – or perhaps I do, vaguely. It’s the type of face I’ve passed many times in the street, eyes averted: brown skin, perhaps a half shade darker than the skin of the mask; slightly darker eyes; and thinner, higher arches of brows.

  I feel anger surging inside me as my thoughts tumble and curl in my mind like crashing waves. The Contessa stole away this girl’s life. She gave her the face of a dead baby so that she could keep her mascherari triplets, her masks, her power. I see the face in the mirror contort with rage. There’s a flash of green light, and with a huge splintering noise, the mirror cracks.

  I scramble away in terror, my heart pounding. Magic has never come to me that effortlessly or powerfully before. Could the mask have been suppressing it? I listen in the quiet, afraid the sound of the mirror breaking has alerted Hal or some other guard … but no one comes.

  The energy has drained from me, and I’m left staring at this stranger’s face in a mirror criss-crossed with lines.

  I’m panting with the exertion of whatever I just did, with the thoughts spinning round and round in my mind. This face is softer than the mask’s – more childlike, more confused. This girl is still a girl, even though she’s clearly a Rogue too, and therefore dangerous, and now her face is crumbling once again into tears.

  ‘Who are you?’ I look into the girl’s dark eyes, and I feel like she has an answer, if only she could speak it. And then without warning, the lamplight extinguishes, its oil exhausted, and I am flung into darkness.

  I’m on the edge of hysteria, in a room of hanging puppets, imagining how they’re swaying, their eyes watching me as they watched Ofelia die in her sleep.

  But something has risen in me. I’m not a puppet. I’m not ready to give up. Not yet.

  Hal knows I’m a mage, yes. And he knows I was wearing a mask. But he doesn’t know the mask was suppressing my magic. He doesn’t know I’ve managed to remove it.

  I crawl in the direction of the door, my hands sliding on the gritty, dusty floor until I find the pitted old wood. I feel for the handle, turn it – of course, it’s locked. I expected as much. I lay my hands against it – and the iron lock beneath. I breathe deep. Reach for the energy inside me, clearer than ever before.

  Magic leaps through me, electrifying my senses. I feel a rushing sensation. My hands jerk against the iron and there’s an almighty green flash, lighting the room momentarily—

  I am flung backwards as if kicked by an enormous boot. I crash into the monstrous puppets, my head ricocheting against the wall. Dimly, I see a red-purple glimmer hovering over the door before it fades again to nothing.

  Of course. He’s protected it.

  Clinging on to consciousness, holding my throbbing head, I crawl, coughing, away from the detritus, until I’m positioned in front of the door again. All right – I can’t break out. What else can I do?

  I can wait until he comes.

  I hold the mask, feeling its oddly fleshy contours, cold and hard but somehow retaining the consistency of skin. Hal said the temple would want me dead. He said the forbidden mask would have powers the temple wouldn’t want out in the world.

  What kind of powers? I wonder.

  TWENTY-THREE:

  The Starlight Throne

  Livio

  When Beatrice and Hal are gone, the great gilded door shuts behind them, and the ensuing silence is thick as water. I’m still kneeling on the hard mosaic, my knees sore. I look up at Shadow and am surprised to find she’s searching my face.

  ‘Follow me,’ she says after a time. When I stand up, my legs are shaking – my hands too.

  ‘What do you want with me?’ I demand.

  But Shadow doesn’t reply. My eyes catch on one of the necklaces hanging around her neck – the longest, a gold pendant in the shape of a sun. I remember the necklace clearly from the Battaglia, when the sandwolf struck. My eyes slide over to the huge red-eyed beast, Silas. Was Shadow herself there in the crowd, watching? If so, why?

  She walks to the opposite end of the hall, the end hidden in darkness – and I follow. She effortlessly conjures a small purple mage-light, which floats up and brightens simultaneously. In the light, her huge red-eyed sandwolf swirls at the foot of a raised dais, growling softly.

  The light still rises. Now I can fathom why the fountain’s trickling water echoes so loudly, resonating around the room like an orchestra. Above this dais, the ceiling soars up so high that I wonder exactly how deep we are standing. And on the dais stands a chair.

  ‘Go – look at it,’ says Shadow. ‘Silas will not harm you.’

  I don’t want to, but somehow I find myself passing the swirling creature and climbing the four worn steps. Am I dreaming? It feels as if I’m walking through honey – an invisible rope pulling me inexorably forward through the ether. The chair, like the rest of the room, is clearly very old – hewn of stone, it reaches to my full height, or a little taller.

  Why is it so familiar?

  I round the chair slowly. Elaborate carvings cover its surface – images engraved by hands that turned to dust and bone centuries ago. On its lower reaches, on one side, are stylised curls of sandstorms. A large sandwolf’s head snarls in the midst of its dust-devil body. On the other side of the chair’s lower half are crashing ribbons of waves. On its back is a carving of a great castle in an ancient style, and above, around the whole chair and dominating its decorations, are a myriad of stars: some as large as the palm of my hand; others the size of fingernails and clustered into constellations.

  And suddenly I know where I’ve seen this chair before.

  ‘Is this … the Starlight Throne?’ I ask, voice trembling, remembering the passages I read in my mother’s book. My head is pounding, now – pain needling in my left temple. I lean on the throne for support, the smooth arm cold under my hand as I face her. Silas spins at her side, lazy and slow.

  Shadow does not respond to my question. ‘Long ago in Scarossa, we did not bend the knee to foreign kings or new gods.’ She spits the words dismissively. ‘We had astromancer rulers, masters of the ancient magic drawn from the very soil of these islands, nourished by Fortune’s body. We were lords of our own destinies, in more ways than one – we had been chosen by Fortune.’

  I draw myself tall, thinking of the graffiti – the sun, unbounded by
stars. Revolution is here. Anger steadies me. ‘Why are you telling me this? If you want your pirate kingdom, kill me and take it.’

  ‘We are not enemies, Lord Livio, and I do not want a pirate kingdom,’ Shadow says. She lifts her chin, meeting my eyes. ‘I have brought you here to give you the greatest of gifts. This’ – she gestures to the chair – ‘the Starlight Throne. You are to be King of the Wishes.’

  My head is spinning. I clear my throat and croak out the bizarre words. ‘You want me to be … King?’ She does not reply. ‘You’re insane!’ I blurt. I find myself sitting down on the throne, dizzy, resting my head in my hands. ‘Why do you need me? Can’t you just crown yourself Queen?’

  ‘When she returned to Scarossa, Fortune chose the scions of two great families to receive the two branches of her power – the two kinds of astromancy. In you, for the first time, the blessed ancient bloodlines are combined. The Santini and the Lupina. Livio, this has always been your fate.’ She smiles, her eyes glittering. ‘Haven’t you been reading the book I left for you?’

  The idea of Shadow somehow leaving me the book would, I suppose, make sense – the symbol on the cover was a direct replica of the sun graffiti around the city, the pendant hanging around her neck. But it doesn’t explain everything.

  Shadow climbs the dais steps, dropping to one knee at my feet. Her voice is low, now, taught with excitement. ‘Do you know why Fortune died, Livio? She was a mother, forsaken by her children: the nine gods. When their father was murdered, they wrongly turned against her, stripped her of her powers. Turned her into a mortal. She died here, on Scarossa, her body infusing the soil itself with magic – her legacy to us.’ She grasps my hand – I’m so shocked, I don’t pull away. ‘We owe it to Fortune to cast off the shackles of the new faith. We owe it to the people, too.’ She squeezes my hand, her rings hard against my fingers. ‘You are a man of the people, aren’t you, Lord Livio? I’ve been watching you. You fight for them and with them. You speak to them. You help them. They want this too. You know how they feel about the Contessa. They don’t want a ruler like that – a mere intermediary between them and a foreign ruler. They want a king of their own. Someone they can love.’

  I shake my head slightly. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I don’t want to force you to do this. I want you to be inspired – as I once was – to change the world. We shall have no gods. No king that is not ours. We shall be unbound by promises to false deities, or subservience to foreign interests. We will root out the rotten crime lords of this city – in fact, I have already started.’ She smirks. ‘The followers of Fortune will rule the Wishes once again. And we will thrive.’

  I can’t help the bitter words that spill from my mouth next. ‘You’ve destroyed everything I care for, and you expect me to be inspired?’ A shiver runs through me, and I stand up, tugging my hand away from her grasp and hurrying down the steps. I can’t be here any longer, shut up like a northern duke in his coffin. I have to reach the Scarossa I know – the city under the stars. But I stumble in my haste. The floor meets my knees, and I wince at the impact, my eyes stinging with pain.

  ‘Stop running from your destiny, Livio,’ says Shadow, approaching me slowly from the throne, her boots tapping against the floor. ‘There’s no point. Fate is like quicksand – the more you struggle, the tighter it draws you in.’

  Suddenly, determination floods me. My fists clench and I rise up, dropping into a fighting stance. ‘Let me go or kill me now,’ I hiss through my teeth. ‘As the gods witness it, I will never be your puppet king. I don’t believe in fate.’

  Silas growls, red eyes flashing.

  ‘You don’t believe in fate?’ Shadow laughs humourlessly. ‘You are the son of two great astromancer families. Saying you don’t believe in fate is like a fish saying it doesn’t believe in water! The power in you should be so much greater than fists and muscle. So much greater, even, than gods. But you are a disappointment, Livio. So much potential, squandered. I am offering you the chance to be everything you could be. If you refuse then, in Fortune’s name, I’ll deny your precious Contessa an honourable death. I’ll string her up on the city walls until she’s eaten by the gulls. Then we’ll see if you believe in fate.’

  ‘She’ll be miles away by now,’ I snap, jutting out my chin in defiance despite the icy fear in my heart.

  ‘Sadly not. We’ve intercepted her at the docks,’ Shadow says smoothly. ‘Even now, we’re holding her somewhere safe until her execution … and your coronation.’

  I feel horribly, sickeningly powerless. Could it be true?

  ‘We go tonight,’ Shadow continues, ‘to the palazzo, to claim it for the new kingdom. You’ve no choice. Come quietly, and it’ll be better for you and those you care for.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ I ask, my voice flat and weak.

  ‘Because it is my home,’ she replies, leaning forward, eyes glowing with passion. ‘I was born here, just as you were. And this is the right thing for Scarossa – it always has been. One day, you’ll realise it too.’

  ‘You know nothing about me,’ I protest, hissing the words through clenched teeth. ‘Nothing about this city.’

  Now, finally, she faces me, her eyes flashing in an anger to match my own. ‘I know everything about you. I’ve been watching over you your entire life. And I alone knew the secrets of Dark Scarossa. How can you say I know nothing about this city? Don’t you see?’

  ‘What?’ I whisper. I’m turning the signet ring around my finger.

  She breathes deeply, lets out a long sigh. It’s the first time I’ve noticed any signs of weakness in her bearing, and I’m unsettled by whatever words are hovering behind her lips. ‘I was born to a noble family, an ancient family. But … for decades past, we had fallen on hard times – no thanks to the Contessa and her predecessors, who were jealous of our heritage. My father, however, believed in a future for our line. A greater future. He believed the Contessa’s bargain with Mythris was evil. He believed in Fortune and her legacy. He taught me the ways of astromancy – how to control a sandwolf, bind it to my will. He showed me Dark Scarossa. He taught me how to act, to steal, to lie. And, before he died, he arranged a match for me with Alberto Santini. Because he knew the only way to overthrow them was from within.’

  My heart is pounding so hard, I’m scared it might leap from my chest.

  ‘I had a child, Livio. The child I always knew would be heir to the Queens of Scarossa. The first ever to combine the powers of Fortune.’

  ‘No,’ I whisper.

  ‘I am your mother, Livio,’ she says, her voice barely louder than mine. She faces me again, her expression twisted in pain. And again, even quieter: ‘I’m your mother, and you will do as I say, whether you like it or not.’

  My ears roar. The world falls around my ears like the ceiling is crumbling down, stars whooshing past me like diving gulls.

  Chains bind me in streaks of pure, pitiless light.

  TWENTY-FOUR:

  No More Puppets

  Beatrice

  I’ve nothing but time in this place. No light. No footsteps. No noise. And so – I practise. I set the mask carefully aside, wrapping it in an old blanket I’ve been left and leaning the bundle against the wall.

  At first, it’s unreliable – sometimes a glowing globe hovers in my hand, strong and true. Sometimes a light no larger than a candle flame. Sometimes I feel sick, faint, like I did before. But the more I draw on the magic, the surer it feels.

  Now, it flickers at my fingertips as I hold my hand palm-up – green light ricocheting from the mirror and dancing across the walls. I catch glimpses of my new face in the fractured glass – jumping at the sight of a stranger. I tip my wrist and shoot a stream of glitter at an old puppet dressed in ragged starry robes, her face blackened and stained. Her body bursts open in a shattering cloud of wood and metal, and I feel a grim satisfaction.

  No more puppets.

  Over the hours, the remaining hanging puppets are destroyed, one by one, b
y my target practice, until the room is littered with dust and debris. I lay down on the cold floor, drained. I think I can do it. I can beat Hal if I have the element of surprise.

  I sleep.

  And I wake, who knows how long later, to a darkness so complete that I can’t tell if my eyes are open or shut. I pass my hands in front of my face: nothing.

  My stomach feels so empty it’s painful. Gingerly I stand, stretching out my cramped muscles.

  And I see the faintest tremor of light under the door. Hear the scuff-scuff-scuff of footsteps.

  Hal?

  I lower myself closer to the ground, feeling for my magic. This is my chance – perhaps my only chance.

  The light grows, hurting my eyes – but I squint into it. No lamplight, this time – the light is the colour of Hal’s magic, a reddish purple like a fresh bruise.

  The footsteps and the light stop outside the door, and I hear the jangle of keys. I remember how Hal summoned his attacks in the mask room, holding out his palm and letting a ball of power grow on his outstretched hand.

  I hold out my palm, face up, and draw on the power – it feels eager, restless. Pushing itself from a hollow place beneath my lungs, fizzing in the pit of my stomach, tingling under my skin. Light starts to fill the room. Shadows crawl across the cobwebbed walls, a huge spider scuttling across the floor by my feet.

  The lock turns and – by the time the door clicks open – there’s a glowing green globe the size of my head spitting like new fire in my palm.

  The door creaks. I don’t think. I just throw it.

  Surprise is on my side – I catch a glimpse of Hal’s wide eyes as the attack hits him square in the chest at close range. He doubles over, and I’m readying a second attack as he slumps forward, sliding down the door frame.

  My hands tremble and the light flickers out.

  Darkness consumes me again. The room is very still and a cold air whispers from the corridor. I wait a few beats, expecting a flash of bruised red light, but nothing happens. At last, I summon a shaky flame of magic in my palm – enough to see by.