We Are Bound by Stars

by Kesia Lupo

  She closes her fist. Strange starlike sparks float around her fingers. I feel foreign power clench in my stomach, my magic churning. I gasp at the sensation, drop to one knee as the breath is knocked from my lungs, as if I’ve been punched hard in the gut.

  Silas growls, launches himself at Shadow – but she’s ready. She sends a huge surge of purple magic towards the beast. He’s hit directly, lets out a rasping scream, which tears my heart. I lose sight of him – is he dead? I try to stand up, but … I can’t.

  Whatever spell Shadow is casting, it’s keeping me on my knees. I try. Try again. I scream at myself to stand up, but it’s like I’m trapped in quicksand. My leg twitches, slides a half-inch forward. A bead of sweat rolls down my cheek.

  ‘See, Livio? How easy it is to pull your strings.’ She jerks her hand and I feel myself stand, loose and uncoordinated. She twists a finger – my leg jerks forward. And then the other. I’m walking. I panic, but my pulse remains steady, low, as if Shadow has control of my heart, too.

  Shadow walks me forward until I stand a foot in front of her – and then, leaning close, she kisses me lightly on the cheek. I smell a perfume I recognise from long ago. I smell blood. ‘There, Livio. This is more like it.’ She glances over her shoulder. ‘Seize the temple girl. And bring the crown.’

  I can’t control my body. So instead, I shut my eyes, allow my mind to reach for the magic deep inside me, beyond the claws of Shadow’s control. Gently, I try to do what I planned in the temple, to draw on both strands of astromancy at once.

  I think of the Battaglia, the fight I’ve always had within me. I think of Elisao, kissing me. I think of Grandmother holding my hand as I summoned the stars for the first time. I picture the goddess, Fortune, sleeping far under the earth, dreaming of all our futures, offering us choice.

  For that, not astromancy, was her greatest parting gift.

  And I choose to be free.

  The air around me dances with white sparks.

  Shadow frowns. ‘What—?’

  I gasp as the magic surges through me, past Shadow’s constraints, flooding the room with a power drawn from deep, deep inside me. From my very blood, marrying the Santini and the Lupina, uniting Fortune’s power for the first time since the goddess walked the earth.

  Around me, wisps of sand rise as if from nowhere, spinning, spinning. A grain multiplies into two grains – two into four – on and on until the air is full of the scent of the desert. Shadow’s face falters, her eyes clouding with doubt. Her followers stagger away from the little dust devils rising all around, eyes widening as they guess what’s about to happen next. Silas returns to my side, smaller, spinning slower, but alive. He roars triumphantly. Sandwolves spark into life, twisting into miniature tornadoes – the eyes always blinking on last, like bright lanterns in a storm.

  My energy is drained. Blood leaves my face, my palms tingle. Suddenly I feel a hand on my arm, holding me steady. I glance up – it’s Carlotta. She nods at me slowly, as if to tell me I can do it. As if to say, We’re going to be all right.

  For the first time, real fear crosses Shadow’s face. ‘How is this possible?’ she breathes.

  ‘It’s exactly as you said,’ I tell her, forcing myself to stand upright although I feel like falling to my knees. ‘In me, the two branches of astromancy are combined for the first time. My destiny was different than the one I imagined. But it wasn’t the destiny you chose for me. Only I can choose my path. As you have chosen yours. And … Mother … this is where it ends.’

  ‘Livio …’ She is really scared now. More human, more real, than I’ve ever seen her.

  I feel tears prick my eyes as I understand, truly, what has to be done. I have to let go of the mother I’ve held on to my whole life, the mother who stole herself away from me for the mad dream of her forefathers. Silently I command the sandwolves to attack.

  Silas has already chosen his target.

  The palazzo is alive with screams as I watch Shadow and her followers, consumed by the very land they tried to steal, by the goddess they tried to claim for their own.

  One by one, at my command, the sandwolves disappear – every one except Silas, who remains at my side, spinning slow and lazy as if satiated. The floor of the palazzo hall is littered with corpses, scattered with sand. Silence reigns.

  Carlotta walks over to her father’s body, kneels at his side. And I gaze down at my mother’s face, a horrible mixture of grief and guilt and regret welling up inside my heart.

  ‘Lord Livio?’ A small voice at the open door. A girl I don’t recognise supports a woman I do: Grandmother. I watch as both scan the hall, the destruction and death. Relief washes over their faces as they realise Shadow and the Cardinal are both defeated.

  I help the girl lie Grandmother down on the threshold of the hall, her head resting in my lap. The door is wide – fresh air and sunlight spill through. Grandmother is struggling, her face unnaturally flushed, her eyes bright with fever. She’s hardly able to focus on my tear-streaked face. We sit in silence for a minute or two, the girl waiting a respectful distance away, sitting on the palazzo steps.

  When Grandmother finally speaks, her voice is weak. ‘Livio…. I told you that destiny doesn’t care what’s in our hearts. It’s taken me my whole life to realise I was wrong.’ She breathes with difficulty. ‘The stars … they are guided by our will.’

  ‘I know,’ I whisper. ‘I figured it out too.’ I smile down at her. ‘I saw Fortune, Grandmother. She’s not dead at all. She’s sleeping. Dreaming. She lets us choose our fates. And …’ My voice breaks. ‘I choose to save you, Grandmother. I want you to be all right. You’re going to be all right.’ I didn’t see this, I tell myself. So it can’t be happening. Grandmother will recover.

  She’s not listening to me. Her eyes are faded, unfocused. ‘Our desires shape our destiny, Livio. Do you understand? Your mother had a bad heart. I see that now. And perhaps … perhaps I did too. I was ambitious … hated the thought of losing power. Both of us got the destinies we deserved. But you …’

  Tears are streaming down my face now. I don’t know what she’s trying to tell me, but I know she’s dying, no matter what I want. I know it in the deepest part of my heart. ‘Grandmother …’

  ‘You saw … what you needed to see,’ she says. A watery smile spreads across her face. ‘Because… your heart is true. The stars know. Fortune knows. I am proud … so proud of you. You will be a good ruler. A good conte.’

  ‘Don’t …’

  But abruptly, the smile freezes on her face. The light leaves her eyes. And I kneel in front of my city, the wreckage of the battle at my back, all alone. How can this be? Once again, the stars failed to show me the things that mattered the most. I’ve lost the man I love. Now I’ve lost my only family too.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder – the girl who brought Grandmother to me.

  ‘I’m Beatrice,’ she says softly. My eyes widen and I wipe the tears from my face. The mascherari. She’s removed the mask she was wearing her whole life. She kneels down beside me, loops her arm around my shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Footsteps sound behind us. Carlotta kneels at my other side and, silently, holds my hand in her own.

  ‘What now?’ Carlotta says.

  Together, we three stand up, step outside. The sun has lost its bloody hue, shining bright and golden. I hear voices, bells, the whoosh of the sea. I shut my eyes. In the palazzo, death reigns. But out here, in spite of everything, the city is coming to life.

  ‘Now,’ I say, ‘we start again.’

  EPILOGUE

  One month later

  Livio

  Beatrice sits with her legs swinging over the side of the docks, boats bobbing under her feet. She’s gazing out at the night sky, the early summer moon a sliver hanging low over the waves, the stars shining brightly. I join her, pushing a cold glass of sweetened lemon juice into her hand and setting a bag of spicy deep-fried prawns in her lap. We eat in silence, listening to the sounds of the city a
t our backs – the sizzling oil of the food stands, the clink of glasses, the shouts as a fight breaks out in the backstreets.

  Eating a meal here has been a habit of ours ever since that dusk, nearly four weeks ago. The dusk of the funerals. The pyre was the largest I’d ever seen, burning like an echo of the puppet theatre in the palazzo square. We said farewell to Valentina and Ofelia, to Elisao, Grandmother, the Cardinal, even to Shadow. We said farewell to our old lives, our old world. The whole city had stood vigil – even what was left of the masked temple, including Carlotta – holding candles as the past burned before our eyes.

  What next? Starting again is easier said than done. We hadn’t been able to sleep, so we walked through the city, ate, drank. Sometimes, silence can be healing. But the words must always come, eventually.

  Silas swirls into existence at my side, a rumbling noise starting up in his depths as he rests his head against my shoulder. I think of it, now, as a kind of purr. I stroke his head, turn to Beatrice.

  ‘So … You set off at dawn?’

  She nods, sips her drink and grimaces. ‘On the Dauntless, for better or worse. I’m not sure any more.’ She stares out at the sea.

  ‘Why not?’ I ask gently. ‘I thought this is what you’ve always wanted.’

  She sighs. ‘When I thought I would be here my whole life, I wanted nothing more than to leave. It was so clear in my mind. But now …’ She shakes her head. ‘This city is all I’ve ever known. And really, I’m only just getting to know it.’ She smiles faintly. ‘Now that I come to leaving, I wonder if I’m making the right choice.’

  ‘So you’re only just getting to know the city. But what else is holding you back?’

  ‘Nurse. You. Even Carlotta.’ She shrugs. ‘There are things I could do here. I could build a life.’

  I pause, weighing my next words carefully. ‘So … it’s not the idea of your real family being here that’s stopping you?’ She’s never mentioned it – not since the time we first met, in the mask room, when she told me she was determined to find out the truth from Grandmother.

  ‘No.’ Her voice is low, careful. ‘I think the Contessa was right. She said it doesn’t matter who I really am. That’s something I have to figure out for myself, no matter who my parents are.’ She runs a hand through her hair. ‘When she told me their names … it’s horrible, but … I felt nothing. Whatever bonds we share through blood, whatever we might’ve been if I hadn’t been stolen away, that’s impossible to recapture now. My real family was always Valentina, Ofelia … and Nurse.’ She smiles. ‘I just wish I knew what to do.’

  I let her words settle before I reply. ‘Look … if you’re after guidance … I could try to read the stars for you?’ I offer.

  Beatrice turns to me with glowing eyes. ‘Would you? But don’t we need to go to Fortune’s temple?’

  I gaze up at the night sky – I swear the stars have never been brighter. I’ve not tried reading a specific person’s fate before, but I’ve read about it. I think I can figure it out. ‘Not for this. If I need to change the future, perhaps. But we just want a glimpse, don’t we?’

  We set our drinks down, and I rest my hand over Beatrice’s. I draw on my power, gazing up. The sea sighs in my ears, and the breeze is warm with the promise of summer. The stars shift and shimmer, pathways opening up between.

  I turn my attention to Beatrice, the connection between us as I hold her hand. A path runs from her, up to the sky, branching out in a hundred different directions like a great tree.

  ‘So many possibilities …’ I inhale deeply. ‘Here …’ I follow one possible direction. ‘I see you in Port Regal, joining the temple of Nomi. From there you travel all over the world, exploring the unknown continents to the south. Or …’ I follow another path. ‘Or you go to the City of Kings. There are many opportunities there … maybe even outside the temples, if you wish. And then …’ I switch to another. ‘If you stay – yes. There’s a life for you here, too. A family, a home, a career …’ I smile, let my astromancy fade away.

  ‘Really?’ She’s gazing at me, her eyes shining.

  ‘Beatrice,’ I say, resting my hands on her shoulders, ‘it doesn’t matter what you choose. You’ve already been through the darkness. Now it’s time for you to be free.’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My first novel, We Are Blood and Thunder, was six years in the making – We Are Bound by Stars took eighteen months from idea to publication. I only managed to write it with an enormous amount of support.

  First, I’d like to thank my editor Zöe – for her patience, kindness, storytelling prowess and for knowing when to be tough. I love working with you and the entire team at Bloomsbury Children’s Books: you’re a dedicated and enthusiastic bunch! Special shout-outs to Fliss (Managing Editor), Vron (copy-editor), Sarah (proofreader), Bea (Senior Publicity Manager) and Siân (Marketing Brand Manager).

  Huge thank you to my agent, Veronique, who could talk a lemming off a cliff-edge – you’re calm, collected and wise, and I’m so glad you’ve got my back.

  To the entire Chicken House team for putting up with my crazy schedule and deadline hysterics: Jazz, Esther, Laura, Sarah and honorary Chicken Lucy. A very big thank you to my two unbelievably understanding bosses, Rachel L and Barry.

  To my writerly friends – there are a lot! I’m fortunate to work with many of you in a professional capacity – you know who you are. I feel so lucky to have you as my role models. Others I’ve met during my journey as an author – on social media and beyond. You’re all stars and I can’t tell you how valuable it has been to have travelling companions on this strange old journey. To my amazing writing group: Kat, Jess Rule, Jess Rigby, Maddy and Natasha … two down, four to go …

  I’ve dedicated this novel to my parents, who provided me with a childhood full of books and therefore inspired my entire career – and who have continued to support and encourage me into my adult life. I love you very much and am so very grateful.

  To my husband, Jeff. I could say a lot of corny stuff here, but I’ll spare my poor readers! Basically – you’re amazing, I love you, and thanks for putting up with my writing drama.

  And, speaking of readers, an enormous thanks to YOU – telling stories is what I love, and by borrowing, buying, reading and talking about my work you’re allowing me to live my dream. You’re the best! I hope the stars bring our imaginations together again …

  Have you read

  Turn the page for an extract of the gripping first instalment of Kesia Lupo’s stunning and original YA fantasy world

  PROLOGUE:

  A Cryptling

  Before the storm cloud

  Lena swept the last of the dust into her sack and stood up tall, wiping a grimy hand across her forehead. Her brass lantern flickered across the crypt’s rough-hewn walls as Hunter slunk past, a twitching rat hanging from his jaws. He dropped it and purred at her, before savaging the poor creature’s torso. The largest mouser prowling the crypts, Hunter was vicious, ginger and apparently immortal. For the hundredth time, Lena wondered why he’d picked her bed in which to sleep, leaving dubious gifts of rodents and birds at its foot.

  Lena tied the dust sack shut and hoisted it over her shoulder, casting one last look at the empty, fresh-polished sarcophagus where the body would be laid in the morning for its last rites, the Descent. Her stomach twisted and she swallowed hard as bile rose in her throat. Earlier in the afternoon, she’d been allowed to watch while Mortician Vigo prepared the body in one of the special rooms beneath the gardens. She had managed – but only by digging her nails hard into her palms – to stop herself from fainting.

  The dead man’s Ancestors lay all around, stretching into darkness. Now, attuned to the scent of the morticians’ special preserving ointments, Lena picked out sharp herbal smells beneath the ever-present musk of her world. The tomb itself was relatively small, and while noble families had the luxury of individual sarcophagi, the stonemason’s family – like most others – had cut long body-shaped ni
ches into the walls, one over another, or shared two bodies to a resting place. Husband with wife. Sister with brother. Baby with mother.

  Each body’s empty eye sockets had been sewn open, their eyes replaced with smooth rocks painted as eyes, or sometimes glittering gemstones. Mortician Vigo said that the Ancestors were sleeping, but Lena didn’t think so. They were staring at the ceiling, at the floors of the living world above. Waiting.

  Waiting for what?

  A chill ran down her spine. She touched her forehead, lips and heart in the old sign of reverence. When she’d been very little, the Ancestors had frightened her – she’d had nightmares about the staring stone eyes, about the way the older corpses’ flesh and skin were shrunken and leathery, but their hair as thick and lustrous as the day they died. How, from certain angles, even the oldest of the Ancestors looked like living people lying in the dark. But now she was eleven, almost a grown-up, and she wasn’t afraid of anything.

  Hunter mewed and Lena nearly jumped out of her skin. I’m not afraid of anything, she reminded herself firmly, calming her racing heart.

  ‘All right – let’s go,’ she whispered to the cat, after a deep breath. ‘It’s a long walk back.’

  She tried not to hurry as she started down the passages under the upper town, leading to the network of small cellars beneath the castle that the cryptlings called home. You weren’t meant to hurry – it wasn’t respectful, Mortician Vigo said. Hunter weaved through her legs, in and out of the lantern light, very nearly tripping her up.

  For a time, everything was quiet and ordinary, the only sounds the occasional scuttle of a rat, or the snap of one of the mousetraps Lena had set out on her way down – the cryptlings and the cats were supposed to keep the vermin at bay. But as she drew further through the cobwebbed passages, she started to hear something strange … a voice. It grew louder, gradually: a low, rhythmic murmur, drifting from somewhere up ahead.