Stargazers

by Bella Forrest

  "Short-term memory loss."

  "Who has short-term memory loss?"

  Szayan and I exchanged a glance. "His treatment continues to have its ups and downs, however."

  "As long as he's getting better," I said, trying to hold on to my fractured emotions.

  "He is. I'm sorry to hear about Ronad," he replied. "I did not know him well, even while he was living at our house in his youth. He was always out and about with Navan or Bashrik, but I regret that I did not spend more time getting to know him. There was some bad blood, as you know, but that seems irrelevant now. We always knew how deeply he loved Naya… It kind of makes you want to believe in a heaven, doesn't it?"

  "Maybe there is one."

  "The loss of them both is something I shall be eternally sorry for," Jareth remarked, before turning around and stalking toward the woods. His shoulders were slumped, and I got the feeling he didn't want any of us, especially his sons, to see him cry.

  "And how did everything else go?" Angie pressed, her arms still wrapped around Bashrik.

  Lauren nodded. "We've listened in through transmissions as best we could, but there are gaps in what we know."

  Navan slid his arm around my waist, offering support, before delving into the tale of what had gone on. He told them of the Draconian arrival, Cambien's assistance, the mist ships dispersing their snowstorm across the rebel victors, the death of Aurelius, and the crumbling of Gianne's palace. He told them of Ezra's escape from Regium, and our pursuit of his ship. He told them of Ezra's death, though I took over to tell them what had happened on Szayan's ship when we'd returned to induce the visions. Nobody else had been there but me. I explained all about Rask, and what the god had said to me. How he had tricked me, though I knew I had to do whatever he said in order to fulfil my part in the puzzle. I hadn't known then that releasing Rask would result in Ronad's death.

  "So, he really did give his life to save us all?" Lauren sighed.

  "He did."

  "Bravest lad I ever knew," Stone murmured. "Takes more guts than any one o' us has. I'll be sure to drink to the bloke when all’s back as it oughtta be.”

  "We don't need to drink to honor him," Bashrik said, pressing his palm to his heart. “To Ronad.”

  "To Ronad," we chorused, doing the same.

  "May he never be forgotten for his courage and his heart," Seraphina added.

  "So… what do we do now?" Angie asked, as our silence came to an end.

  Seraphina looked to the parked ships. "I know I may be pregnant, but I wish to go to Regium and see how I may help with the aftermath of the snowstorm. I imagine there is chaos, and those who remain will require assistance."

  "I will bring the field hospital and see if I can patch up any of those who may be injured," Szayan replied. "There are probably people trapped inside Gianne's palace to whom I may be of service."

  "I'll come with you," Nisha said. "Do some heavy lifting wherever I can."

  Stone raised a hand. "Aye, me an' all. Might have to take a trip to fetch them cuffs back, fair soon if poss, if they're keepin' that fella at bay. Me memory were jogged, so shouldn't be too tricky to get 'em back in me possession. Can take 'em to Glossa and leave 'em there, where no folks'll ever get they paws on 'em."

  "That sounds like a good plan to me. And you can count me in for the cleanup team, too," Lauren added. "Ange, you in?"

  "I'm going to stay with Bash for a while,” she murmured.

  Seraphina smiled. "I think it may be worthwhile for those who have already endured enough to remain here, and rest until we return. We may worry about those cuffs when the city has been restored to peace. Right now, the rest of the Idrax brothers will still be there to offer protection, as will the Draconians. It is the perfect moment for all of you who have already risked your lives today to have some well-earned recuperation. You have done more than enough for our nation. Now, it is our turn to shoulder the weight."

  In all honesty, I was ready for the oblivion of sleep. I just prayed that nightmares of knives and blood and Vysanthean gods wouldn't haunt my dreams for the rest of my days. Rask had darkened our door and taken my friend, forcing him into a situation that had no escape clause. If Stone could retrieve those cuffs and ensure that the last Vysanthean god never saw the light of day again, it would be a true victory for the universe… and Ronad's sacrifice would not seem quite so soul-destroying. From the darkness, his light. A gift to everyone—the greatest one of all.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  “Who would have thought that the people would rally around Seraphina?” Jareth mused, fixing the buttons on his navy-blue suit jacket before sitting down in one of the lawn chairs that had been set up for the inauguration.

  I never told Seraphina about Xiphio’s prophecy of her becoming the next leader of Vysanthe. I’d wanted to, but fear of it not coming true had held me back. Now, without any forewarning or prophetic message from me, she was taking up the role she’d been destined for. I was glad I hadn’t stepped in. Who knew what might have happened if I had?

  Navan and I exchanged a look. “She’s one of them,” I replied. “Of course they rallied around her.”

  He shrugged. “I just think it’s curious, that is all, that they should warm to the wife of the deceased rebel leader. Not to mention the fact that she is vastly pregnant.”

  “She has never lied to them,” I said pointedly.

  In the aftermath of the Regium snowstorm, and our bittersweet return to the cabin, Seraphina had been one of the first people on the scene to comfort those who had lost loved ones in the rebels’ last-ditch strikes. She stood on the broken walls of the palace and begged the people to stop fighting. She spoke of how the rebel leaders had abandoned their followers and had lied about their plans for the future. She told them of Ezra and Aurelius’s true intentions, which they believed, as it came from the mouth of the rebel leader’s wife. Instead, she asked them to trust in her, because she believed in a brighter Vysanthe—an equitable planet, led by the people, for the people.

  Before anyone knew what had happened, they’d begun to chant her name in the streets, calling for her to be their first president. They wanted her to lead them into that promised future. And so it was that we found ourselves preparing for her inauguration speech, which was due to take place at Brisha’s palace. It had become a temporary senate in the week or so that had passed since the deaths of Ezra and Aurelius. Elected placeholders from each village, town, and city had been sent to live there, so they might discuss what they wanted Vysanthe to become, and how they might go about beginning elections for a true candidate from each constituency.

  All of the rebels had been doused in the leftover anti-elixir and given the option of staying or going. The majority had chosen to remain, realizing that their morals and hopes had never been in line with those of Ezra and Aurelius. For most, all they had ever wanted was a fairer nation, not one ruled by a single monarch—or two squabbling ones.

  As for the queens, they had been hauled from the wreckage of Gianne’s palace several days before, injured but alive. Brisha had been found sheltering beneath the outstretched wings of Cambien, who had used his last moments to protect her and a cluster of escaping human test subjects from falling boulders of crumbled opaleine. Gianne, on the other hand, had used the bodies of her guards to protect herself—surviving only because they died. It had not taken them long to recover in the heavily guarded Vitalis facility on the edge of Regium, but they were being kept in an induced stasis for the time being. They would soon be taken to the abandoned encampments on the twin moons of Vysanthe, where prison cells were being built at that very moment to house them in solitary confinement. Bashrik had been put in charge of designing the cell compounds. In due course, they were going to be punished for their war crimes, but not until Vysanthe had settled into a proper government, where the people could decide what to do with them. After all, it was the people they had wronged with their wars and their squabbling. Until that judgment day came, they would remain i
n solitary exile on the barren, unforgiving moons—no power, no rebellions, no attempts to seize their former thrones.

  I thought of the rusty-scaled lothario with fond sadness, realizing how selflessly he’d given his life. There was no reason for him to sacrifice himself for the human test subjects, or Brisha for that matter, and yet he had. His heroism had meant that a group of the humans were freed, though the rest had perished in the sinking foundations of the palace. Now, they would have the chance to do as they pleased, staying on Vysanthe, returning to Earth, or taking off to distant worlds. Seraphina had already promised them ships and supplies, if that was what they wanted. I wished Cambien were still here, so I could have thanked him for saving those people and giving them a chance. Thinking of him, I took out the piece of parchment in my pocket and unfolded it. I’d found it the day after Ronad had died, tucked away in the pocket of my adapted flight suit. It read: “I will likely meet my end today. Freya knows that my heart and mind have never left her, and Ginji is destined for greatness. I have done all I wanted to in this universe… well, almost everything. Keep that grayskin on his toes. Stay beautiful, Riley.”

  The rest of the Pyros had departed Vysanthe the previous day, heading off in search of a new planet to call home, taking their dead with them. It had been quite the spectacle to watch them leave, spiraling up in dragon form toward the waiting merevin ships that had come to pick them up and take them away. I had wondered if Killick Loligo was responsible, but I wasn’t sure I would ever find out.

  To be honest, I was still trying to wrap my head around everything that had happened. Every time I closed my eyes at night, I heard Ronad whispering his thanks to me, feeling that particular give beneath my hands as the blade sank into his throat. If he’d been able to see my suffering, I knew he would have felt guilty. In fact, every now and again I was certain I could feel unseen eyes watching me, or a hand brushing my shoulder to let me know that everything was okay. Was he here, or was it my exhausted mind playing tricks on me? Regardless of the truth, I liked to believe it was the former—that he was somehow still with us, and that Naya was too. I pictured them standing together, ghostly and ethereal, watching us in amusement.

  “Mama,” Nova gurgled, drawing my attention toward her. Ever since Rask had pushed the memory of immortality away from our minds, the memory of her birth had become fuzzy. We’d all forgotten how the immortality elixir was made, which perplexed Kaido and Jareth enormously. Although, despite the haziness, I could remember Mort clearly—as if he were right here, making some rude joke about his flaps. As promised, I’d started to tell Nova about him, making sure she never forgot the shifter who had adored her like an uncle.

  She was loved by everyone who met her, but nobody could ever have loved her more than I did. Now, gazing down at her, I couldn’t help but think that love itself was an immortal feeling, able to push us through physical and emotional barriers to transcend everything—even death.

  “It’ll be starting soon,” Navan said, taking a seat beside me in the gardens. A small viewing area had been set up, so we could watch from the safety of the palace walls. There was to be a celebration afterward, with the new ministers all invited. It really did feel like there was change in the air.

  “I hope she doesn’t give birth on stage.”

  Navan chuckled, the sound weirdly hollow. “Now that would make for memorable viewing.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”

  “Speaking of being fine—how are you doing?” He put his arm around my shoulders, kissing my forehead.

  “Not good,” I murmured.

  “No, me neither.” Since Ronad’s death, the two of us had been having a rough time trying to come to terms with everything. Everyone had, but it was hard to see past our family bubble. Now, glancing down the line of chairs, I envied the happiness on the faces of my friends—Lauren and Stone were cuddled up, as were Bashrik and Angie. Lorela and Jareth were deep in conversation with Nisha, laughing every so often, while Kaido and Sarrask argued amicably over lichens. Szayan had been working even harder to repair the damage done to Sarrask’s memory, with varying results. Some days were better than others. Lorela, meanwhile, appeared to have recovered from her feverish state, after discovering that her husband was back in favor with the new ruling class of Vysanthe. All seemed to have been forgotten and forgiven, and Jareth looked happy to have his family back together again.

  The rest of the Idrax brothers sat in the row behind, some with their girlfriends, others riding solo. Still, the lineup seemed devastating without everyone present—no Ronad, no Cambien, no Mort, no Xiphio. Fair enough, Xiphio wasn’t dead, but I felt his absence keenly.

  “I keep thinking about everyone’s sacrifices, and wondering if I could have done something differently,” I said.

  “I know, my love,” Navan replied. “In fact, all of that has made me think about something: I want to turn human, like Ronad did.”

  I gasped. “What?”

  “I don’t want to carry the stigma of being a coldblood around the universe,” he explained. “Besides, I don’t think I’ll miss flying all that much, given my messed-up wing. It takes a lot out of me to fly these days, so why not get rid of it altogether?”

  “There isn’t a stigma in being a coldblood, or there won’t be once people start to see the changes being made here,” I assured him. “Vysanthe is going to integrate with the universe. When it does, you can help change people’s perceptions by showing that coldbloods can be good, rather than trying to hide away an important part of your heritage. You heard what Ronad said when it came down to it—he wished he’d still had some of his coldblood abilities. Anyway, Szayan and Kaido have already volunteered their services to fix your wing, so you'll have no more problems.”

  He sighed. “I suppose I owe it to Nova, and future generations of coldbloods, to establish a good impression of our species. The prejudice against us is going to be difficult to shift, though. Even with the changes we’re making, it’s going to be a long time before the rest of the universe starts trusting us.”

  “Nothing worthwhile is ever easy,” I reminded him, laying my head on his shoulder.

  “You’re right there,” he mused, kissing my forehead.

  “Speaking of Nova, if you don't keep your coldblood abilities, who's going to teach her to fly? I’m looking forward to seeing her soar… and yet, I’m completely terrified.”

  He smiled. “That's not unusual for Vysanthean parents. Jareth has been very nostalgic these past few days. He keeps regaling me with stories of my own childhood. Things I'd forgotten. I guess I wouldn't want to miss out on teaching Nova to fly—there's no way I'd let any of my brothers have the honor.”

  “We heard that!” Lojak remarked.

  “I think he meant you to,” Rethela shot back.

  “It’s starting!” Nisha yelped, loudly shushing everyone else. A big screen dangled from the side of the palace wall, revealing a balcony identical to the one that had fallen at Gianne’s. A camera panned, showing the crowds that had gathered in the streets below. Only, this time, everyone looked happy and nobody was on their knees in fear or reverence. Instead, they raised their faces to the balcony and lifted their arms in welcome as a figure stepped out.

  Seraphina took to the stage, waving at the people below. The citizens were already chanting her name, thanking her for coming to their aid and putting an end to the in-fighting with her plea from the ruins. Since that moment, Nisha and her contacts in the task force had worked tirelessly to make Seraphina the face of a united Vysanthe, spreading the message of her superior ability as a leader. The Vysanthean people—from both the former North and South—had taken to her seamlessly, shouting her name in the streets and cheering the hope she might bring to their nation.

  Her unborn child and Nova had also become a symbol of unity between Vysanthe and the rest of the universe, reminding the coldblood planet that they had been insular for far too long. There were endless planets out there, just waiting for trade an
d friendship. No more fear, no more exploitation, no more brute force—if Vysanthe was to change for good, then it had to start from the very roots of the planet’s moral compass.

  Seraphina waited until the crowd had settled, standing in a gown of rich violet that swept across her bump and trailed behind her in an intricately embroidered train. I noticed she’d been careful to pick a color that didn’t associate itself with either of the queens, or the rebels. A smile curved up the corners of her lips, her scarlet eyes assessing the congregation before her. She looked like she belonged there.

  “People of Vysanthe, we have endured a time of conflict and chaos, and I know your hearts and your souls are weary of it,” she began, her voice amplified. “You have been promised change before and seen it turn to nothing but more of the same. I am here to assure you that a vibrant future is on the horizon, and we are in the position to reach out and grasp it. There is no way of validating the war that has ravaged our nation, but we may be safe in the knowledge that our children will not suffer as we have suffered—they will not know battlefields and warzones. They will not be sent to fight. They will not wonder what the word ‘peace’ means, and whether it is possible. We shall make it possible!”

  The crowd cheered.

  “Bashrik Idrax is already designing our senate house, which shall be placed in the center of the tundra that once separated us as North and South,” she continued. “Here, we shall forge our government—a government for a united nation—that is for the people, by the people. There will be no queen or king, only elected leaders who make their case to you and let you decide!”

  “Seraphina! Seraphina! Seraphina!” they chanted.

  “There will be no North and South, only regions and districts which are governed by the same central government,” she promised. “There will be no question too small to ask of your elected candidates, and we will not turn anyone away. In the coming weeks, the placeholders that you have sent here, to the palace of the former Queen Brisha, will return to their constituencies and give the instructions for the upcoming election. Votes will be cast, and those votes will return to the palace, where each new candidate will be announced. They will then be responsible for your town or city or village, and it will be their duty to do right by you. We will make every national decision based on what is best for the many, not the few!”