Tarnished Are the Stars

by Rosiee Thor

  Anna splashed her face and arms with cold water, though she couldn’t tell the difference. It was as if she’d left every nerve, every part of her that could feel anything back in the field by the Settlement. It was just as well. Anna didn’t deserve to wallow, not with Ruby a room away. Grief would have to wait.

  The pit in Anna’s stomach began to fill with something else, something more powerful. Nathaniel’s surprised face burned in her memory, feeding the fire within.

  She wanted to find him and hurt him. She wanted to make him feel the way she felt—the way Ruby felt. He didn’t deserve to walk away.

  But he had.

  And so had she.

  Anna had moved all her belongings out to her workshop, so she had no other clothes. She scrubbed the blood away as best she could with shaking hands, but a dark stain still ran from her collar to her waist. Even if she could change her clothes, she could not change Roman’s death. It would sit against her skin far longer than the blood.

  When she returned to the kitchen, Ruby sat near the hearth with a mug of tea in front of her. She no longer shook, and judging by the even rise and fall of her shoulders, her breathing had returned to normal.

  Anna knew she ought to say something—anything—but words froze on her tongue. Ruby’s eyes bored into hers, her silence volumes louder than any word, filling all the hollow places in Anna’s chest with a prickling sensation, neither pleasant nor painful.

  “You can see him now,” Thatcher said from the doorway to the operating room, hands folded in his lap, chin down.

  Ruby’s gaze fell. “Not yet,” she whispered.

  “Of course.” Thatcher wheeled into the room, taking his place at the foot of the table. “Take whatever time you need.”

  Ruby nodded slowly and raised her hand, fingers straining for her mug against an invisible tether that kept her arms close to her body. “What happened?”

  Thatcher fixed worried eyes on Anna, giving a little shake of his head to indicate she should stay silent.

  She didn’t need to be told—Anna didn’t think she could speak even if she tried.

  But Ruby wouldn’t allow it. “I want to know,” she said. “I need to know.” She set her mug down on the table, sloshing hot water over the side and onto the floor.

  Anna watched the water’s progress as it soaked into the wood flooring. In a few minutes, the wet spot would be gone, evaporated into air. If only blood disappeared so easily.

  “Anna?”

  Ruby’s voice, speaking Anna’s name like her last hope, her last remaining lifeline, sent shivers down Anna’s spine. She’d wanted something actionable to do—like stab something, or break something. Explaining to Ruby how her son had died was actionable. This, she could do.

  “He f-followed me,” Anna began. The words felt odd, like they were a different language. But she couldn’t break. She couldn’t show the pain in her heart, because Ruby’s was so much greater. She had to hold firm. She had to be strong.

  With a deep breath, Anna launched into the explanation.

  Ruby stared at a fixed spot on the table long after Anna had finished speaking, letting the final words of her story hang in the air like cobwebs.

  Anna longed to wipe them away, but the facts remained that Roman was dead, killed by the Commissioner’s son, killed by a faulty heart, killed by circumstance and chance.

  “You should have sent him home,” Ruby said finally. “He’s a child, not a runner.”

  Anna nodded. She knew this. She’d thought this. But it did Ruby no good if Anna didn’t let her say it aloud.

  “He shouldn’t have been wandering around with his incision still healing. I should have kept him inside.” Ruby buried her face in her hands.

  Thatcher let out a noise that sounded like a grunt and a whistle at the same time. “Walking was good for him. It wasn’t exercise that killed him, most likely.”

  Ruby shook her head. “He should never have been there in the first place. Anna, you should have sent him home.”

  “I tried,” Anna said quietly, remembering the boy’s heartwarming pledge to protect her. He had been so sure that he was invincible against the world. But it was Roman who’d needed protecting, and Anna should have been the one to look out for him. “I just— I thought there would be no harm in waiting, and sending him to walk home on his own seemed too risky. If I’d known my meeting would go so poorly, I would never have gone in the first place.”

  “Poorly is one hell of an understatement,” Thatcher muttered.

  Anna leaned forward onto the back of her empty chair. She picked at a sliver of wood, chipping away at the roughly carved dowel. “I didn’t mean for him to get mixed up in my work.”

  “Well, he did!” Ruby snapped, voice high and harsh.

  Anna nodded again but stopped quickly. A headache inched across her eyes, sending pinpricks into the bridge of her nose. “If I’d thought it would be dangerous, I wouldn’t have let him stay.”

  Thatcher shook his head. “This is my fault. I should never have let you leave Mechan.”

  Anna narrowed her eyes. They’d been over this before, and she would have never taken orders from him anyway—still wouldn’t, even after all that had happened.

  “I thought after I warned you about him, you would see reason, but I suppose even the Commissioner’s son is fair game for you and your business.” Thatcher slammed his palm into the armrest on his chair, sadness—more than anger—flashing through his eyes.

  “You knew?” Ruby’s head shot up. “You knew it was the Commissioner’s son you were meeting?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then you knew it was dangerous! You knew and you went anyway.” She ran her hands over her face and hair. “I thought this was all just chance—unavoidable chance. But you knew.”

  Anna bit her tongue. She had known. There was no denying it. She’d hoped Nathaniel would be genuine, she’d hoped he would be curious, she’d hoped he would not be his father’s son. But she’d been wrong to hope. Hope had been a worse poison than all the Commissioner’s combined.

  Ruby stood up and stalked past Anna without looking at her. “You knew,” she whispered, pausing at the door to the operating room. “I need to see my son now. I need to see someone who loves—loved—the people around him.”

  As Ruby disappeared into the operating room, Anna wished more than anything she could go with her, but Anna was not welcome. She was not as good as Roman, not as true. Was Ruby right about her—that she didn’t love the people around her? Anna didn’t have an answer.

  Maybe that was her answer.

  “Deirdre-Anne,” Thatcher said, clearing away Ruby’s mug. “Do something about the blood on your shirt.”

  The words settled into Anna’s pores, digging deep into her skin. She could do nothing about Ruby’s pain, but she could do something about the red stain down her front.

  She could do something about the blood.

  She could spill some more.

  Once Nathaniel had bathed and dressed more appropriately to entertain their guest, he spent several minutes standing in front of his bedroom door staring at the brass doorknob. He’d waited a long time to finally meet Eliza. It had always seemed a far-off future, unlikely and full of what-ifs.

  Now that day had finally come, and Nathaniel couldn’t muster any enthusiasm. Even though he was clean now, he still felt stained from the inside out, tainted by things he could not undo.

  Eliza met him at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a smile as large as her hat.

  Nathaniel wished he could smile back.

  “I thought we might take a walk outside,” she said, her words like honey in his ears.

  Nathaniel nodded gratefully, offering his arm. “Will you be cold?” he asked, thinking of the sun long gone from the sky. It had just chimed nine o’clock.

  Eliza paused at the door, hand poised to turn the handle. “I hadn’t thought of that. You have weather variations here.”

  “Of course we do. What di
d you expect?”

  “We have temperature regulation on the Tower. It doesn’t get cold.” She opened the door and a gust of wind rushed through them, jostling Eliza’s perfectly curled hair. She laughed as it pushed her hat askew. “We don’t have wind, either.”

  Taking Nathaniel’s hand, Eliza pulled him onto the dark garden path with a stronger grip than he’d expected. Once they were obscured by a long row of hedges, Eliza dropped his hand and slowed to a leisurely stroll.

  “Nathaniel,” she began, “I know we aren’t all that well acquainted, but I thought”—she hesitated—“I thought you would have been more … forthcoming about your father.”

  Nathaniel’s head snapped up. “What about him?” He could still see her face by the light of the moon—smiling to the east.

  Eliza’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

  “The way you wrote about him, I didn’t realize—” She took his arm again, her skin brushing against the thin cloth of his sleeve. “He was cruel back there to treat you with such contempt.”

  The storm in his stomach returned in full force. His father wasn’t cruel; he only did what was necessary, what was best for Nathaniel.

  “I’ve done some things of late to displease my father,” Nathaniel said, though it seemed an understatement somehow. He had done things, but they were not the same things that grated at Nathaniel now. His father cared so much about appearances and order, but how could those things matter when a boy—an innocent child—was dead? “I fear I will never live up to his expectations.”

  Eliza fixed him with a quizzical look. “Do you want to live up to his expectations?”

  The words struck him forcefully. His father’s approval had always been the goal, but maybe it wasn’t worth chasing. The Technician certainly hadn’t been.

  Maybe he was not fit to be Commissioner, to fill his father’s shoes. If he was unwilling to do whatever it took—regardless of consequence, regardless of tragedy—then perhaps he was too weak to be Commissioner.

  But he didn’t need to be just like his father, cold and calculated. He could be different. His father would balk at such musings, but Nathaniel couldn’t help but hold a little tighter to the part of himself that didn’t care. It wasn’t a new feeling but a very old one he’d buried long ago. Now it awoke as if from a deep sleep, bringing with it the radical concept that Nathaniel was worth more than his father’s opinion of him.

  Maybe Nathaniel could simply be himself.

  “I don’t know,” Nathaniel said, surprised to hear his own honesty. “Sometimes I think it’s the only thing that matters, and sometimes I think there’s so much more to care about, but I just—”

  “He’s your father. I understand.” Eliza plucked a rose from its stem, brushing her thumb lightly across the thorns as though testing them. “Family can feel like forever, like it’s sewn into your skin.”

  A chill that had nothing to do with the night air prickled across Nathaniel’s neck and arms. She was right. No matter his feelings, he was bound to his father forever.

  “Is it like that for you?” Nathaniel asked, eyes fixed on Eliza’s fingers as they tore rose petals from the stem, a delicate dismantling of nature. “I mean—is your family like that, too?”

  Eliza paused, frowning at the flower in her hands. “Family can mean a lot of things. For you, it is your father—he gave you life in a traditional sense. For me, it’s the Queen and her court. They gave me life, too, in a way.”

  Nathaniel wondered for a moment if Eliza was the Queen without her veil. To Nathaniel, she was only a blue specter, more pixel than person. He considered asking, but no matter how he spun it, the question was rude. Instead, he asked, “What is she like, the Queen?”

  “You don’t know? I presumed because of your father—”

  Nathaniel shook his head. “I’ve spoken only a dozen words to her. Truth be told, even though she’s my grandmother, I don’t think I know any more about her than your average citizen of Earth Adjacent. She’s just a figure in the sky to most of us—not even really our Queen.”

  Eliza let the flower fall, red petals staining the grassy earth, scattered and splintered in a most dignified death.

  “I’m going to tell you something, Nathaniel. Something I don’t often tell people. Try not to be alarmed—in fact, try not to react at all.” Eliza’s voice returned to a heavier register. “There’s no telling who might be watching.”

  Nathaniel kept his face as still as he could. “You think someone is watching us?”

  Eliza squeezed his arm gently. “You are the Commissioner’s son, heir to the most powerful seat of government on this planet, and I’m your fiancée. There are many who would benefit from keeping tabs on the two of us.”

  Nathaniel swallowed, suddenly aware of all his limbs, where he placed them, how he held them. “What is it?”

  “I’m not only your fiancée like your father thinks. I’m also the Queen’s Eyes—her agent.”

  Nathaniel couldn’t wrap his tongue around a reply. He didn’t know what she meant, or how it related to him, only that it seemed important.

  “You are allowed to breathe, Nathaniel.” Eliza squeezed his arm. “Go on, lead me through the gardens as you would normally.”

  Nathaniel did not have a normally when it came to walking the gardens. Still, he made his way through the hedges toward a plot of moonflowers, petals open to the night air.

  Eliza bent to smell their aroma and smiled. “It’s important that you understand I’m not simply a noble from the Tower chosen at random to be your bride. I am, as I said, an extension of the Queen herself—her spy.”

  Nathaniel’s stomach turned. He should have been more careful with his words. Why had he been so honest? Of course Eliza would bring his words right back to his father. Of course she could not be trusted.

  “The Queen has yet to make my purpose here clear, but I can guess it will have something to do with your father.” She took his arm again and pointed toward a bush with yellow flowers, an excited gleam in her eye that did not reflect the tenor of their conversation. “I tell you this, Nathaniel, because I want to make one thing clear.”

  What would Eliza report back to the Queen about that night? Would she tell the Queen about Nathaniel’s entrance, covered in mud, or about the way his father cut him down? Nathaniel was unsure which he preferred. “And what is that?”

  “I trust you.”

  Nathaniel hadn’t expected that. He did not deserve her trust—he didn’t deserve anyone’s trust. He’d wasted Anna’s already.

  “You trust me?”

  “I do.” Eliza buried her nose in the honey-colored flowers. “In my line of work, secrets are a kind of currency. You can buy almost anything with a secret. I’ve just given you one of mine, and it’s up to you how you spend it.”

  “Spend it? What do you mean?” Nathaniel’s head spun in circles, as if deprived of oxygen.

  “Your father is a dangerous and difficult man. Give him my secret, and you might gain an inch, earn a fraction of his respect.” She shrugged, moving on to the next flower bush. “Or you can keep it and prove you are worthy of my trust.”

  Nathaniel’s throat constricted. He’d not even thought to tell his father. Maybe his instincts were changing.

  A small flame of hope flickered to life in his stomach. “I won’t betray you.”

  “Good.” She straightened once more and continued on their promenade. “I told you this, Nathaniel, because I believe honesty is the key to any lasting relationship, and I do so hope that we can be friends through all this.”

  Nathaniel frowned. “Friends.” It sounded absurd even as he said the word. He’d never truly had a friend before. His father certainly couldn’t be counted as one, and Anna—she might have become one if he hadn’t ruined everything.

  “Yes, friends.” Eliza brushed his cheek with her fingertip. “Friends help each other, and I’d like your help. I don’t need it, I should clarify—I’ll get what I want one way or another. But it will be
much easier and more enjoyable, I’d imagine, with you in my corner.”

  “Wh-what do you want help with?”

  “I don’t know yet, exactly, but when I do, I want to make sure I’m the one holding all the cards.”

  “And I’m one of them?”

  Eliza smiled, her eyes alight like stars. “No, you’re a person, not a card.” She took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. “I just hope you’ll help me hold them.”

  Nathaniel pulled his hand away, the feel of skin on skin so foreign. She was his fiancée, and he knew they’d have to breach the topic eventually, but not now, not yet. He couldn’t tell her how he felt when he himself didn’t fully understand it. He couldn’t tell her he wanted her near but not too close. He couldn’t tell her he wanted to know her, like her—but not love her.

  Instead, Nathaniel took a deep breath and said, “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You don’t, same as me. The best either of us can do is take the leap and hope it pays off, in the end.” She extended her hand again, an offering.

  Nathaniel shook it.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Eliza raised an eyebrow. “You’re supposed bow and kiss it. What sort of society were you raised in?”

  Nathaniel cracked a smile—a real one—but before he could decide whether or not he wanted to oblige her, Eliza ripped her hand from his, turning at the sound of rustling leaves.

  “Who’s there?” she called into the darkness, eyes narrowed at the path behind him.

  Nathaniel followed the line of her gaze, eyes landing on a dark form hidden within the shadows of the hedges.

  The newcomer stepped forward, and moonlight illuminated copper hair and loose clothes, splattered with blood. Anna fixed him with a wild stare for a moment, taking the breath from his lungs, before she let her eyes drop to his center.

  She lunged, and Nathaniel didn’t see the knife in her hand until it was too late.

  Anna liked the weight of the knife in her hand. She was used to wrenches and screwdrivers, not weapons, but this one suited her well enough. She swung the blade high, ready to stab Nathaniel’s face, his chest, his throat, his heart. But a hand caught hers, yanking her back and away from him.