Tarnished Are the Stars

by Rosiee Thor

  “Why, Eliza, I thought you’d never ask.” She gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, and said, “I want you to help me overthrow the Commissioner.”

  When Nathaniel woke, his head hurt and something hard pressed against the side of his face. Either his bed had become much less comfortable than he remembered, or he’d fallen out of it again. Opening his eyes, light swept over him in blurry waves. He wasn’t in his bedroom.

  He sat up quickly, blinking the room into focus, and memory flooded back to him in bright bursts. His father yelling at him, hitting him, and then darkness.

  It wasn’t dark anymore. Sunlight filtered in from a window above him, metal bars casting shadows across the floor. He was in a jail cell.

  “Rest well?”

  Nathaniel jumped, raising his hands to shield himself from a blow that never came. The voice was smoother than his father’s, not clipped and precise, the words gentler. Nathaniel lowered his hands. Across from him an older man with broad shoulders and graying hair with a suggestion of crimson sat on the floor.

  “Wh-who are you?” Nathaniel meant to say something less rude, but his thoughts still swam through a fog, weighed down by the pulsing ache in his temple.

  The man laughed—a gentle sound, with something heavy lying just below the surface. “No one important—the Commissioner’s latest catch, I suppose.” His lips turned up in a lopsided smile—a familiar smile.

  Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. “The Commissioner’s latest catch?” Something snagged in his mind just out of reach. His father said he’d caught—“The Technician!” Nathaniel staggered to his feet, tripping over nothing but air. “Where’s Anna? I have to find her—get her out.”

  “Anna’s not here.”

  Nathaniel crossed the cell in four steps and rattled the door. It was locked, of course. Casting his gaze up and down the hallway, Nathaniel found they were in the previously empty cell in the officers’ bunker. “Of course she is. I have to get her out so she can …” His memory clinked into place like a teacup finding its saucer.

  “And there we are,” the man said, turning to look up at him with storm clouds in his eyes.

  “Anna’s not here.” Nathaniel’s mind raced to catch up to him. “But you’re not the Technician.”

  “Oh, but I am today. No need to ask who you are, of course. I never forget a patient.”

  Nathaniel released the bars as the fog lifted. “You’re her grandfather.”

  Anna’s grandfather inclined his head.

  “So she’s safe. My father didn’t catch her, and she’s on her way home now?”

  “I’d assume so.”

  Nathaniel sank to the floor, metal bars pressed against his back. That was one weight off his mind. His father still needed to be stopped, one way or another, but at least Anna was safe, at least he did not have to carry her ghost, too.

  “So what did you do?” the man asked. “I can’t imagine the Commissioner throws his son in prison for nothing.”

  The rest of the previous night filtered back into Nathaniel’s consciousness. He’d stood up to his father. He’d confronted him about his mother, about his heart, about his right to decide his own place in all this.

  “My father wanted me to be someone I’m not. I finally told him no.”

  Anna’s grandfather chortled. “I bet Oliver loved that.”

  Nathaniel fingered the bruise forming on the side of his head and winced. “Loved might be a strong word. Should have kept my mouth shut.”

  Anna’s grandfather pursed his lips. “Very little is ever gained through silence. If you have something to say and the means to say it, you should.”

  Nathaniel was inclined to agree, but he had said something, and all he’d gotten for it was a lump on his head and a jail cell. “All due respect, Mr. Thatcher, you don’t know my father like I do.”

  “Just Thatcher is fine,” he said. “Your father killed my son. I think we’re beyond honorifics.”

  Nathaniel’s stomach dove. “My father’s killed a lot of people. I’m sorry one of them was your son.” He hadn’t known Anna’s parents were dead—or perhaps he’d simply forgotten. “He killed my mother, too, and he’ll kill more if he gets the chance.”

  “Best not give him one, then.” Thatcher fixed Nathaniel with Anna’s stare, expectant and resolved, waiting for Nathaniel to do the right thing as though it was a foregone conclusion, not a question.

  But Nathaniel was truly spent. He’d done the impossible and been beaten for it. At least Anna was free. “What can I do against him? He’s the Commissioner—I’m just his Tarnished son.”

  “Yes, you are.” Thatcher sat up straighter. “You are his son, and you are Tarnished. One does not diminish the other.”

  “I didn’t mean— I’m not— I don’t think I’m strong enough.” Nathaniel hugged his knees to his chest.

  “Strength comes in many forms. Your father’s is his voice—sometimes his fists. Mine is patience; Anna’s is passion.”

  Nathaniel laughed hollowly. “What’s mine?”

  “Your heart.”

  Nathaniel looked up, hand sneaking up to the metal place beneath his shirt. “My heart?”

  “You stood up to your father, your own family, because you disagreed. Not everyone would do that.”

  “It took me eighteen years.” Despite the shame in his words, pride bloomed in his cheeks.

  “A short time, all things considered. Now, how about we get you out of this cell so you can get back to stopping your father from committing worse carnage?”

  Nathaniel set his teeth but nodded.

  “Good. Now give me your cuff links.”

  “My what?”

  “Your cuff links, son. I do believe I can fashion them into a lockpick of sorts.” He nodded to the silver stars at Nathaniel’s wrists. “Your father was smart enough to take my tools, but I don’t think he considered what you might bring to the table.”

  Nathaniel grinned. If he’d had any doubt in his mind, this proved Thatcher was truly Anna’s relation. Removing the cuff links, Nathaniel said, “How—how do you know I’ll do the right thing? I mean, you said my strength was my heart, but what if you’re wrong? What if my heart isn’t any good?”

  Thatcher took the cuff links, eyeing them closely. “I’ve seen your heart, young man—held it in my own two hands—and let me tell you, it was as golden as the sun.” He propped himself up against the metal bars, reaching for the lock with one hand and wielding the cuff links with the other. “Not exactly what you want, medically speaking, of course.”

  “A lot has happened since then,” Nathaniel said, thinking of Roman. Did Thatcher know the boy? Did he know Nathaniel was responsible for his death?

  “Tarnish eats muscle, not morals.”

  Nathaniel sighed. “I guess all that doesn’t really matter.”

  Thatcher paused, turning to face him. “It matters. It matters what happened to your heart—but not in the way you think. It matters because this disease has hurt you. It matters because others use it to excuse their bigotry. It matters because this is who you are—but it is not all you are. It does not make you weak, nor does it make you strong. You make yourself one or the other through the choices you make.”

  Nathaniel shrank under the weight of Thatcher’s words. If they were true, it meant Nathaniel would be responsible for himself alone. There was no one he could blame if he didn’t try, if he sat by and let his father decimate Anna’s village. He knew the facts now, and no one could make this decision but him. “I should choose to be strong … I should want to be strong. But won’t that make me exactly like my father, chasing power for power’s sake?”

  “Power is not the same as strength.” Thatcher dropped the cuff links into Nathaniel’s palm. “Some days strength is control, and some days strength is release. Perhaps today, strength is understanding that being like your father isn’t inherently bad, and that two men may be alike and still make different choices.”

  Nathaniel stood up, scratchi
ng his wrists. “Come with me,” he said. “We can face him together.”

  Thatcher laughed—somewhere between a cackle and cough. “No, thank you. I’ve had my fair share of your father for a lifetime. My strength today is in surrender. Letting your father believe I’m his most wanted criminal means saving the one life I’ve always fought to protect. If Anna lives because of this sacrifice, well—I can live with that, or rather, die with that.”

  “But isn’t that giving up?”

  “Not all winning moves are offense. For me, surrender means victory. I get what I want, even if the Commissioner gets what he wants, too.” He eyed the door. “Besides, they took my wheelchair, and no offense, young man, but I don’t trust those spindly arms of yours to carry me.”

  “I’ll come back for you,” Nathaniel said, hoping it was true.

  Thatcher surveyed him, as if searching for the cracks in his words. “I’ll wait.”

  Nathaniel paused at the cell door, now open thanks to Thatcher’s quick hands. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

  “What I think matters very little, Nathaniel,” he said with a hint of a smile. “Instead—try not to disappoint yourself.”

  For the first time in Nathaniel’s life, he was certain. He would not back down this time. He had a plan, and he would see it through.

  Dipping into a side room, Nathaniel donned an officer’s uniform. Though the hallway outside the cell was empty, his father would not be so foolish as to leave them without a guard. Nathaniel he might underestimate, but the Technician was too valuable a prisoner to leave unguarded for long.

  Nathaniel squeezed his limbs into uniform once again. Before it had felt overwhelming, like the clothes wore him, a maroon-and-gray prison—his father’s in every way. Today, the heavy boots made him feel stronger, the high collar made him feel taller. He was the heir to his father’s manor, city, and legacy. These colors belonged to him, too.

  Taking care to give his father’s officers and servants a wide berth, Nathaniel wound his way back to the manor. He didn’t have time for a run-in with anyone, but when he reached the outer sanctum of his father’s offices, he wasn’t alone. Anna and Eliza skulked inside, bent together in whispered conversation. Nathaniel couldn’t decide which looked less like herself—Anna in her fine dress, or Eliza in her muddied one.

  “Do you have a plan?” Eliza was saying as Anna pulled at the metal hinges securing the bookcase to the wall.

  “Never needed one before. Don’t intend to start now,” Anna said through a clenched jaw.

  “Wait!” Nathaniel called, crossing the room at a jog.

  Before he could continue, Anna leapt toward him, bringing her heavy wrench down on his head.

  Nathaniel fell back, crashing into his father’s desk as stars shot across his vision. “Hey! Ow!”

  “Nathaniel!” Eliza swept toward them, pulling Anna back.

  “Nathaniel?” Anna asked incredulously, but then her eyes met his and her jaw dropped.

  Nathaniel blinked against the pain. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, struggling to his feet.

  Anna stared at him, brow furrowed. “Did you hit your head?”

  Nathaniel blinked, pointing to the wrench at their feet. “You hit me.”

  “He did—look.” Eliza smoothed his hair down, pointing to his skull where his wound from his father’s blow still smarted.

  “Ow!” Nathaniel swatted her hand away. “I’ll be fine. What about your village?”

  “Evacuated,” Anna said, retrieving her wrench. She cringed, as though the words were painful. “Are you sure you’re all right—”

  Nathaniel waved her off. “There’s no time. Now listen to me. We have to stop my father. He’s gone too far, and we must put an end to his abuse of power.”

  Anna and Eliza blinked at him.

  “Good to see you’ve caught up, then,” Anna said.

  “We have to do this carefully.” Nathaniel gestured toward the bookcase. “He’s a powerful man and he won’t be brought down easily.”

  Eliza nodded. “Remember to breathe. No sense rushing this with so much on the line.”

  “With so much on the line, I can’t afford to take things slow.” Anna pushed past them both and gave the bookcase an almighty shove, sending it—books and all—crashing to the floor.

  “Where is he?” Anna yelled, thundering through the archway. “Where is my grandfather?”

  Nathaniel put his face in his hands. This was going to go just swimmingly.

  The Commissioner was waiting for them behind his desk, eyes narrowed, back straight. “Your grandfather?” His eyes widened. “You were that small, freckly thing.”

  “I swear, if you say you knew me in diapers, I’ll shove this wrench right through you just so”—she gave the wrench in her hand a little twirl—“you’ll need diapers for the rest of your life—short though it may be.”

  “Anna, wait,” Nathaniel said, throwing his arm between them. But before he could tell her Thatcher was fine, the Commissioner had pinned Anna against the desk, wrestling for the wrench in her hand. They were a tangle of fingers and elbows and knees.

  When he’d told Thatcher he would fight his father, Nathaniel hadn’t expected it to be so literal. He grabbed the back of his father’s dress coat, splitting the fabric down the center seam before his father caught him in the stomach with an elbow. He redoubled his efforts, scratching his father’s neck. His father stomped on his foot. Nathaniel swiped, meeting nothing but air.

  “If you could all stop fighting for a moment,” Eliza said, her voice distant. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

  Before he knew it, Nathaniel was on the ground, Eliza’s face looming over him. “We can’t get a confession if you beat him to a pulp,” she hissed, before tearing Anna and the Commissioner apart, the first by her hair, the second by his throat.

  A confession. Of course! They didn’t need to fight the Commissioner; they needed to get him to talk.

  “Really, what a terribly pathetic excuse for fighting.” Eliza shook her head and pulled a dagger from her skirt pocket. “My turn.” She turned the knife on the Commissioner, whose pupils dilated at the sight of the steel eye on the end of the hilt.

  “Of course,” he muttered. “You’re the Eyes of the Queen. I should never have brought you here.”

  Eliza sneered. “As if you ever had a choice.”

  Nathaniel exchanged a look with Anna, whose fury burned red against her cheeks. The melee had been personal for her, a culmination of the rage she’d been brewing for years. Nathaniel was beginning to understand what that felt like.

  The Commissioner lifted his hands above his head, eyes on the dagger. “What does my mother want this time?”

  “Who can truly tell with her?” Eliza shrugged. “I’m much more interested in what you want—and why.”

  Eliza seemed to have everything under control. She held the knife, and Nathaniel had seen her wield it. His father didn’t stand a chance, and yet Nathaniel’s heart raced. Had it really been as simple as giving Eliza a blade and hoping for the element of surprise?

  Eliza gestured toward the chair behind the desk. “Why don’t you sit? This may take a while.”

  The Commissioner did as he was told, muttering under his breath, “Blasted Eyes.”

  Eliza slapped the side of the blade against her open palm, beating a rhythm into the silence as she surveyed the Commissioner. “You are a conundrum,” she said after a moment.

  “I’d take that as a compliment if I didn’t know better,” the Commissioner growled.

  “Don’t proclaim to know what I haven’t yet decided.” Eliza pursed her lips. “Now, where to begin unraveling you?”

  “He’s already unraveled,” Anna muttered. “Everyone knows that.”

  Nathaniel was about to agree, but a thought stopped his tongue. Not everyone knew. He did, they did—perhaps even some of the Settlement’s citizens did—but the council didn’t. They were the ones who mattered. No one but the full coun
cil could depose a sitting Commissioner, and his father had spun an elaborate lie to keep his power. Nathaniel needed to show them the truth.

  “Let us begin with your contradictions,” Eliza said, pacing along the side of the desk. “Why does tech offend you so greatly? Why make technology illegal but use it to save your son’s life?”

  Nathaniel stood carefully, eyes sweeping over the desk. What good was a confession unless the council could hear it? Nathaniel’s gaze landed on metal. The holocom. Eliza had told him the holocom could do more than call the Queen. It could store information—and record it. He would catch the Commissioner’s words and replay them for all to hear.

  “Why ban the advancement of science but build an alchemy lab in your … Please tell me you don’t think of this as your lair?” She waved the dagger at their surroundings.

  The Commissioner cleared his throat but said nothing.

  “I’ll get you to talk one way or another.”

  Nathaniel needed to turn on the holocom first. He could slip beside Eliza, casually lean over and grab it—but no, that was too obvious. He needed a distraction.

  Nathaniel crossed the room and lunged toward his father with as much ferocity as he could. “Why did you kill my mother?” Nathaniel waved his arm wildly. With the other, he slipped the holocom from the desk and into his pocket.

  The Commissioner’s eyes connected with Nathaniel’s, soft and sad, a stark contrast to the violent storm he’d seen there last.

  “I didn’t.”

  “You’re lying!” Nathaniel balled his fist, dialing in the passcode with his other hand. Wherever this was headed, the council would hear every word.

  “I would never hurt her—I never did,” his father said, dropping his gaze. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for her. Since I-I found her body, I’ve done nothing but try to honor her, honor what she would have wanted.”

  Nathaniel’s heart thundered in his chest. The floor had been ripped out from under him when he’d discovered his father’s treachery. Now, faced with yet another explanation, he tumbled through miles of empty space searching for ground to stand on.