Star Eater

by Kerstin Hall

“Since when do you let people bully you?” he asked under his breath.

  “It was a misunderstanding.” I was acutely aware that he still had his hand on my back. “Since when do you threaten civilians on my behalf?”

  “He was trying to take advantage of you.”

  “He was trying to make a sale. Finn, wait.” We had reached the outskirts of the market and stood in the shadows of the Gardens once more. I pulled him through the gate and up the stairs to the Chequered Garden so that we could talk without being overheard. “Listen, tonight was a bad idea. I know I crossed a line earlier, and I’m sorry. Let’s just go home.”

  “He was manipulating you.” Finn’s voice was harsh. “He knew that if he could make you feel guilty or scared enough, you would fold.”

  “I wasn’t scared. He’s just a merchant; it really isn’t a big deal.”

  “Until it happens tomorrow. And the next day. Over and over again.”

  “So what?”

  “It gets to you!” He jerked his arm free and came to a stop at the top of the stairs. “And you accept it, all of it. You don’t even try to find a way out, because you are ashamed.”

  I wanted to bite back, but words deserted me. Finn glared at me, daring me to argue, and it wasn’t fair of him and I should have said, No, you don’t know what you’re talking about, you don’t know the first thing about being a Sister. I wanted to say that, but it wouldn’t come out.

  Did he think I should feel ashamed?

  I looked away.

  “What did you want me to do, then?” I asked dully.

  He was quiet for a while. I carried on toward the trellis of hanging plants, fine-leafed fingers of ivy that dangled from wooden beams. Through the gaps between the slats overhead, the moonlight cut squares of yellow on the bricks.

  “I want you to fight.” Finn’s eyebrows had drawn together, and he stared at the ground as if it might hold the answers he was looking for. “I don’t want you to … to lie down and accept your fate like it doesn’t matter. If you’re so angry, then fight.”

  “I try. But it’s not that simple.”

  “Then let me help you. If what I’m doing isn’t enough, then tell me what is.”

  Osan’s warning about involving my friends lingered in my mind, and I hesitated. There was also Reverend Cyde’s offer of a place at the Moon House; I could leave, but it was too much to ask for him to come with me.

  “Please,” he said.

  He looked so broken and exposed, so desperate for an answer from me. I don’t know, I wanted to tell him. There was a pressure in my chest that threatened to crush me entirely, a terrible, helpless aching.

  I kissed him.

  His lips parted in surprise, and he breathed in sharply. I drew away, an apology half formed on my tongue, but then he kissed me back, hard; he drew me close, and his hands found my waist, trailed up my back, tangled in my hair. Desire burned through my blood.

  I broke away from him, my heart racing. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  Finn touched his mouth. The moon reflected yellow in his eyes. “You kissed me.”

  “I … That was—” I wrapped my arms around my chest. “Oh no.”

  “El—”

  “This can’t happen. I’m a Sister, I can’t—”

  “It’s okay. There’s no one else here.” He spoke in a low voice.

  What had I done? A roaring filled my ears.

  “El, look at me.”

  The single most important rule for any Sister: men were off-limits. We were poison. I was poison. The toxic mass of my lace curled inside my chest, malevolent and slick. I would infect him, I would turn him into—

  Finn brushed a strand of hair out of my face. His fingers felt cold against my cheek.

  “I’m fine,” he said gently. “Nothing has changed.”

  “Stop it.”

  He drew back his hand as if burned.

  Millie had warned me. My mother had warned me. And yet here I stood, with no more room for weakness. I had always known my duty; I should have put an end to this years ago. Instead, I had allowed myself to pretend that things could be different.

  No more weakness. I raised my head.

  “We’re done.” I looked him in the eyes. Meant it. “From now on, you’re going to stay away from me, or I’ll go to Enforcement with everything I know about the Resistance.”

  Finn’s body went rigid.

  “I have enough to point Commander Asan in the right direction.”

  “You’re lying,” he said, breathless.

  “And you won’t risk finding out.” I kept my voice level. “Cut your ties with them, Finn. It’s futile, and it will end badly.”

  He clenched his fists.

  “Please don’t do this,” he whispered. “Please, El.”

  “Stay away from me.” No weakness. No retreat. “Or their blood will be on your hands.”

  “El!”

  I left him standing beneath the arbour. From the festival below, the burning effigies sent curling tendrils of black smoke up into the sky. My throat stung with the taste of ash.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE Resounder’S FRONT page featured a lurid artist’s impression of the murder. In stark black ink, the faceless assailant raised a dagger above the head of their cowering victim. Blood already splattered the ground between them.

  According to the accompanying article, the attack took place in the Lokon District, in the alley dividing Tamber and Herts Street. A resident of the area had stumbled across the scene. The body was mutilated; organs cut out and strewn around the corpse, bones shattered, limbs twisted. The newspaper gleefully listed every gory detail.

  Zenza Lenard. Thirty-two years old. Department of Food Management. Herald of the Blessed Star Eater. My supervisor. After I was released from the Sanatorium last year, she had brought cooked meals to the dormitories for me. She enjoyed romance novels and loved her two cats, Pounce and Skitter. She had planned to spend Moon Tide with her wife. Loyal. Funny. Sweet. Dead.

  Again and again, I walked Herts Street in my mind. All those deserted buildings with their long shadows. I passed the soup-seller and climbed up the stairs to Chester. Ahead of me, I could see the unlit lamps outside Food Management. I heard soft footsteps, saw a shadow peel away from the end of the road.

  When I arrived at the Detainment Offices that morning, I found them in a state of turmoil. Senior Acolytes strode down the hallways, and Heralds yelled orders to their subordinates. I found Commander General Asan in her office, scowling at a map of the city streets.

  “What?” she snapped. “Who are you?”

  “Acolyte Elfreda Raughn,” I said. “I was with Zenza last night.”

  Her scowl deepened. She looked me up and down.

  “Well, shit,” she said.

  Two hours later, I found myself waiting in the corridor outside the Conclave of Representatives. The emergency inquiry had been arranged at short notice, and the usually austere eastern wing was overrun with notaries and judicial advisors. Two other witnesses sat in the hallway with me: the man who had found Zenza’s body and Tenet Poll, our driver. A grim-faced Enforcer watched over us.

  “I had nothing to do with it,” Tenet whispered to me.

  “I know.”

  “You’ll tell them though, won’t you? Please, Sister. I swear, when I left she was fine. I never touched her.”

  “Quiet,” the Enforcer said sharply. “Witnesses are not to confer until after the inquiry is concluded.”

  Tenet’s eyes went wide with fear.

  They called the first man inside. I closed my eyes and rested the back of my head against the wall. My body felt heavy and sluggish. To my right, Tenet’s breathing sounded loud. Perhaps as a gesture of apology, the Enforcer offered him a glass of water.

  Time passed. Then he was summoned, and it was just me left to testify. The Enforcer sat down beside me.

  “Commander Asan says you should keep it short and calm,” she muttered.

  I did not
open my eyes. “How can I be calm when my supervisor was murdered?”

  “Better try. That driver was right to be scared; they’re going to want to pin this on someone.”

  “Should you be talking to me?”

  “No.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Tenet’s testimony must have been brief, because a few minutes later the door opened for a third time.

  “Acolyte Elfreda Raughn?”

  The Conclave looked much the same as when I had delivered Reverend Cyde’s missive, but this time a lone hardback chair stood inside the semicircle of pedestals. The Reverends sat beneath their banners, stone-faced. They wore identical blue mourning gloves, the fingers boned by strands of silver wire. Behind me, the Oblate closed the door.

  “Be seated,” said Commander Asan.

  My footfalls echoed on the polished tiles. I avoided eye contact and settled on the chair. The painted map of the island spread out across the floor before me.

  “Acolyte Elfreda Raughn, you accompanied Herald Lenard to the Food Management Warehouse in the Lokon District last night?” asked Asan.

  “Yes, Councilwoman,” I said.

  “You arrived at the facility at seventeenth bell?”

  “Yes.”

  “And subsequently, you parted company with Herald Lenard?”

  “Yes. After we had made our delivery to the warehouse, I volunteered to file Zenza’s paperwork back at the Food Management headquarters.”

  “Why?”

  “She was running late for an appointment.”

  “What appointment?”

  “Her wife, Faye Lenard. They had plans for Moon Tide.”

  Reverend Somme, head of my own Department, gestured for attention. She looked ill; her skin had a sallow, stretched appearance, and I felt a pang of sympathy for her. She had known Zenza longer than I had. Asan nodded and sat back in her chair.

  “I can confirm that the paperwork was filed,” said Somme. “I found the reports in my office this morning.”

  “But that does not give an indication of when they were filed,” drawled Reverend Verje.

  The newly appointed Councilwoman rested her chin on her right hand, gesturing with her left. She had a narrow face and wide blue eyes. Her mouth turned down at the corners, which gave her a subtle, permanent sneer. So this was the woman on whose estate I had trespassed. I had heard stories about Belia Verje, unpleasant whispers, but never met her in person. Seeing her now, I was immediately and instinctively repulsed.

  “The papers could have been handed in at any time before your arrival at the headquarters this morning, Reverend Somme,” she continued. “Correct?”

  “That is correct, yes.”

  “So there is a period of ten hours during which this might have taken place.”

  “Acolyte Raughn.” Asan ignored Verje. Her strident voice carried over her fellow Councilwoman’s with ease. “Do you know where Herald Lenard planned to meet her wife?”

  I quickly detailed what Zenza had told me about her intentions for the evening: a concert on Caon Square, dinner in Minor East. Asan took brief notes as I spoke.

  “So you and Herald Lenard headed in opposite directions after you made your delivery to the warehouse?” she verified.

  “Yes.”

  “If I might be so bold,” said Reverend Jiana Morwin, “it seems very generous of you to perform your supervisor’s job for her.”

  Morwin’s voice emerged breathless and reedy, lacking in all force. In contrast to the other Reverends—and especially Asan, who held the podium next to hers—the Head of Public Health appeared oddly diminutive. Although she was of average height, she carried herself with a pronounced stiffness, like she was trying to shrink down into a smaller mold.

  “I had no particular plans for the evening,” I answered. “The headquarters were along my route back to the dormitories; I thought that I might head home afterwards.”

  “‘Thought that you might’?” Morwin repeated. She glanced at Verje like she was seeking backup.

  “I changed my mind after I delivered the reports.”

  “Why?”

  I met her gaze. “No real reason. I decided to visit the markets.”

  “And this necessitated taking off your robes?” asked Verje.

  For a moment, I couldn’t make sense of the question.

  “According to Reverend Somme,” Verje continued, taking advantage of my silence, “a set of robes was found in your office. Yours, presumably. Why did you remove your robes?”

  “Because I considered them a little formal for the occasion.” A hint of impatience crept into my voice. “Not that I can see how this is relevant to the murder of my supervisor.”

  “I think you’ll find that the Council decides what’s relevant. Do you have anyone who can verify your story?”

  “No.”

  “No one you spoke to, no friends?”

  “I’m not the most sociable person. I did ask some merchants about prices, but I doubt they’ll remember me.”

  “So it’s impossible to know whether your version of events is true?”

  “Reverend Verje,” said Asan, with eyes like daggers. “I’m not sure what your motivation is for discrediting this particular witness, but perhaps you could rein in the amateur sleuthing until such time as she has actually presented her account of the evening.”

  Verje made a dismissive gesture of acquiescence, and Asan’s lips thinned. She turned back to me.

  “Could you describe everything you remember from the time you entered the Lokon District until you reached the Food Management headquarters?” she said. “You don’t need to detail any subsequent shopping.”

  Somme rubbed her temples as if nursing a migraine.

  I gathered myself. For Zenza’s sake. We might not have been close, but my supervisor had been a kind and constant presence in my life. She had deserved to go home to her wife on Moon Tide. Not this. I fixed my gaze on the floor in front of me and, as best as I could, described every detail of the streets and my passage through them. The Council listened in silence.

  But when I mentioned that I had been followed, Asan’s eyes narrowed. She leaned forward and held up her hand.

  “You heard someone behind you?” she asked.

  I nodded. “I’m not certain, but I think so.”

  “This was on Chester Street?”

  “Yes. After I filed the reports, I left through the back entrance of the headquarters. Whoever was behind me could have returned to Herts Street in that time. Caught up to Zenza.”

  “Speculation is not encouraged,” said Reverend Morwin.

  I fought the urge to shrug. It would have been more disrespectful than I could afford. “My apologies, Councilwoman.”

  “And you didn’t see anything that might identify this individual?” pressed Asan. “Anything at all?”

  “I did not.”

  Asan chewed on her lip, obviously frustrated. I could see other Reverends exchanging glances. My testimony had provided nothing useful, only further questions, more avenues that might lead nowhere. On the night of the most significant religious festival of the year, one of our own had been slaughtered. The Order had to respond.

  Then Reverend Celane, unspeaking until now, gestured for attention and asked, “Could you describe your relationship to Herald Lenard?”

  Celane’s voice was melodious, pleasant. Her hair was swept back from her face into a neat bun, and her expression was attentive. I was struck again by her poise; she was just ineffably refined. No trace of the irritable impatience I had witnessed last night; today she was all control and calm.

  “She is my supervisor.” I paused. “Was my supervisor.”

  “Could you characterise that relationship for us?”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Were the two of you on good terms?”

  “Enough,” said Asan harshly.

  Celane rested her gloved hands in her lap. “Commander, you have asked your questions, and now
the rest of Council also has the right to be heard. This inquiry is not under the sole jurisdiction of Enforcement.” She turned back to me. “Acolyte Raughn, I would like to know whether you bore any kind of resentment or ill will toward Herald Lenard.”

  Even though I could scarcely believe it was happening, I knew what Celane was trying to do. What she was suggesting. My whole body shook; I felt almost dizzy with anger, helpless with it. The ridges on the wooden armrests carved lines into my skin.

  But when I spoke, my voice remained even.

  “To Reverend Verje’s earlier point, no one can confirm my whereabouts last night,” I said.

  “I fail to see—”

  “And yet this morning, I presented myself to the Detainment Offices of my own volition. I am offering all the information that I can, of my own volition. If I had murdered my supervisor, I would not have marched straight to Enforcement the moment that the news came out. I would have kept quiet. But here I am. I would greatly appreciate it if the Council would stop insinuating that I killed Herald Lenard.”

  The silence in the room yawned like a chasm.

  “Forgive me, Acolyte,” said Celane. Her voice was smooth as polished stone. “I understand that this must be a difficult time for you, and my question was not intended to paint you as the culprit. It is simply my assumption that a Sister must have been involved in the crime.”

  “In that case, Councilwoman”—I laid heavy stress on the word—“perhaps you should explain what you were doing in Lokon last night.”

  I was looking directly at her when I spoke, so I caught her reaction. Although it was subtle—a tightening of her graceful jaw, a new hardness that entered her eyes—it was the final confirmation I needed. The last of my doubts evaporated.

  “You are mistaken,” said Reverend Verje after a moment of silence. “Councilwoman Celane was at my property, attending a private Reverend function. Numerous Sisters can corroborate this.”

  I said nothing. It was too late to take anything back. Besides, I was right. It didn’t help me at all, but at least I was right.

  “Thank you, Raughn,” said Asan. “Please wait in the adjoining chamber. I would like to discuss a security matter with you.”

  I nodded and stood up. My gesture of reverence might have come across as sarcastic, but that would be the least of my offenses today. I crossed the floor past Reverend Somme and stepped into the small adjoining room. Lines of filing cabinets crowded the space.