Page 4 of Born of Starlight
“Are we going to talk about the uprising at the northwest border now?” Wyeth spoke up, always eager to jump straight to business.
Wyeth’s brown cloak hood was down now, allowing us to see her black chin-length bob. Wyeth was born into a royal family of the Old World. The ancient village her family once ruled was cursed to never tell lies. However, her family had made a bargain with a sorceress of the Old World. Instead of never being able to speak a lie, they could bend the truth—but at the cost of their hair temporarily turning a shade of green when they did. Therefore, she did not conceal her hair during our meetings.
Cassidee agreed with a wave of her hand. Firose’s eyes narrowed on Cassidee’s muddy boots that were kicked up casually on the coffee table. I would put coin on Firose having commented on Cassidee’s tawny brown hair being uncombed before I arrived; she hated anything out of place.
Despite her impatience, the warrior of the East Corridor offered me a conspiratorial smirk and a wink. I tried to inconspicuously reach into my pocket for the small moonstone stowed there.
“That’s a great question.” Firose turned back to me. “What have we seen of the West?”
What haveyouseen, is what she meant.
“The West…” I flipped the moonstone in my fingertips. “I haven’t felt any movement in the past week,” I bluffed.
Firose let those pink-painted lips curl into a feline smile.
“Why then…have I heard reports of large camps in the West along the northern border? Hundreds of radicals.”
I didn’t physically react, but tightness gathered in my chest. It annoyed me to be put on the spot like this, but fighting venom with venom had never done me any good.
“Right, let me have a second look.”
My palm sweated against the cold moonstone in my pocket as I withdrew it.
“If you are not an effective Oracle, we may as well train you to be a housekeeper or a cook,” Firose jabbed.
It was a ridiculous statement—the towers did the cooking and the cleaning. Firose was trying to get under my skin and spark my power to life. It was a tactic she had often taken when I was a child. She would goad me just enough to allow the spite to overtake me, often succeeding in completing the task she had set out for me. Or she instigated my frustration enough that I’d throw blue flames from my palms. They didn’t match her red flames, which we assumed was attributed to my star-born origin, but they interested her greatly.
“That is enough, Firose. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days. What’s wrong, Asterie?” Amara cut in.
Weeks.It had been weeks since the nightmares began. Now they claimed every hour of my rest.
Leave it to Amara to be the first to notice that my skin was too pale, the curves of my body and signs of health were waning, and my long dark hair was limp and without shine. I had always had ample weight to spare on my bottom half, but even my breeches were fitting more loosely.
Amara was the embodiment of fierce love and unrelenting kindness. She had raised me in the South Tower. The South Corridor was comprised of many isles—romantic, quaint, peaceful lands of sea cliffs and beaches. While living with Amara, she taught me to conceal every emotion—to master my anger.“Face the sea, child, and count the waves hitting the shore. Count them backward. Ten…nine…”
I shook my head. “Nothing is wrong. I have been struggling with headaches.” My hand wrapped firmly around the moonstone, focusing on the conjuring.
Show me what might come of the radicals…
The path slammed into me with force—rage, oppression, anxiety.
And then the whispers.
“He is her puppet—Mattock can’t be trusted.”
I focused harder.
“She doesn’t belong in our courts.”
I gritted my teeth, following that thread.
“That magical cunt is with him at all hours; she must be stopped. The North will squash us all if we do not act now.”
I gasped as their bitter words evolved into traitorous plans. Rioters gathered at the border of the West and North Corridor—Firose’s words were true. The radicals planned to cut through Kullworth and then travel through the Hussa mountain range to the capital city of Helos in the North.
When I came to, I found Wyeth, Firose, Amara and Cassidee at the edge of their seats, all staring wordlessly at me. It was eerie how one could command a room simply by going silent. I didn’t allow my expression to reveal my worry. As an Oracle, it was important to not express bias.
Though my mind screamed one question—why was Firose spending so much time with King Mattock?
