Page 126 of Fire to the Stars

I lift the dead creature by the wing. “And burn them alive.”

To mourn a dragon is, itself, a form of greed. If you must, grieve the human they never were.

—Sermon onThe Tale of Stars (L’Histoire des Étoiles), Part III: The Age of Mortality

Chapter Forty-Six

Claire

Light.

And noise. It’ssonoisy. Shouts. Screams. Clanging metal. Cracking crossbows. Gunshots. Bones heavy, I drag myself up from the cold ground and wander toward the light at the end of the tunnel. Gendarmes and cultists whip through the forest across the clearing. Fear shudders through me so intensely that I slip to my hands and knees. Blood, feathers, and ash stain thesnow.

The suns—they glare too brightly,almostclose enough to touch.

“Claire? Claire!” One blink, and he’s here. Sword on his back, Micah’s skull on his head, daggers across his chest, crossbow in hand. His free hand finds my cheek. Lucy pants and paces beside him. “Oh, thank Diu. You’ll turn. I thought you mistimed your dose.”

“Why are you still here?” I gasp, then check my limbs. “At least use Hanna’s shackle on me!”

“No time to explain! Go back into the cave!”

Abel’s crossbow cracks. I curl in on myself as the bolt flies past me.

“Why are you fighting them?” I scream. “You were supposed to leave me!”

“Get back inside! Trust me, Claire!”

He runs away, into the trees. Lucy tears after him instead of comforting me.

The suns touch.

Heat sears through my veins.

Snow boils beneath me.

My hair curls in the steam.

Hot.Toohot. I crawl in the slush, toward the shade of the cave. The blistering sensation in my veins runs smooth—a split second’s peace.Oh.There’s something I need to…

To my left, a cultist emerges from the trees. Blood spatters his silver mask. He raises a moonmetal spear, aimed at me.

Abel’s name on my lips is a prayer, a curse, a plea.

With every fiber of my being, I burn.

Diu shall ensure the realm survives. It is our duty to ensure the realmthrives.

—The First Slayer

Chapter Forty-Seven

Abel

Lucy runs closer to my heel. I slide behind the cover of a fallen pine and load a fresh bolt into my crossbow.

Claire’s dragon roar splits the mountain air.

We burned dozens of owls last night. Far more than I anticipated. Not all of them. My eyes hurt from aiming in the dark. My vision blurs from lack of sleep. Fatigue already shakes my movements, but now that Claire has turned, the natural terror of a hunt shudders through me.