Page 135 of Fire to the Stars

“Two.”

“Three,” we say together. Simultaneously, we each take a large mouthful.

Lyle spits his back into the cup.

“Blegh.”He wipes his tongue on the inside of his tunic. “How did you ever drink that?”

I take another sip. “With good etiquette.”

“On second thought”—he tosses me a rag, which I catch one-handed—“take some of that fancy etiquette and help me clean up. I’m putting this house on the market.”

I get to work without complaint. “I assumed you’d want to keep the house now that your place in Ravinfort is gone.”

“I thought about staying for a while to be near Ma’s and Pa’s graves. But I don’t think she’d rest well if that were the only reason I cling to this place.”

I nod, thinking back to the cautious way he handled Madame Afi’s ashes during the journey back down the mountain. By the time we reached Varsonne, his eyes were bloodshot and lined with grief. I had to hold him upright while he spread her remains in the soil before the tombstone he’d purchased to bury her head.

“I think you’re right to leave,” I say. A stubborn smudge clings to the countertop. “Where will you go?”

“Jardincourt, probably. Lots of rich people with horses that need shoes.”

I smile. “Like your father.”

“Before he switched to moonmetal.”

His family’s lives could’ve gone very differently had his parents not made the choice to become first-generation outfitters. At the same time, without Lyle, the dragon curse would’ve continued. It’s a hard pill to swallow.

“I’ll miss her,” I admit.

“Me too.” He spits into the teacup again. “But notthat.”

In the manner of Lyle Meteku, even in his bitterness, he sounds optimistic—and maybe he truly is.

At the same time, neither of us can start over until we make our case to the Slayers Guild.

“What if they want to execute Claire?” I ask. The countertop squeaks under my scrubbing. “If they refuse to trust our evidence, they’ll never let her go free, not even into my custody. They’ve wanted to revoke my badge for months. This time they’ll do it.”

“Abel.Breathe.”

I used to attribute every stroke of luck—good and bad—to a reflection of my moral compass. In truth, there was no greater meaning to anything, owls and fawnas included. I am solelyresponsible for my life. If I want the Slayers Guild to trust my word, I need to be worth listening to.

“Claire chose to trust you when she agreed to guide us up the mountain. The Guild will come around too,” Lyle says. “And if they don’t, I suspect you know a certain someone they have toobey.”

Lyle raises a conspiratorial eyebrow. Realization takes a second, but when it hits me, I smack my forehead. I’ve gotten so wrapped up in my poor reputation with the Guild that I forgot the powers I did appeal to. The royal familywantsFlorent safer, to the point that they granted me a future audience despite my taboos. If anyone can make slayers lay down their swords, it’s the ones who govern thepeople.

I gulp the remaining tea in one swallow, then pull him into a hug with a slap on his back. “Lyle, you’re brilliant. Thank you.”

“Spread the word, will you? I need a new apprenticeship!”

Lucy follows me as I rush out the door and nearly slip in the snow on my way to the aviary. In the hours before dark, I send one more dove—and pray to no god in particular that a response arrives in time.

Please arrive at the auditorium of the slayer archives in Varsonne on February8, 1761, at ten o’clock for the presentation.

—Dove message to Slayers Guild leadership from Abel Estellio and cosigners

Chapter Fifty

Claire