Page 146 of The Sun King's Noon

“Please.” Richard bowed over Kaelen’s chest to press his forehead into Flint’s knee. “Please, Flint. I shall give you anything. Whatever you wish. Call the Star. I beg you.”

Flint crouched onto his heels. His grin vanished, replaced by thin lips and narrowed eyes.

“All right, handsome. Here’s the bargain. I call her down. I pay her price. And in exchange, every debt between you and me is settled.”

“Yes. Yes, of course?—”

“Think on it. Think hard, cause there’s no coming back from this.”

Something dark coiled within Flint’s eyes and edged his words. But Richard was past the point of examination.

“Done,” he rasped. “Done. Call her.”

Flint stared a heartbeat longer, then the grin returned. He rose, tossed the apple into the bushes, and pulled out a card from his sleeve.

“Right.” His eyes glowed violet. “Up you come, beautiful.”

A white light burst into existence, and Richard ducked instinctively, shielding Kaelen’s face.

The Star was a being of utter beauty, with luminous golden constellations inscribed against her black skin. Tight curls framed her face, and her chalky gown stretched over the large curves of her arms and stomach.

“Oh, my bound-one.” The Star greeted Flint. “It has been but a single turn of the Great Wheel since you last called me from the deep.” She elongated every vowel. “My price has endured. Ten years.”

“Aye, aye, ten.” Flint gestured at Richard. “His hands, too. Ten and a half, and we’ll call it square.”

The Star’s eyes slid to Richard.

“Ten and a half, you say, for two mendings.” She sounded amused. “Boundling, you yet hold the cheek of the child you were. Twelve years.”

“Eleven.” Flint winked. “Because you like me.”

“I like you not at all.” She chuckled. “But eleven it is.”

She knelt by Kaelen and rested her hands above his belly. A soft glow, and the spurting blood slowed, then ceased. The pallor in Kaelen’s face gave way to his warmer brown, and his breathing evened.

Richard’s eyes burned, and the shudders that wracked his frame finally eased.

“There is a heart in this one that fights to live.” The Star hummed. “His innards are remembering their shape. The blood is drawing back to its rivers.”

She withdrew her hands and took Richard’s. The glow came again, and he winced as the torn meat of his palms drew inward, the edges of the wounds reaching for each other, knitting, closing. The searing throb in his forearms ebbed. Once the light faded, all that remained were a pair of red scars.

“They shall ache when the clouds cry,” the Star said. “Such is the custom of all flesh. What has been torn can be mended but not forgotten.”

“My lady,” Richard whispered. “Thank you.”

She glanced at Flint. “Eleven, boundling, to be added to your debt. I shall come for them at the proper hour.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Flint waved. “See you in fifty years with any luck.”

She inclined her head, then she was a ray of light again, fading into the Star card.

“Right.” Flint swayed and grabbed a tree. “That’ll be enough excitement for one day.”

Richard palpated Kaelen’s carotid and breathed out a sigh to find the pulse strong and steady.

“Kaelen. Come back to me.”

The knight’s lashes fluttered. On seeing Richard, his eyes softened, and a dreamy smile spread across his face. “Am—am I in the heavens?”