Page 165 of Starside

I shake my head. “No. Pain is paralyzing. Revenge … revenge is galvanizing.”

Her mouth tightens.

“What? Judging me?” I strum the branches again.

She shakes her head. “No. I’m afraid for you. Revenge ruins. It corrupts. I’ve seen it.” I wonder what, exactly, she’s seen. Is she hundreds of years old? Thousands?

However old she is, she’s right.

I know that. I’ve always known. This rage is choking; it’s all-encompassing. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t matter.

“How does it end?” she asks gently. “Your quest?”

“With death,” I say simply, dropping another branch. It rings.

And Este takes a shaking step back. Her eyes are wide. She looks startled, like she did a few hours ago when I mentioned the woman in silver.

“What is it?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “I—Sometimes words … they crystalize. Harden, in my mind. They—” She shakes her head, and her expression is replaced by a tight smile. “I—I should go.” She turns and runs off. I watch her pink dress and rose-styled hair shift wildly before she disappears.

It’s only then that I notice them—wings on her back. They’re hanging limp, spilling down her spine in thick gleaming strands, like sparkling ribbons. What—

“Already scaring people away?”

Raker.

I turn and give him a pointed glare. “If only.”

He takes a few steps toward me. “This place—”

“Is wonderful.”

“—is ridiculous.”

I reach down and run my fingers through the silver glitter that coats everything. Without losing eye contact with the shadow beneath his hood, I smooth my fingers up his armor, smearing the glimmer toward his hidden face, until his hand reaches up, fast as lightning, and stops my wrist.

I try to move, but I might as well be battling stone.

“Don’t,” he warns.

Fine.

He releases his hold, and I flick my fingers, glitter exploding into the darkness of his hood. He propels himself away from me, coughing and sputtering, as if he’s been poisoned. It’s then that I realize he must not be wearing his mask. Did he take it off to get some fresh air?

I can’t see anything, though I try.

“Oh no. The pile of snakes beneath your hood is now covered in sparkles. What a shame.”

“Witch,” he says.

“Demon.”

He takes a step forward, anger radiating off him. “Fool.”

“Bastard.”

Another step. “Weakling.”