Page 204 of Starside

I know Great Houses have magic. But this is something more. It’s like a consciousness. It’s like eyes are buried in the walls.

His lips pull up with near-amusement. “Something like that,” he says. “Don’t antagonize it.” Then he frowns, scowling. “It can get an attitude.” He looks at me. “I’ll leave you to your plotting,” he says, before he strides out of the room.

Each Great House has a crest, just like the gods.

According to Vander’s endless texts, they were formed by sons and daughters of the gods were strong enough to claim the first skylarks. Some also bonded with creatures who wielded magic.

Over millennia, some of the swords were lost, won, or—most interesting—combined with other swords to create even greater weapons.

Each have names. They are famous. I trace their illustrations, marveling at their designs, techniques and carvings that seem impossible to create, with human hands, at least.

Family trees are helpful.

So is Vander. He comes to visit me the next afternoon, his sword dripping blood.

He cleans it off and says, “Every time a head of House dies, there is a duel, which decides which heir will claim the blade. The heir is thought to be the strongest of the line, and they become the head. It’s often a bloody affair.” He points to the family trees. “Age doesn’t matter. The one with the star is each generation’s heir.”

“Which are expected to attend the ball?”

He sits. “I suppose I should tell you it isn’t simply a ball,” Vander says, finally cleaning his blade with an equally bloody rag. “It’s the beginning of a long and tedious courting ceremony.” I remember the hunter mentioning the start of courting season.

I blink. “Are you—are you auditioning wives?”

Vander flashes his sparkling teeth. “Why, human? Are you interested?”

I give him a look, and he chuckles. “Not just me. Every eligible heir and heiress will be here for months, to make matches. All staying in this castle.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Sounds tedious,” he says, clearly not looking forward to it all. It almost makes me smile, seeing an immortal so annoyed.

Until I realize what he’s saying. What I can promise. “You think I should …”

“I think you should dance with them. Talk to them. See what they want … and if you can give it to them.”

I open my mouth. Close it. There are a million things I have to say to that, but the one that comes out is, “I don’t know how to dance.”

At that, he rises. He offers his hand.

It’s covered in blood. I raise a brow at him, and he takes off his gloves. Tosses them onto the ancient table will little care.

“Come on, mortal, I don’t have all day. And I don’t particularly enjoy dancing with anyone, let alone a clumsy human.”

“How charming,” I say, taking his hand. He only grins.

“Here are the steps.”

It’s been two days since I’ve visited Raker. I mean to forget him, the way he so clearly wants me to, but at the last moment, I make a plate at dinner and sneak it out to the stables.

Raker is there, of course, still chained. I don’t even bother with insults as I stride over and touch my palm to his forehead. He hisses at my touch. “I told you not to visit me,” he snarls.

“And I told you to stop ordering me around,” I say, happy with his progress. His fever is gone. “Better. Here.”

I pick up one of the pieces of meat on the plate, then pause, frowning. I should have brought a fork or something, I think, as juices drip down my hand. Too late now.

Raker’s eyes are still narrowed and locked on mine as I press the food to his lips. He takes it with his teeth, and I swallow. I don’t know why I swallow.

He chews. I watch him. In silence, I feed him, and we’re both glaring at each other, as if to communicate how much we hate this.