Page 213 of Blood of the Stars

Daisy nodded, her eyes blank.

Mayvus flipped Daisy’s hand to examine it next to her arm. She traced the outline of a fresh mark on Daisy’s palm. “This one is clearly mine. But who does this belong to?”

Sun’s fire. Had Jasperus already finished? Was Gaeren too late? Gaeren inched backward, attempting to block Mayvus’ view of Sylmar huddled over Jasperus. From behind him, he caught Sylmar’s and Cyrus’ heated whispers.

“It’s not what she wanted,” Cyrus was saying.

“It doesn’t matter what she wanted,” Sylmar countered, his whispers holding far more conviction. “Now she’s under Mayvus’ control. This is the only way to counteract it.”

“It’s my brand for Durriken,” Daisy said.

Gaeren nearly tripped. Durriken? She’d told him she would never do blood magic again, and she’d branded Durriken? Her answer kept the attention off Jasperus, but it left Gaeren distracted too.

Durriken shifted on the balcony stones, and Mayvus’ laugh rang out again, covering the whimper that left Jasperus’ lips when Sylmar cut his palm.

“You branded Durriken? Why would you bother doing that? I already control Durriken, and now I control you.”

Gaeren closed his eyes, trying to process what Daisy had done. She’d done blood magic, but she wanted Gaeren to keep Jasperus from doing the same. Maybe it wasn’t that she wasn’t willing to do blood magic. Maybe it was that she wasn’t willing to ask someone else to do it for her. Or maybe she was only willing to do it for a specific reason or purpose. Was there ever a good reason for blood magic? Orra’s words came back to him, more like a prophecy than a memory. Jasperus would be doing it out of fear, but Daisy—Daisy had done it out of love.

“Or it could be Jasperus’ brand,” Daisy said.

Gaeren went still, as did Cyrus, Jasperus, and Sylmar behind him. Even Velden, Lukai, and Iris paused in their advance on the other soldiers, their breathing overriding the sound of steel on steel and boots on stone.

“Jasperus?” Mayvus turned, her brow raised as she scanned the others. When she saw Gaeren, her eyes narrowed. She held out a hand, and the force of a vicious gale of wind knocked Gaeren aside like he was little more than a leaf. He landed on his side, and his wrist bent too far beneath him, his body barely clinging to the balcony’s balustrade.

Mayvus’ laugh held surprise as she flexed her hand and studied it. “So much power.”

Gaeren read her lips more than he heard her words, as the wind she’d created stole them from the air. It stopped as suddenly as it had started, making Gaeren’s ears ring with the new silence.

Cyrus and Sylmar braced themselves in front of Jasperus, but between their legs, Gaeren caught sight of Jasperus struggling to open the vial of Daisy’s blood.

Mayvus watched too. “No. It’s not the fool who stole my brand from your mother. He didn’t finish the job yet.” Her brows rose, and she leaned in toward Daisy. “Kill him.”

Daisy stepped forward, but Mayvus put out a hand.

“Wait.” Mayvus squinted at the soldiers who had stopped fighting Lukai, Velden, and Iris to watch Mayvus’ power unfold. “Brogdon?”

One of the soldiers straightened, and Daisy flinched.

“Didn’t you have a Recreant father named Jasperus?” Mayvus asked.

The young man stepped forward, his shoulders tight. “Yes, Your Majesty.” His voice boomed out with the same intensity as Jasperus’, and Gaeren stiffened at the title. Other subtle similarities grew more evident the longer Gaeren stared. The tilted nose and droopy ears. Sinewy limbs on a petite frame. But the amber eyes that held warmth in Jasperus’ face were cold in Brogdon’s.

“Your father is attempting treason.” Mayvus steepled her fingers over her lips and lifted her chin. “You can’t allow him to live.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Brogdon repeated. Instead of a sword, he raised an axe, and Daisy’s face blanched.

“No,” she whispered.

Mayvus frowned in her direction but still swept a hand out toward Jasperus’ self-proclaimed bodyguards. Another rush of wind swept across the balcony, sending Sylmar and Cyrus sprawling and leaving Jasperus wide open for Brogdon’s lunge.

Gaeren scrambled to his feet and stretched out his fingers, barely grasping leather ties on the soldier’s arm. He pulled back, knocking Brogdon’s attack off-kilter, but the axe still burrowed into Jasperus’ gut where he sat on the floor.

The old man gasped in pain, and the vial rolled from his hands, unopened and forgotten on the stone tile. Gaeren rushed forward, both to hide the vial and to hold Jasperus upright.

Brogdon remained bent over, blinking down at his father in confusion. A leather cord dangled from his neck, the small axe starlock swinging in the remaining breeze of Mayvus’ wind.

“My boy,” Jasperus whispered, his bloody hands reaching out to touch Brogdon’s face.

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