Page 1 of Stars May Burn

SOPHIE

The coffin lid slammed closed over the body of my husband, making a harsh sound that echoed around the frigid chapel. I inhaled sharply, and the black fabric of my veil smothered my mouth, choking me with darkness.

I entwined my fingers tightly in front of me and counted slowly, imagining myself becoming lighter with each number.

He was gone. Gone forever.

I tried to be sad, but I couldn’t. I was a terrible person. I hoped Frederick forgave me, wherever he was now. Still, I couldn’t deny my relief as his cold white face disappeared forever. I could finally breathe.

My fingers crept up my arm to my wrist where deep scratches itched as they healed beneath black lace. Frederick’s pale blue eyes swam through my memory; they’d been wide with panic as he clawed at me, the delirium slowly getting worse as he shouted that his illness was all my fault.

At the first signs of his fever, I’d added coriander seeds, ginger and echinacea to his teas to help him recover. He had barely drunk them in disgust at the altered taste. Once his condition had worsened, he’d sworn at me and accused me of poisoning him. I knew my herbs were harmless but hadn’t known the right ones to give him as his symptoms became complex, and he refused to let me prepare any of his food and drink after that.

Sitting in the shadowy corners of the room, out of his reach, I’d watched the physicians tend to him, feeling completely helpless as he wasted away a little more each day. I wasn’t sure which was worse: his moments of confusion or those of lucidity in which he’d sneered at my incompetence. He had shouted that he would see me imprisoned for poisoning when he was well enough to address Duke James and his city guard. But the physicians had ignored him, after a month the sickness had killed him, and now his words were gone.

I closed my eyes to shut away the unpleasant memories and moved my hand back to my skirts before I was tempted to scratch the cuts on my wrist and risk making them bleed. I didn’t want to ruin my mourning dress. All eyes in the chapel were on me, Father, and the priest as we stood by the coffin. I had to appear immaculate, taking care that my relief didn’t make me lightheaded. My family couldn’t afford for me to bring them further shame.

I glanced to my right at Father, daring to study him from under my lashes. He stood in his expensive black coat, both his gloved hands on the silver handle of his walking stick. His pale strawberry blond hair fell loose down his back. He was staring at Frederick’s coffin with respectful indifference, but there was a glint in his pale grey eyes I knew well: he was scheming again.

Maybe this time I would be left out of his plans. I was tired. So very tired. I wanted to be left in peace.

As the priest continued his liturgy, I let my mind wander and dream to soothe my nerves. Life could be easier now. I would go home and hire a few fresh faced servants and design a large herb garden. Now that my husband was dead, I could run the estate as I chose. It wasn’t like any man would want to wed me now, anyway. I was soiled goods. Unlucky. And more importantly, childless even after a year of marriage. If Father planned to sell me to the highest bidder again, he would be disappointed.

I had failed in every way that mattered for all the world to see, and the sour heaviness of it was a constant weight deep in my belly. I knew my failure to bear an heir brought shame on my family and made Father’s life harder, but maybe some good would come of it if he now overlooked me.

As the priest continued speaking over the coffin, the heavy scent of stale lilies filled me with nausea. I swayed slightly and steadied myself, hoping Father hadn’t noticed. Surely today of all days, he would grant me leniency if I didn’t meet his standards of perfection. Not that I blamed him for his strictness. Our family’s image was important since we had come from nothing. Every privilege I’d ever had was because of his actions and sacrifice. I owed him everything.

Father didn’t move, so I let my eyes peek sideways and upward at the onlookers lining the steeply tiered seats to either side of us. At least the privacy of my veil offered me a degree of freedom to watch others.

Most of the congregation stood with their heads bowed or stared off elsewhere. In the first row, my stepmother and my three half-siblings all presented as elegantly as me, black crystals adding a dark glimmer to Claribel and Irabel’s dresses. George stood with a straight back, a miniature version of Father. As my gaze swept up along the tiered benches, I startled at a tall man staring straight at me with hard dark eyes. Our eyes met through the black haze, and a chill flooded my body. I snapped my attention forward again.

He couldn’t have possibly seen my eyes through the veil, yet the way his attention fixed on me, his jaw clenched and his narrow eyes intense, made me feel as if I were standing here naked.

I knew who that man was: General Kasten Batton, illegitimate son of the king, and out of favor with pretty much every member of the court. Yet he was good at killing things by all accounts, so he was permitted his place. Our country of Fenland had been at war with Kollenstar for half a decade.

What could possibly have brought him here to the funeral? A member of the royal family, legitimate or not, brought Frederick honor. Maybe there was a connection I’d been unaware of that made it inappropriate for the royal family to be absent. General Batton must have drawn the short straw.

I blushed as I realized the impropriety of my thoughts. I should be feeling honored by his presence on Frederick’s behalf. Grateful.

Still, I could feel his eyes on me, and I hardly dared breathe as I concentrated on the smooth wood of the coffin and the dead, colorless flowers that lay over the top.

The priest bowed his head and gave the farewell blessing. I breathed deeper, pleased to be leaving this place…and all those eyes. My corset was becoming too tight, the air too close, and I’d learned many years ago never to be relaxed around my father, no matter my relief at saying goodbye to Frederick.

I nodded to the coffin and walked out on Father’s arm, keeping my face tilted to the floor. At the end of the aisle, I risked a look back and up at the tiered benches, but no fierce eyes met mine this time. I suppressed a shiver.

Cold spring air hit us as we walked through the tall doors. Father steered me toward one of his carriages, his grip on my arm tightening. With a curt gesture of his other hand, he motioned to George, whose arm was linked in his mother’s, to lead the rest of our family toward the second carriage.

My heart sank as I realized I would be traveling alone with Father. That couldn’t mean anything good. He didn’t look at me but spoke while keeping up a brisk pace. “You’ll be moving back in with me and your siblings, Sophie.”

I looked at him in surprise. “Thank you, but I assure you I will be quite all right by myself. I can manage my household and will cause no trouble for you.”

Father’s lip firmed, and he quickened his pace, dragging me faster than my heels could easily navigate the cobblestones. “Nonsense. As your closest male relative, the management of your estate falls to me. You could not possibly be expected to manage something so large, especially while grieving and alone. It will be put under the name of the company. Some time in the capital will do you good. You can refresh your acquaintances.”

The urge to argue rose within me but quickly died. There was no point. Father was a shrewd, brilliant businessman with a lifetime of experience. Of course, he would manage the estate better than me. I couldn’t argue against that.

I would be better served finding a way to make Father’s interest pass from me onto other things, though preferably not my younger sisters. Claribel had just turned seventeen, and I didn’t want Father to decide he’d waited long enough to see her wed. I shielded them as best as I could when Father was impatient with his business plans, and they still had their mother to vouch for their interests. Meanwhile, I only had myself; my mother had passed away within a year of my birth. I needed to focus on protecting myself.

I climbed into the carriage as Father helped me up with a tight hand on my wrist. He followed me, nodding in response to the condolences of passersby. I sat next to the red light of the small kryalcomy heater installed below my seat, hoping it would help return feeling to my legs. Kryalcomy was expensive, and I wondered why Father had decided to turn it on today. It was unlike him to be empathetic.

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