Page 43 of The Breaker of Stars

“Come here,” I said, dismounting Erini and helping Vale off Marage. Her hands stayed on my arms, eyes on me—not the gleaming silver gates in the distance. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. If you’d like to spend the entire time here with hoods drawn and knives at the ready, I gladly will.” I brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, cupping her jaw. “Whatever makes you comfortable, Stargirl.”

Vale sighed, relaxing into me with a touch of hesitancy, like she almost couldn’t believe my words. After the way Titus had convinced her he cared for her and then abandoned her, I wasn’t surprised.

Her hands snaked behind my neck, trembling slightly, and her head fell against my chest. “I’d like to leave this city and all its fated tales behind.”

I rubbed circles on her back, my stare locked on the silver ink etched across her shoulder. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

“The archives we need are in the second district,” Vale explained, her spine as stiff as her words.

It made my jaw grind to see this timid side of her. It was similar to the person she’d projected when she first arrived in Damenal. Meek on the orders of Titus. Fingers fidgeting with her appearance.

I did my best to shove aside my frustration, ignoring the way my hands itched for a fight, and asked, “Which are we in now?”

“The fourth,” she said. “This area is primarily food markets and taverns, so I thought we could find a place to rest and pick up whatever we may need.”

The gray cobblestones beneath our feet were dusted with scraps from the surrounding tenants, tents pouring into the street outside storefronts. The buildings lining the walkways were rough white stone, coated from centuries of dirt that proved they’d seen age-old stories. Thin metal balconies lined the second floors, many of the small shops on this street hosting apartments above. And from those, greenery dotted with tiny white, pale blue, and purple flowers draped over the edge, the night-blooming buds closed to the daylight.

We guided our horses through the narrow stalls, our voices drowned by the shouts of tellers and customers alike. But the beauty of this new city was lost on me as Vale cast a furtive look over her shoulder, awaiting my answer.

And protectiveness mounted in my blood.

“That’s a great idea,” I said through a tight throat. “Wherever you think is best.”

I followed Vale with our hoods drawn and tried to see this city through the various stages of her life.

I tried to imagine it as a child who’d been rescued from a temple. Were the crowds overwhelming? Perhaps she’d clung to the safety of the chancellor’s manor at first.

Maybe once she’d been allowed to explore the winding streets, she indulged in the herbs being chopped on one corner or the decadent smell of garlic roasting at the tavern nearby.

Or had she gone to the silk merchant as a teenager, shopping for her favorite skirts on the few days she was granted leave?

Did she see other warriors her age completing lessons or lounging outside the sweet shop and feel alone? My heart clenched at that thought, and the entire city soured.

As we passed a warrior with an intricate layer of ink winding up his arm and to his jaw, I only saw the silver tattoo across her brand.

When we peeked in a tent clouded with incense down an alley, I saw a girl whose magic isolated her among her peers.

And rather than the home I’d expected this city to be for her, it all felt cold and lonely.

Chapter Eighteen

Vale

My magic pressed against my skin the moment we entered Valyn.

It had been mounting, insistent, ever since we returned to the territory, but as Cypherion and I journeyed through the capital, the Fates whispered even more. Nine voices mingled through my being, their need to release a pressure against my chest.

“How do you want to go about this?” Cypherion asked, sinking into a chair at the rickety table in the room we’d rented above a candle shop.

It was off the main road, not one of the more frequented boutiques that spotted the market districts. One of my favorites I’d ever visited, though those were few.

The owners told me years ago that they rented space in the attic to travelers, but didn’t hang a sign out front to avoid a rowdy crowd. It was the only place I recalled, and I’d been hoping to Valyrie that it was available.

With my hood up, I didn’t think the woman downstairs recognized me, but I remembered the gentle lines framing her lips and eyes, the signs of someone who lived a long life and smiled plenty during it.

Instantly, safety wrapped around me.

But once we closed the door to the attic, a stifling feeling ground against my sternum, only adding to the magic pounding through me. There was one small bed and a basin to wash in, not much other furniture crowding the space, but the aromatic fragrances wafting through the floorboards from the candles below stole the fresh air.

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