Page 68 of The City of Stardust

He adjusts his gloves, waits for her partner to hurry back to the party, back to the loud courtyard. She will be alone. Perfect.

It has been so long since he felt warm.

He is ready to burn.

CHAPTER

Thirty-Four

THE ASTRAL GLOWSin the darkness, more light than person. But amidst the shifting rays, Violet catches a hint of brow, a sharp nose, a curve of lips. Her hair drifts around her in a coronet, like a glory from a saint’s portrait, sending out flickers of illumination. In her fist, she carries a staff that warps and quivers with some invisible current. Wings halo around her, more sunbeam than feather, rainbows stippling the surface.

“We have heard your name whispered amongst the stars, carried by the clouds, sung by dust motes drifting upwards,” the astral says, and her voice is mercifully audible—no compelling whisper cutting across her thoughts. “The skies themselves are curious, it seems, and so it behooves us to answer your call.”

Her wings beat once and a wash of warmth flows over Violet, accompanied by a dry sandalwood scent.

“Who are you?” she asks.

“We go by the name Erriel, though there are few who would know us by it, and fewer still who know where we would reside. The Hands of Illios are but a diminished order in this age.”

Violet thinks of the woman at the party, with her golden bouquet.

“Tamriel sent me,” she says nervously. “He said you could help.”

Erriel recoils, her wings coruscating around her. “That abomination! That betrayer! Thief of light and laughter, murderer of knowledge from ages past! We would not hear his name again, for the sake of all our brethren he slew.”

“I… I’m sorry.”

The astral’s face softens. “It is not for you to know of his crimes. But he will wear his chains until the end of time, we hope, though it will be but a fraction of the suffering he is owed.”

Now that she’s here, Violet has no idea what to say. What could she possibly say to a god?

“You’ve met my mother,” she says. “Marianne Everly.”

How many times has she said this to strangers, to those who would harm her or send her away, or whom Marianne had spurned in turn? She’s already tired of the words before they even leave her mouth.

Erriel’s smile curls like a sunbeam. “She sought to free us, a gesture which we appreciate, but was nevertheless not needed.”

For the first time, Violet’s eyes drift to Erriel’s feet, clearly manacled even if the links sway with refracting light. So this is where the channel of blood leads; a real ritual then, masked as pretend. Erriel follows her gaze and sighs heavily.

“Are we a prisoner? No. We chose this. We bear a duty that our sisters bore, that our mothers and grandmothers and those lost to the mists even of our memories bore. It is an honour, Violet Everly, as much as it is obligation.” She taps her staff and rainbows fling themselves across the floor. “In our lifetime, we have held what knowledge we could, and kept many treasures for our brethren.”

Violet takes a deep breath.

“Like the key to Elandriel,” she says.

The astral grows still, the musical tones of her shackles brought to a low hum. With the staff in her hands and the darkness around her, she’s almost the picture of the asteros card.

“You have been misled, Violet Everly,” she says. “We keep no key.”

Time seems to stop around Violet.

“I—I don’t understand,” she says. “There has to be a key.”

She didn’t spend an entire year of her life searching for something that doesn’t exist.

But Erriel bows her head, her expression one of pity. “We do not lie.”

“What did Marianne even come for, then?” she demands.

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