Page 56 of The City of Stardust

Ever Everly tried to stop her. But love had made her impervious to his pleading, and she swept him aside. The city had thousands of souls, and she would eat them all just to be with him. He looked on in despair, thinking of the children, the couples he had watched from afar. What could he do?

And because he was a clever man, the answer came to him. In his consuming love, he had forgotten that he was not half of a whole at all. He was a person in himself. And there was still a choice to be made. She could not protect a soul that did not exist.

So he took his ancestors’ sword from the wall and he plunged it through his heart. The magic that had made him such a brilliant creator exploded from him, and froze the woman in a statue as unbreakable as their contract. He had stripped her of her magic, so she could eat no more souls. The city would be safe.

“And then,” Ambrose says, “with the stars in his eyes, he heaved a great sigh, and he died.”

In the ensuing silence, he wonders if he should have picked a story that didn’t end in death and gore. But when he risks a look at Violet, her eyes are wide with wonder.

“Wow,” she whispers.

He smiles down at her. “I know. And deep down, inside her crystal cage, the woman still yearns to consume his soul because it’s the only way she knows how to love.”

Which, of course, isn’t really love at all.

“I wish he hadn’t died,” Violet says later, on their way up to bed.

Ambrose tucks her in—the first time she’s let him do so. He ponders the thought for a moment. Marianne would say something about heroes and sacrifices, but he can’t bring himself to lie that an Everly went willingly to their death.We do not go gentle, he thinks sadly.

“I think Ever probably wished that, too. Who knows what he might have done with the rest of his life? But he died saving their city. He died saving what matters.” Ambrose kisses the top of her head. “He died, but he won them the world.”

CHAPTER

Twenty-Nine

PRAGUE. AND ONLYa few weeks left until Penelope’s terrible deadline.

But after a year of searching, Violet issoclose. She has barely been able to sleep, much less forget Tamriel and his words ringing through her head. Perhaps this is what the asteria meant by sacrifice—and already the choices he laid out for her are in the past. She’s always considered her mind her own, but what Tamriel had almost made her do—what he’d made her see—

A stab of unbidden anger goes through her at the thought of her mother, surprising her with its intensity. Anger doesn’t bring Marianne back, or stop Penelope’s curse. But if Marianne had told her what she was doing, or where she might go, then maybe Violet wouldn’t be standing in the middle of an unfamiliar city with no idea what to look for next.

Maybe Violet wouldn’t have had to venture into that cold, black basement to deal with a monster.

With no real idea of where to find the vision church, she meanders across the city until she reaches the Charles Bridge. For a while, she simply leans on the wall and watches other people cross, the breeze teasing out her hair from its hasty ponytail. She’d once seen an illustration of the bridge in an old book, from before she could even read, really. With the book on her lap, she’d sit in her wardrobe and tell herself stories about each of the statues. Saints were a mystery to her, then; no, these statueswere obviously of magicians, with their long robes and solemn demeanours.

This city is a feast, and for the first time, she feels hollow at the thought of not having anyone to share it with. She tolerated it in New York, Accra, Melbourne, but now that she knows what it’s like to walk arm in arm with someone else, she aches for companionship.

Before she can change her mind, she snaps a photograph of the bridge and her beloved magicians, and sends it to Aleksander. A moment later, her phone beeps.I hear the coffee in Prague is beyond compare.

A smile steals across her face.Come and see for yourself.

She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, he’s there.

“Violet Everly,” he says, his sea-glass eyes sparkling. “What a coincidence.”

His hair is still dusted in snow, and she brushes it off, his skin cold against her hands. Absentmindedly, she reaches to touch the scar above his eyebrow, but he steps back, leaving her hand hanging in the air. She quickly tucks it behind her back, her face colouring.

“I know I said coffee,” Aleksander says, “but I was thinking of something a bit more substantial?”

On cue, Violet’s stomach rumbles.

“Guess that means yes,” she says, trying to shake off her embarrassment.

Aleksander leads them to a tiny restaurant off a busy street, and they sit at a table overlooking the river sparkling in the sunlight. Once again, Aleksander orders fluently, his Czech accent flawless. The waiter says something and when he responds, the waiter bursts into laughter before sweeping away with their menus.

“Have you been to Prague before?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “I like languages. And Penelope was keen for me to have a comprehensive education.”

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