Page 76 of The City of Stardust

Is it really so easy, after a thousand years of wanting?

Penelope is very good at sacrifice. And, of course, she knows of the rituals that brought her kind so very far from their original shores. Blood, bone, memory. And god-metal, though it’s been a long time since she’s referred to it as anything other than reveurite, its true nature disguised by scientific drapery.

Anticipation coils within her. She is so close to Elandriel. And then—home.

In thirteen days, she’ll wash this door with Violet Everly’s blood. All of it. A sacrifice, pure and clean and fittingly circular. A sacrifice, too, of Penelope’s own time—every frustrated, tormented day leading up to her ten-year promise. It will be agony to wait, but it will be worth it. Glory is a rich dark red, after all.

In thirteen days, the door will swing open, just for her.

It’s finally beginning.

PART FOUR

A Fireside Warning

ON A NIGHTof deepest winter, when the forges are blocked in by snow and reveurite harvesting is at its peak, the forge master gathers her students around the fire. It is a time for darkness and bitter cold, ghost stories and warnings. The fire crackles and spits, making figures out of smokey shadows.

The forge master takes a deep breath, studies each and every one of their faces. She says—

Once, there is a clever man.

Clever, that is, with his hands. Capable of working miracles out of gemstones, metal, wood. For decades, he is the most renowned craftsman in his city, in the world. Travellers flock to his workshop for his knowledge.

Yet time is a fickle creature. As the man grows older, he finds himself at the limits of his abilities. His knucklebones swell and his fingers fumble with wire; his back aches so he struggles over his workbenches. And elsewhere in the city, a new generation of craftspeople, with their dextrous hands and youthful vigour, are working miracles that he cannot replicate. His shop empties of customers and his once renowned displays turn grey with dust.

Then one day, a star walks into his workshop. Beautiful as fury, with flame draped around her shoulders like a cloak.

“Help me, please,” he begs.

“Very well. But I cannot give without taking.”

Frantically, the man begins to pick through the items in his shop. He holds up emeralds the size of eggs, crusted over with gold and dotted with tiny diamonds. In front of her, he spreads out a deck of cards gilded with silver and promises her that they will tell the truth of her future. He pulls out a delicate filigree dancer dressed in wire frothed to look like fabric, and winds tight a key on her pedestal to elicit music that would make any mortal weep.

The star looks at him, amused. “It must be something precious toyou. And I see nothing of value here.”

He starts to babble about firstborns, about rings to command a man, about assassination and third sons of third princes—

“Enough,” she says.

He holds his palms upwards, pleading. “What else do I have?”

The star thinks for a moment. Then she says, “I will offer you a deal.”

A lifetime’s worth of knowledge to be used within a year and a day. And at the end of that year and a day, she would take his soul. Powerful magic requires a powerful exchange, she explains.

The man does not particularly want to give his soul away. But he is weary of being usurped and terrified of becoming nothing, so he agrees.

With her aid, he discovers knowledge so enticing it takes his breath away. How to craft with the god-metal that plummets from the sky. How to walk between worlds, how to listen to her star-brethren sing as they waltz across the galaxy. How to extend longevity and claw back youth.

Yet in the back of his mind, he remains aware of a clock ticking towards the star’s bargain. As the days dissolve in front of him, he begs the star to spare his soul. He is not done—will never be done—with his work. He has only just begun totrulylive.

“Is there nothing I can do to convince you to leave my soul?” he asks.

“It is not aboutconvincing,” the star says scornfully. “The exchange is already made.”

Yet he keeps trying. He even goes so far as to seduce her, in the hope that with each kiss, each caress, her spirit will soften and a way out of the pact will emerge. Though he quickly realises this, too, is as foolish as pleading for clemency.

He starts taking long walks under watery moonlight, each footstep an easy rhythm that stills the jangling of his panic and keeps his mind whirring away. Because he is a clever man, he knows there must be a loophole to this terrible pact. And the knowledge the star bestowed has made him very clever indeed.

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