Page 104 of Fire to the Stars
In January, Varsonne smells like blood.
The waning quarter-moon hangs dully over the unassuming mountain city. Icicles hang from scrap-metal road signs. Heavy bolted doors press into the rolling hillsides, the result of converting failed mine shafts into homes. Chimney smoke curls above them. Buildings nestle against each other in the city center on snow-covered ground.
It’s difficult to imagine Madame Afi’s abduction happened here, where humans hibernate like tinderfoxes.
I rub my gloved hands together outside the Gendarmerie station, standing straight when Lyle emerges and closes the door behind him. He carries two items: his full pack and a leather tube, wax treated and water-resistant. As many questions as I have for him, though, they’re not my top priority. The two of us stand on the icy street alone, in the meager lamplight that only emphasizes how fragile his posture looks without anyone to lean on.
“Lyle, I’msosorry—”
My arms are barely open when his weight collapses into mine. His whole body shudders with grief as I solidify my footing, determined to keep him upright. Even the throb in my shoulder won’t stop me from supporting my friend.
“Thank you for coming,” he chokes out.
“We never should have separated,” I say. “I should’ve been here when your mother’s head was found. If there’s anything I can do—”
“You’re here now. Just stay like this for a minute.”
We grieve until the fatigue sinks into our bones. Eventually, he pulls away first, wiping his eyes.
“I’m sorry for interrupting your time with Claire,” he says, exhaling fog.
“Don’t be. She encouraged me to come. I just don’t know how you’re not yelling at Marshal Payen for losing the cultist.”
“Please, don’t blame Abby. It wasn’t her fault. You’ll understand once I explain what happened.”
“I want an explanation fromher—” The name snags my focus. “ ‘Abby?’ ”
“She told me to drop the title.” He shrugs, stare low. “I think she sensed I needed a friend, so she stepped up. Kind of like what she’s doing now.”
Through the front window, I check on Claire—again. She sips tea with Marshal Payen by the fireside and feeds fresh-baked bread to Lucy. Something Lucy does out of sight makes her laugh. Marshal Payen does too—but somehow the attentiveness in her expression only makes me feel worse for leaving Lyle without a best friend. A marshal shouldn’t have felt the need to stepin.
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“We promised you an explanation.” Lyle nods up the lamplit road. “Walk with me.”
“Are you certain Varsonne is safe at night?”
“Safe as can be, considering the circumstances. Abby has increased patrols since the day she learned Ma was abducted. The town’s been locked down too. No one in or out without her direct permission. It’s full martial law.”
I rub my aching shoulder. “Jardincourt National Park was locked down. The cultists still got past Marshal Bard’s perimeter.”
“We discovered the reason for that.” He halts. “Magic.”
My stomach lurches. “The prisoner used magic on you?”
“On himself.” He steadies me by the good shoulder. “Abel, the cultists canfly. They turn into owls.”
I nearly fall over.
“Owls?”
“Shocked?” He smiles grimly. “Imagine witnessing it.”
A dragon’s transformation is violent and grotesque. Body parts contort. Skin splits open. Steam spills from every orifice. My imagination can hardly fathom a humanshrinkinginto an aloof, temperate owl.
I stammer. “How did you discover that?”
“Originally, we stuck to the plan. We released the prisoner every night for several days, from different points in the city.” Hepoints downhill, where we came from, then uphill, toward the forested mountain trails, presumably where the silverwolf attacks occur. “No matter where we started, he ran toward the mountains every time, screaming and begging for eau de vie. And every time, he eventually went off the trail and into the trees. If he got too far, a gendarme shot him, then arrested him again. The plan was working great. We were getting a good idea of his destination.”
