Page 111 of Fire to the Stars

“It’s just a feeling,” I remind her.

But it’s more than that.

My heart thumps harder than usual at this altitude. Hot,heady,insistent—and unnaturally feverish, as if warring against the snow. As I think back, a subtler version simmered within me every time I stargazed. I just didn’t recognize it for what it was: instinct.

Relief only comes from moving closer.

“A feeling is all I asked for,” Marshal Payen replies. “This is where we spread out. Lyle, you ride with me. Gendarmes, ride ahead in formation around our dragon. Keep to evasive maneuvers until the full moon. If you’re spotted, break from the rest of us and lead them away. Abel and Claire, you’re on foot. Stayback. It’s our job to clear the area, not yours. Understood?”

“Yes, Marshal,” I reply.

With Lucy perched around his neck like a scarf, Abel turns awkwardly on his horse, gripping the saddlebags for balance. “A few more minutes with the horses,” he tells Marshal Payen. “Please.”

I run my gloved thumb along the stiff leather of my saddle. The bump of the pommel, the worn stitching, the padded knee rolls. I dismount with a crunch. My boots sink ankle-deep.

“She’s right. We need to proceed.” I pat my mare’s neck, but the way she leans into it, bobbing her head for a good scratch, makes my eyes prickle. I remove my glove and satisfy her itch as best I can, memorizing the texture of each coarse hair until my fingers turn numb. Then I guide her to the nearest gendarme. “Thank you for escorting us. And for lending us your horses.”

He grunts an affirmative response. He’s careful not to touch my hand when he takes the reins, as if my curse will somehow jump to him.

That’s okay. Centuries of lies have taught him to fear myhuman form, too. It’s enough that he trusts Marshal Payen’s judgment to leave me unchained.

Abel dismounts with a stumble and passes his reins to another gendarme. Grimacing, he stretches his weak shoulder. The joint is mostly healed, but it isn’t as strong as before.

“What happens when you find the cultists?” he asks Marshal Payen.

“Stay within our perimeter. We’ll find you.”

I approach Lyle on his gray gelding. “If they’re up here, every last cultist will end up in prison, Lyle. Your mother’s murder won’t go unpunished.”

It’s the only assurance I can make.

“Thank you for your help,” he says.

I offer my hand. “You’re the best of us, Lyle Meteku.”

“I try.” He kisses my knuckles, like the day we met. “Be careful. I don’t like seeing my friends get hurt.”

It’s not me he should be worried about.

I look at Abel. He focuses too intently on unbuckling his saddlebags. His thoughts are written all over his expression.

Best-case scenario: Water of life is a miracle cure.

Next-best scenario: In one month, he uses my death to change slayer culture.

Worst-case scenario: I wake up to find his charred body.

No matter what happens, Iwillprotect him.

The gendarmes split off into the forest, their horses kicking up powder. Marshal Payen turns her horse to follow but halts to wait for Lyle.

“See you at the summit?” I tell him.

“I’ll be there,” he says, then gallops off.

Abel and I continue on foot. I handle the map. Abel aids my ascent over slippery rocks and through deep snow. Lucy’s bounding steps quickly turn sluggish. I tuck her inside my coat like I did at the Tordou River and savor her warmth against my chest. She snoozes after a while. I kiss her forehead when I can spare the breath for it.

Thick clouds block the suns. The dull daylight fades with the hours, and eventually Abel considers the space amid a cluster of pines and suggests we set up camp for the night. Patches of soil peek through the snow, signaling the driest location we’ve seen all day.