Page 118 of Fire to the Stars
Abel glances back and does a double take. “Don’t drink thatyet!”
He reaches for it, but I hold him at arm’s length and gulp itall down. Immediately, my muscles relax against the bitter taste of the medication. The empty container slips from my fingers. My knees fail me. He catches me against him before I collapse.
“Why would you do that?” he cries.
“Because I’m scared,” I admit, tears in my eyes. “For me, and for you.”
“How much did you take?”
“I’ll wake up before the Ignition. I will turn.”
“No, no, no.” He pats my cheek. “Stay awake, Claire. What about our promise? What about yourmercy? I can’t do that if you turn while we’re up here!”
My head lolls. Everything blurs at the edges and turns my limbs heavy. Somewhere behind him, Lyle shouts for the gendarmes. My heartbeat eases, the thumps so soft, I barely feel them.
“Make me a new promise,” I breathe.
“Anything.”
“Use every minute you can to find a cure,” I say. “But if you don’t find it, leave me on this mountain. Run away. Let me protectyouwith my dragon form.”
“There’s no guarantee you can kill them. Not against their healing magic.”
“I don’t care.” My voice cracks. “I’d rather wake up alone, surrounded by enemies, than find you murdered.”
“Claire—”
“Please.Your life is worth more to me than a moment’s mercy.”
Best-case scenario: He finds a miracle cure.
Worst-case scenario: I wake up on a mountain surrounded by cultists.
Now that my sleep powder is gone, there is no bittersweet middle-ground option anymore. But this way I won’t wake up tomy worst nightmare—losing a loved one—whether my dragon form is responsible or not.
Tears stream down his face, a heartbroken grimace. “All right,” he promises. “But I won’t give up on a cure until the last possible moment.”
I close my eyes and smile into his chest. That I can accept.
Abel hugs me tightly, as if refusing to let me go. But he will let go, if it comes to it. He’s a changed man. I see it now.
“Complete your research, Abel. I trust you.”
“Thank you,” he whispers.
He strokes my hair like he did last night, when he whispered he loves me and coaxed me to sleep.
Life is, for mortals, borrowed time. Just as the flowers sprout and wither, so to stardust you must return. Be at peace, upon final breaths, for even under these violent skies, you have lived well, and as designed.
—The First Eulogy
Translated fromThe Tale of Stars (L’Histoire des Étoiles), Part III: The Age of Mortality
Chapter Forty-Four
Abel
Marshal Payen emerges from the cave. As she approaches, Claire’s unconscious form in my arms doesn’t faze her. Her brown skin looks ashen, the lines around her eyes strained beyond her age. She grips my good shoulder, her usual stonelike demeanor crumbling, as if I’m the savior she can’t wait to see.
