Page 137 of Fire to the Stars

“Take all the time you need.”

I fought endlessly for one more month, one more breath. Now that my mortality is permanent, the thought of a future overwhelms me.

“The Guild won’t want this,” he says. “The disappearance of Diu’s curse means an end to their income. They’ll cling to any excuse to collect on their last living targets.”

I nod against the pillow.

“But we will challenge them with everything we have,” he says. “All dragons must survive.”

Two weeks pass. I hardly sleep—especially not tonight.

I could die tomorrow.

The prospect has kept me awake for hours. At the window, I part the curtains and watch the silver half-moon through the breaks in the clouds. The owl constellation remains, but both wings are lowered. A meteor shower streaks across the night sky, passing harmlessly through the celestial realm. Somewhere up there, Noctu and Diu have reunited. Could they be celebrating? Papa would have thought so.

I peek beneath my bandage. The cut on my palm remains scabbed over. The doctor said it will scar. I clutch it close to my heart.

Finally, I am finite.

Abel breathes softly in bed. Lucky him. Confidence requires beauty rest. At least one of us should have enough of it to appear presentable in front of the slayers in the morning.

If the slayers choose to let me go, I’ll live an honest life. I’ll have no need for my greedy claws if they stop looking at me like the monster they once convinced me I was.

I’m not that monster. I never was. I did horrible things, yes, but as Abel said when he learned my secret, I shouldn’t have had to endure pain just because I could survive it. I finally believe that now. Guilt and shame still bruise my heart, but they are their own form of magic. They’ll turn me into a better person, if I only allow it.

And I will. If I can forgive Diu for what he did to me, I can forgive myself. I swear, I’ll never commit a crime again. I alreadyforgave Abel for his mistakes with Micah, and he forgave mine. We are flawed together.

Lucy whines sleepily from my pillow. I join her and Abel in bed. As on the first night we slept side by side to survive, I wrap Abel’s arm around my middle. He pulls me tightly to him, and the three of us share a good snuggle.

Wait awhile longer for me, Papa.

I have time.

I don’t care what you want. He’s coming with me. Our son needs to see what happens to slayers who reject the rules.

—Note left from slayer Étienne Houdin for his wife, Vanessa Houdin

Chapter Fifty-One

Abel

Everyone in this auditorium is here to denounce me.

It’s deathly silent—unnervingly quieter than the whispers typical of an archive building. The absence of archivists is an obvious tear in the fabric of the Slayers Guild, but six dozen master slayers glare at me from their seats as if I’m their next target. The seven slayers with the highest kill tallies occupy a long oakwood table in front of everyone else’s seats, a panel set up to interrogate and poke holes in my findings.

“This is a much bigger response than I expected,” I whisper to Marshal Payen.

“Marshal Bard’s input helped. Let’s make the most of it,” she replies. “We’re ready when you are.”

She and Lyle stand as witnesses to my left. Claire stands at my right and soothes a restless Lucy. I’m not alone in this. But my allies, even the Gendarmerie, can’t compensate for allies within the Slayers Guild, and I have none.

“Fellow Guild members.” I clear my throat. “Thank you for—”

“You look familiar.”

The slayer at the center of the panel leans his elbows on the table. A suns-spotted complexion and strands of gray in his brown hair betray his age—or in slayer terms, his experience. His gaze narrows not on me but on Claire. She tenses with recognition.

Étienne Houdin.