Page 35 of Fire to the Stars

My stomach hollows. “What did you do?”

He winces. “Before I left for Varsonne, Hanna and her brothers were defaming you and Micah in my shop. I defended you…loudly.”

Great. “Whatexactlydid you say?”

“The truth. That you’d ended your experiments, and you were hunting again.” He gives a sheepish smile. “I might’ve added a tiny embellishment, though.”

“Which is?”

“That your research is revolutionary, and that it will change the slayer industry forever. Rumors must’ve spread around town during my absence.”

“Lyle.It’s not your job to save my image.”

He gestures helplessly. “I’m an optimist, all right? I hoped that what happened to Micah…meant something.”

The way his stare falls extinguishes my urge to argue with him. I’m not the only one who wanted better for Micah.

“That explains it.” Claire whirls on me. “Abel, the assassins aren’t targeting the Slayers Guild. They’re after thecure.”

Too timid for a classroom, let alone a dragon. Needs more at-home instruction.

—Proctor’s remarks regarding slayer aptitude examinee Micah Estellio

Chapter Eleven

Claire

Abel’s expression shutters.

“No,” he protests. “The prospect of acuredidn’t get Madame Afi kidnapped.”

“You said it yourself. Why murder a town full of slayers only to pass a lead to you?” I reply. “Because it’s not about killing Hanna’s dragon. It’s about findingyou. The extortion is meant to ensure your next location. They want to stop your knowledge from spreading.”

Abel and Lyle fall quiet. I cross my arms, pretending to surveil Jordes again. The less I say, the more likely Abel is to fill the silence with facts about his findings—and whether curing Hanna’s dragon is feasible.

Lyle points to the dragon-skull helmet.

“Is that Micah’s?” he asks quietly.

I nearly faint.

“It is,” Abel replies. A cold look befalls his face, and in a horrifying instant I see him in a newer, darker light.

Micah—his brother—isn’t cured, nor waiting for Abel to find a cure.

Abel is hunting again because Micah isdead.

That’swhat awaits me if there’s no cure. I wouldn’t get a proper burial. I’d be a tally on Abel’s record, bones on display to restore dignity to the Estellio name. My skull would be the legacy he passes down to his children. It’s the slayer way.

Vomit burns my throat as Abel offers the skull to Lyle, who places a palm between the horns and releases a mournful sigh.

“My sincerest condolences,” he says. He tilts the skull to one side so the hairline fracture running up from the left eye socket is clear. “How did you cause this fracture? Dragon bones are nearly impossible to break. Ma has to grind them down.”

“All I know is that my experiments made him weak,” Abel replies.

Lyle frowns. “What’s in that journal, Abel?”

He stares with icy eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”