Page 37 of Fire to the Stars

“Then we’re finished here,” I say, eager to move on. “Find transportation to Jardincourt as soon as you can. We’ll find a way to reestablish communication there.”

Cradling Lucy like the impatient baby she is, I start for the river, where the fisherman appears to be packing up to leave.

“Mademoiselle?” Lyle prompts.

I turn, dreading another complication. “Yes?”

“Thank you for helping me. You’ve given Ma a fighting chance.”

I blink, then nod. “Of course, monsieur. Safe travels.”

We bid Lyle farewell. He enters the aviary, where through the window, I watch him scrawl out the messages. The yawning postman moves too slowly for my comfort, but he eventually releases the doves.

With all of that out of the way—and Lucy warm in my arms—the tension in my shoulders eases. I’m back in control of my con.

“Let’s talk to the fisherman.” I wink at Abel. “I imagine I can sweet-talk him into a ride.”

“You don’t have to accompany me for this. Like I said before, I can send a dove once I’m finished.”

“Please. As if you’d last without me.” I lean close to his ear and whisper, “Maybe you’ll need another bout ofsurvival.”

He clears his throat, nice and properly flustered.

I need the act. I need the bravado. I need him to trust me enough to protect him until that journal can tell me whether a cure is worth pursuing, once and for all.

“You were right,” he says suddenly.

I pause mid-wave at the fisherman. “What?”

“You were right to suspect something was off with Lyle.”

“Obviously. What did he do that made you believe me?”

“Lyle is a cutthroat businessman. He doesn’t give out his work for free. If it hadn’t been for you, that interaction could’ve sent me into a trap unawares.” The icy stare returns to his blue eyes. “Lesson learned. I won’t dismiss your warnings anymore.”

Do not seek to control the ebb and flow of magic. Adapt to the environment, as my silverwolves do.

—Lesson in creation magic from Noctu to the Immortals

Translated fromThe Tale of Stars (L’Histoire des Étoiles), Part I: The Book of Origins

Chapter Twelve

Abel

The trip to Jardincourt should take four days, but to my frustration, it lasts a full week. Claire managed to secure us passage on that fisherman’s boat with a rather melodramatic story about getting home in time for our supposed mother’s funeral. According to her, pretending we were siblings created the illusion that the old man had a chance with her. I was shocked when he dropped us off an hour downriver.

Nice to know I’m not the only one who’s easy pickings.

From there, Claire pickpocketed our way to full stomachs and clean clothes. We hopped towns in a zigzag to the west until we had enough coin for a carriage to take us the rest of the way. Not much movement toward saving Madame Afi just yet, but keeping Claire around was definitely the right choice to get my feet back under me.

The carriage hits a bump in the road and jostles our privatecabin. The driver outside the indigo cover cracks his whip at the two horses. We rock in our seats as the hoofbeats hasten.

“Not terribly smooth with his signals. Poor horses,” Claire mutters in her seat across from me, crossed arms tight. I have a feeling she hasn’t criticized him directly because we were short a few coins.

I glance up from Hanna’s notes. “You look nice, by the way,” I say, hoping to distract her.

“Well, aren’t you forward today?” Claire pinches the top of my papers as if to pluck them away. “What’s the occasion, Monsieur Abel? Finally graduating from hunting dragons to hunting women?”