Page 43 of Fire to the Stars

“No. Just handle your business and stay surrounded.”

A carefree smile on my lips, I shake out my hair and bunch wrinkles into my skirt. In a city this big, there are bound to be flocks of stuffy, rich men eager to prey on a young, tired tourist.

Abel analyzes my transformation with a guarded expression. “Please only steal what we need. After that it’s just greed.”

The accusation stings a little, but I lock the hurt inside. I’m doing a good deed by helping him and Lyle. I’m not completely selfish.

“Au contraire. I deserve everything I can get.” I wink. “I only saved your life twice.”

Requesting immediate relief funding for a meteorite strike. Six dead, eleven still missing. Thank Diu the damage was not worse.

—Federal aid request from Esmé Blanchet, marshal of Plage Noire, May 1552 AA

Chapter Fourteen

Abel

She’s already walking away before I can reply with something witty. I rub the bridge of my nose.

Lucy squirms in my grip and yips after her.

“Enough, Luciole. Her presence isn’t integral toyoursurvival,” I hiss.

I push through the Gendarmerie station’s double doors. Gendarmes shuffle back and forth between wooden desks. One runs a finger along an elaborate city map pinned to the wall. Desk workers tear down old wanted posters and hang new ones. Several gendarmes disassemble their muskets and polish the parts. Poor weapons of choice for slayers—they take too long to clean and reload.

The broad-chested marshal—obvious from the gold trim on his uniform instead of silver—leans over a second-floor railing and shouts orders to a brigade below. I stand in the middle of the station, like a rock in a river, when the brigade marches out theway I came in. The marshal halts mid-turn back into his office, stony stare catching the slayer’s badge I hold over my head.

Knowing I have his attention, I pocket the badge. He points to a spiral staircase in the station’s corner.

Watchful eyes remain in my peripheral vision on my way up. My identity is on full display here. Helmet, too. I doubt a speaker of the Old Tongue would belong to the Gendarmerie, but Claire proved the knowledge can be stolen. The hairs on the back of my neck rise.

I close the office door behind me. The voices downstairs turn muffled.

The marshal drags his chair out from behind his desk. The wooden legs scrape on the floorboards. He gestures unenthusiastically to a chair across from him. I lower my pack and sit, containing Lucy in my lap.

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Marshal…”

Rubbing his temple with a gloved hand, the marshal nudges the brass nameplate propped on his desk. The skin around his eyes sags on his otherwise smooth, bronze complexion.

“Marshal Bard,” I amend. “I don’t want to take too much of your time. I assume you received a dove from Ravinfort’s moonmetal smith, Lyle Meteku?”

He lifts a coil of parchment from the mess of documents on his desk. “Ravinfort suffered a dragon attack until proven otherwise. I’m not interested in chasing conspiracy theories.”

“It’s not a conspiracy theory, Marshal. I was there.”

“Ascension Day is this month, Monsieur Estellio. I have zero resources to allocate to this.”

Damn. Ascension Day is in just a few weeks. It commemoratesthe end of the Dark Days—when Diu stripped humans of magic, turned them mortal, and Ascended to the celestial realm to fight Noctu. The calendar date changes every year, but it’s always in November, the day before the Ignition. The influx of celebrants will keep the Gendarmerie busier than usual. It’ll be that much harder for investigators to weed out the criminals who abducted Madame Afi, not to mention the dragon tied to her release.

That’s not my problem, though. Like his royal predecessors, King Philippe dictates that the Gendarmerie must assist slayers with the civilian side of their work. Evacuations to fire cellars, barricades, fire rescue, and so on. A national holiday is no excuse.

“I’m not asking for your help. I’m ordering it,” I say. “Those murderers took Lyle’s mother hostage to force him to give me a lead on a dragon inthiscity. They promised that in exchange for slaying it, they will leave her at the local church on the next Ignition Day.”

“Why would anyone need to take a hostage to get a dragon killed?”

“Great question. All I know is that I’m their target.”

“You. The dragon sympathizer.”