Page 48 of Fire to the Stars

“If onlyThe Tale of Starshad a verse for this.”

He must not catch my sarcasm, because he asks, “Do you know a good one for death?”

“Your mother isn’t dead,” I say gently.

“I want to mentally prepare, in case her survival is too much to ask for.”

A copy ofThe Tale of Starsis tucked into the back of the pew in front of us. The modern translation forL’Histoire des Étoiles. No author nor translator is listed on the title page inside the green cover. I flip the pages with unpracticed fingers.Lies, lies, lies,shouts the darkest part of my mind.Stories of magic and morals that protect no one from NoctuorDiu.

I find a familiar page near the end, inPart III: The Age of Mortality—the scripture dated After Ascension. Papa read it to me once when I was a little girl who wouldn’t stop crying because I’d never get the chance to meet my late maman.

“I like this one,” I lie, offering him the book. His eyes glaze with tears. “Would you like me to recite it for you?”

He nods.

“ ‘Life is, for mortals, borrowed time. Just as the flowerssprout 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.’ ”

Once I finish, I slide the book into the back of the pew. Thickness fills my throat. That passage, although written by the first generation of mortal humans, doesn’t bring comfort. It glorifies human fragility by suggesting our bodies will live on as another creation, the ingredients of our existence broken down and sorted back into the solar and lunar domains of magic.

Imagining my maman watching me from the stars once consoled me only because it consoled Papa. I was following his lead. Now all I see in the night sky is an unmovable owl constellation that means nothing to me.

“Thank you.” Lyle wipes his eyes. “My faith has been…slipping somehow. I sense it like I sense the density of moonmetal under my mallet.”

“It’s not greedy to think your mother deserves better, Lyle. You’re under a lot of pressure.”

“So are you.” He casts me a pained smile. “Protect Abel for me. He always tries his best, but he grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, so he’s not very street-smart.”

“Believe me, I know. We’ll keep in touch.”

I leave the church. The city stench is a welcome friend as I inhale deeper than any breath I took inside. Out here, I’mfree.The Tale of Starscannot touch me.

I’m not faithless, though.

I have faith in the journal of Abel Estellio.

Frighten your children, if you must. Teach them how susceptible they are. Deter them from a path of crime at all costs, for one act of greed endangers us all!

—Lament of the first dragon’s mother

Translated fromThe Tale of Stars (L’Histoire des Étoiles), Part III: The Age of Mortality

Chapter Sixteen

Abel

On the day of Micah’s first Ignition, before he turned, I’d been protecting him from our parents. They wanted him on slayer standby in the foyer with the rest of us, but I physically blocked them from going upstairs. Our parents, clad head to toe in their own equipment, glared at me with folded arms. Micah’s sobs echoed from the second floor.

“Let him go to the fire cellar,” I argued. “He isn’t even in training yet.”

“I’m training him right now,” my mother snapped. “Micah, we paid a lot of money for a custom uniform. Put it on!”

“He’s not meant for slaying! EvenThe Tale of Starsdoesn’t require slayer children to inherit the role. We imposed it on ourselves.”

“He will not lower our family to cowardice,” my father retorted. “Exposure will toughen him up.”

“He’sseven.”

“You weren’t scared at his age.”