Page 59 of Fire to the Stars

At first she doesn’t react. Then she steps behind her desk, lacquered ruby nails grazing the corner, and sits on the stool with her back to me. She lifts a paintbrush and resumes her work in progress.

A calendar of celestial events hangs next to the beaded curtain. Two suns mark the upcoming Ignition. Less than two weeks left.

“I need sleep powder,” I say.

“Anne-Sophie Travers had a teenage daughter. Your youth proves you a liar.”

My mask cracks as I fumble to rein in my guilt. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied. I need anonymity for…temporary reasons,” I insist. “Treat me like a normal customer. I want to buy sleep powder, that’s all.”

“Unless you have inquiries about your future, outsiders have no business here.”

“Please. It’s only a sedative.”

“Without a name, you are not a Dame Blanche. Liars do not benefit—”

I slip the moondagger from my bodice. In a flash, I have her curls in one fist and my weapon’s razor-sharp edge at her throat.

“Je me défends.” My mind spins with the memory of that blue-cloaked woman’s blood splashing my face, but I grip tighter. “Or have you forgotten?”

The most honest thing the Dames Blanches taught me is that society is a scam. Any theft, con, or deception is a stroke of intelligence to take pride in, the rewards of which are justly earned. Cheating society—cheatinganyone—is fair game, because society is only as fair as you make it.

So why can’t I cheat a sister?

Head bent back and veil slipping, my sister’s sharp emerald eyes glitter up at me. Her lip curls into a sneer.

“Greed runs thick in your veins,” she hisses.

Pain pierces my stomach. The taste of metal bubbles up my throat. Hot blood leaks from the hole where her thin spike punctures my skin.

She appeared so defenseless in front of her canvas. I should’ve anticipated she would hide a weapon inside the paintbrush handle.

She tugs her weapon from my flesh, which sends a fresh wave of nausea to my head. I grapple with the desk for balance. The moondagger clatters to the floor with me.

My sister circles the desk, stare turning as cold as Abel’s. “Je me défends.”

Curled up on the cold floor, I gasp for air, trying to clear the black spots in my vision. I press down on the hole in my abdomen with shaking hands. She kneels at my side, eyes lowered to the satchel on my hip. She sifts through the contents with mild interest—until she withdraws the journal, head tilted curiously at the protective cover.

“Please.” I cough, tears in my eyes. “Sell me sleep powder!”

“I see no future for you, false sister,” she says. “You won’t need anything.”

She unwraps Abel’s journal, then holds it to the candlelight. My tears spill over, body hot and trembling as her emerald eyes narrow on the name on the cover—then cut to me. They widen on the steam that rises between my bloody fingers.

Her smile flashes like the surface of a coin.“Dragon.”

She raises her spike. With the moondagger I snuck back into my hand, I’m a heartbeat faster. I push upright and slam it into her thigh. Her weapon falls to the floor with a clatter. Her scream vibrates under my free hand as I push her down.

“You were right, sister. Greed runs thick in my veins.Toothick,” I say, more confidently than I feel. “Don’t fight me, or I’ll have to fight back.”

A passerby’s laugh from outside the shop draws her quickstare. My sister’s eyes widen on the sign I flipped, but I don’t dare let down my guard. She could have more tricks up her silken sleeves. I retrieve the journal, but my hand stays firmly on the hilt of the dagger in her thigh, ready to twist.

“Tell me where to find your sleep powder,” I demand.

She points a shaky finger at the beaded curtain. “The palm-reading room,” she gasps. “Skinny black dresser, second drawer down. Enough to supply a dealer.”

I pull the dagger from her thigh, pushing the guilt for causing her whimpers to the back of my mind, then haul her to her feet. “Show me.”

With no small struggle, we enter the palm-reading room. Too weak to stand, my sister slumps onto the chaise. I open the dresser and take everything. Two jars of thick white powder, corked and sealed with wax. Enough of a supply to sleep through three Ignitions—maybe. Maybe not, based on Abel’s research, but this is all I can get. I tuck them into my satchel safely beside the journal, then withdraw my coin purse.