Page 62 of Fire to the Stars

“I didn’t want to fight her,” she insists. Tears well in her eyes. “I didn’t…”

I hurry to the washroom and find a clean towel. Claire snatches it from me and hides the blood instead of pressing down on it. It really isn’t her blood, then.

“Did you kill someone again?” I ask.

She flinches. Is my tone too cold? I’m only assessing the situation. That distant look returns to her eyes, pupils dilated. Like the moment she saw the blood on her bodice at the riverside.

“It was self-defense.” Her voice rises with desperation. “What was I supposed to do? If I hadn’t struck back, she would’ve…”

“Killed you?”

Lucy nudges her hand, but Claire doesn’t seem to notice. She stays like that while I fetch the pitcher of water the maids left on our dresser. She doesn’t notice me returning with a full glass until I hold it directly in her vision. She averts her stare.

“I don’t want to cause pain on purpose,” she whispers. “I’m not you.”

The reminder strikes the air from my chest. She really has read the journal. She knows what I’ve done—and what I would be doing now if Micah hadn’t died.

“I didn’t view it as harm at the time,” I say, voice hitching.

“You drew out his suffering. You punished him for wanting to die.”

“I admit it wasn’t right.”

She bites her lower lip and remains curled in on herself. I set the water glass between us and run a hand through my hair, unsure how else to help her. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t. This could be another con, like the fight she started between those two men in Bourlin. Gaining my sympathy could be her way of making me help her cover up a murder.

“Don’t summon the Gendarmerie,” she begs. “Please. I just want everything to go away.”

I try for facts again, but with a softer tone. “Who attackedyou?”

“Just”—her voice shrinks—“a thief.”

I clench my eyes shut. Call me gullible, but I want this incident to go away too. The mere prospect of losing her leaves mychest hollow, and that’s aside from how helpful she’s been to me, Lyle, and Madame Afi. Besides, I understand self-disgust better than I want to admit. I don’t need her to speak the gory details of what she did today. The guilt is punishment enough.

“If you thought self-defense was your only option, I believe you,” I answer.

We stay like that. I feel moronic sitting here, doing nothing to help her. I think back to my life before Micah turned—when the Meteku family showed me what true family is—and search for a course of action I can apply to Claire.

Madame Afi offered comfort through simple, vulnerable gestures. Like when she hugged me after I tried on Micah’s skull for the first time. I don’t see why a gesture like that can’t help Clairenow.

I reach for her. She lurches to her feet, clutching the towel close. She slips past me to the washroom so fast, she kicks the water glass across the room. It cracks against the opposite wall.

Third rule of dragon hunting: Anticipate the target’s patterns and counter accordingly.

I stand and try to anticipate the pattern in her defensive actions, but all I see is that she’s in pain, and there’s no clear way to end it.

I knock on the washroom door. “Claire?”

She locks it.

I rest my fist and forehead on the door. The sound of clothes flutters behind it. Claire whimpers, like when she removed her bloody bodice. There’s a sudden splash, which means she didn’t stop to heat the basin. She must be freezing.

A change of clothes. I can bring her that.

I take a nightgown from her dresser, then hesitate by the door. This won’t be like the time we first met. She’s not teasing anymore. She wants distance. That I know how to give.

“I’ll leave clean clothes by the door for you,” I say.

After a pause, she forces a “Thank you.”