Page 72 of Fire to the Stars

“I’m saying that I’ve accepted reality. I can’t separate the human from the dragon anymore.” I gesture to her satchel. “Honestly, I struggled to work up the will to kill Gérard until you admitted you read my journal. It’s all because you stayed.”

“Abel…I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to add. The slayer I was before Micah died would scorn the slayer I am now, but you know what? I don’t care. That slayer tortured his brother. He ignored the truth of the tragedy and tried to force logic from it.” I hang my head. “There is no logic. I failed him.”

“Don’t suppress your feelings.” Claire wraps her arms around my shoulders. “You’re allowed to mourn.”

The temptation to return the hug and lose myself in her touch screams at every bone in my body. Instead, I rest my head on her shoulder, close my eyes, and take a deep, steadying breath.

“The only way I was ever going to make myself slay again was if I acknowledged the unfairness of Gérard’s curse and offered him a few good final days before I must do my sworn duty,” I say. “Diu leaves me no other choice.”

It feels wrong to linger in a client’s comfort like this, but there is no dragon cure. I’m a slayer. No more, no less. I have no choice but to kill all victims of Diu’s curse to protect the people who will judge them for it. It’s not fair to anyone.

“I can’t help but wonder whether Micah’s curse was a test ofmygreed,” I admit. “If so, I failed terribly. I demonstrated the worst behavior humanity has to offer.”

“I wish I could make this easier for you.”

“Don’t. You said hypocrisies exist everywhere, including among the faithful. You were right.” My muscles brace against divine punishment, but the facts help me press on. “Slayers are hypocrites. We’ll never enforce the moral high ground if we continue our pattern of cruelty.”

Claire’s fingers slide into my hair as she pulls me tighter. Diu show me mercy for my greed, because the unbridled affection in that gesture compels me to return the favor.

“You’re not like the rest of the Guild,” she whispers against my ear. “You’re giving Gérard more happiness than any other slayer would have.”

“That’s the problem. The entire slayer culture needs to change. We can’t keep dehumanizing victims, or we’ll never be better than the Immortals were.”

Her voice cracks. “You want to change the Slayers Guild?”

“I have to.” My breath shudders. “We slayhumans, Claire. We’re murderers out of necessity, but murderers nonetheless. Compassion is the only good that can come from this.”

Maybe that’s what Diu has been waiting for.

Claire strokes my hair. “You’re not a murderer, Abel. What you do is a mercy.” A waver touches her own voice. “You don’t need to think of it any other way.”

I am afraid my brother is correct, to some degree; magic was too much for your species. A change to your way of life is necessary.

—Apology from Diu to the Immortals, before revoking their magic

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

Chapter Twenty-Five

Claire

Friends and families hurry toward their perfect viewing spot for the Ascension Day parade. The crowd bobs and weaves as I search the heads for Abel’s golden hair.

Cold afternoon air chapping my lips, I steal a sip of hot apple cider with a second cup warm in my other hand. The sweetness is sharp on my tongue in the best way, like a bite of Papa’s favorite red apples. We picked them together every year.

Soon, Papa. I’ll be with you.

“Claire!” Abel shouts. He raises a hand above his head.

I reach his side, where he stands on the street corner across from the clock tower. Gendarmes navigate the elaborately dressed crowd. They patrol the parade route in pairs, but a handful remain here with their muskets propped on their shoulders.

I offer him a cup. “One for Monsieur Abel.”

Abel stops rubbing his bare hands together to accept his cider.His reluctance to spend stolen coin on hot drinks faded fast. Ten minutes outside and he stopped feeling his fingers.

“Who was right?” I tease.