Page 95 of Fire to the Stars

Never in my life have I felt this useless. But Lyle is right. Realistically, with my arm in a sling, there is nothing I can do foranyone.

“Pray for us, will you?” he jokes.

With the Gods toying with people’s lives left and right,the thought of entrusting my best friend’s fate to prayer makes me nauseous.

“Good luck, Lyle,” I say instead.

This time, leaving the station feels different.

Desk workers—even stone-faced Angéline—pause in their paperwork to watch me pass. Their stares drop to my sling, then the fat coin purse—Gérard’s bounty—that Marshal Bard gives me on the way out. Both are proof that I fought a dragon and lived to tell the tale.

My reputation is improving, but I don’t give a damn. Everyone I care about is dead, missing, or Diu-forsaken, and there’s nothing I can do but lick my wounds.

Except that’s not entirely true. Claire is still here, waiting for me at the door with a smile that I force myself to return.

She doesn’t need to know anything about Noctu, or his magic. It will only worry her.

For the next two months, her happiness is my only concern.

Only three magical species survived to see the post-Ascension realm. Tinderfoxes and silverwolves are understandable, given that their magic lends itself to survival, but for fawnas—a prey species—to emerge from the Dark Days unscathed can only be considered lucky.

—Sermon onThe Tale of Stars (L’Histoire des Étoiles), Part III: The Age of Mortality

Chapter Thirty-Two

Claire

Abel has been nothing but attentive during the last month, but this? This is excessive.

The full-length mirror gleams with my reflection. The gowndoeslook lovely on me. Midnight blue with a lacy train and a black-piped bodice that hugs my curves in a way that’s bound to make Abel blush. And if I pin up my hair? Leave a few curls to frame my face? Game over. Like I say, I’m a hunter in my own right.

The atelier’s owner fidgets behind me, her crinkle-eyed stare on my chest. “Perhaps you would like something with a different neckline?”

Ah, yes. My scar. Because I’m dragon touched.

“We have invitations to a ball at the palace tonight, madame. King Philippe and Queen Danielle will honor us for protecting Jardincourt.” I lift my chin. “I don’t think they’ll mind a littlecleavage.”

“May I recommend any accessories, then?” she asks.

Accessories? What kind of budget does she think we have?

Oh, right. A slayer’s budget.

This dress will cost a quarter of Abel’s earnings—and that’s after he split the bounty with the local orphanage to honor Gérard’s wishes. I never thought I’d say this…but this is too expensive. Who knows how soon Abel will find work after slayingme?

“No accessories just yet. I’m still deciding on the dress,” I reply.

“If you don’t decide soon, I’ll choose one for you,” Abel shouts from behind his changing partition.

When I’m not tending to his injury, he spoils me. Fancy restaurants, plays at the Salle des Spectacles, concerts at the Académie de Musique, sightseeing at art museums and historical landmarks. He told me he’s spending the money anyway, so I figure why not pick exactly what I want?

Abel emerges from his partition. Formal attire sharpens his posture: a white dress tunic and black trousers with a matching frock coat.

“I suppose you do have good fashion sense,” I remark. “How does mine look?”

Abel’s expression shifts from neutral to dumbfounded to neutral again in the space of a second. Hands on my hips, I wait for a compliment.

The tailor tugs at the fit of my lacy sleeves. Satisfied, she steps back. “I’d say it fits rather well, don’t you think, Monsieur Estellio?”