Page 12 of Fire to the Stars

The charred jewelry box I’d salvaged from the remains of Sellecastel’s largest farmhouse dug into my arms as I hugged it protectively, barefoot and shivering in a threadbare dress I stolefrom the wreckage of a neighbor’s house. Seagulls cawed and swooped from the sails of a schooner marked with a Florentian flag. The flag—a circle of stars on blue and red stripes—snapped against a gray sky. Sailors laughed while the birds flurried in a battle for bread scraps.

The city of Port-de-Chance jarred me with all of its activity. So many eyes to witness my actions. I hurried across the boardwalk, where a pawnshop waited. Just then, a crowd rushed to greet a muscular, clean-shaven man in full dragon-scale uniform. He paused his approach to the ramp of the nearest ship. His green eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

“Étienne Houdin,” his admirers whispered. “A hero among slayers.”

Stories of Étienne Houdin’s successes had always spread like wildfire, all the way to rural Sellecastel. Witnesses had lauded his attention to detail. Rumors said the man was a walking duplicate of the Slayers Guild’s many archive buildings. No one knew more about dragons than him.

The pawnshop would underpay for my valuables. The funds wouldn’t sustain me for long, I reasoned, so why not instead pay the man to help me find a cure? Slayers terrified me, but the damage my dragon form had done to my hometown terrified me even more.

Étienne yanked a moonmetal chain. A young girl, no more than thirteen, shuffled into view behind him, gagged and shackled at the wrists. Beneath a spike collar, blood slicked her throat. Terror swam in her eyes.

Étienne laughed at the sky. “Diu smiles upon Florent today!”

Cheers rose. The girl fell face-first on the planks. The collarripped her throat open. Steam poured out—the telltale signal of a dragon’s rapid healing magic. Étienne caught my eye with a smug grin, as if I were one of his enamored fans.

I stepped back—and yelped. My bare foot had caught a nail. I bit my lip to suppress my tears and limped behind a cluster of barrels to hide the steam that rose from the puncture.

That chained girl could’ve been me.

“Smile.”

I spun toward the voice. A fashionable woman with bright hazel eyes and smooth age lines watched the scene unfold. Her fingers clenched around a closed parasol, but she smiled at the girl softly, as if to take her own advice. “No matter what they do to her,smile.”

“The people of Port-de-Chance will sleep soundly tonight,” Étienne declared. “Upon the next Ignition, I will slay this dragon and return its fire to the stars!”

The mob roared.

The dragon girl looked around frantically, then caught my—no, the woman’s—gaze. She closed her eyes as if in pain, tears spilling freely, but stopped struggling. Behind her gag rose the tiniest hint of a smile.

Swallowing, the woman looked to me. “You will not find refuge with Étienne,” she whispered. “Ican help you, though.”

I took in her appearance more closely: silver ribbons that hid the streaks of age in her hair, silk gloves, neatly cobbled leather boots. She popped open the lacy parasol as the morning haze parted for the suns.

My legs shook, rooted to the dock. “Who are you?”

“My name is Anne-Sophie. You will call me sister.”

“ ‘Sister,’ ” I echoed. “Why?”

“What do you know about the Dames Blanches?”

I knew quite a bit.The Tale of Starshad a whole chapter based on their activities during the Dark Days. They were a band of Immortal women wronged by men, whose rage grew so powerful, their ghosts now lingered under bridges to ambush men in perpetuity. Ghosts weren’t real, of course, but the Church said the Dames Blanches demonstrated the fine line between justice and greed. Unsolved crimes often sparked whispers of a criminal organization by the same name.

“Are you talking about the sisterhood of thieves?” I asked, swallowing.

“We are far more than that.”

“I’m an honest person.” I stepped backward. “I’m not a criminal.”

“Is it a crime to retake your life?” Anne-Sophie leaned closer. “Diuchose to make you a monster, butthosepeople”—she cupped my face and made me watch the ecstatic faces of the dragon girl’s torturers—“those people chose their own fangs.”

Those peoplewere normal citizens. Laborers. Parents. Churchgoers, even. People who made a diligent effort to counteract their greed with offerings to the Church of the War-Torn Gods.

Yet at this moment they were worse than greedy. They worshipped the power of chains, blood, andpain.

Like the Immortals during the Dark Days.

“ ‘Before he Ascended, Diu said,’ ” I recited fromThe Tale of Stars, “ ‘See death not as punishment, for too much time corrupts the mind. Purge your realm of crime, O mortal kind; then I shall return my fire to the stars.’ ”