Page 4 of The Breaker of Stars

With the force of the Fates, I wrenched myself from the reading and stuffed it all back down.

Panting, I braced a hand on the window. That reading of Ophelia—the one that showed darkness converging on Gallantia—was one of the last true readings I’d done when I first arrived in Damenal. Titus had claimed it as his own and instructed me not to conduct any more sessions while with the Mystiques.

I’d still tried when requested, but I’d burned herbs that would counteract any true reading.

And by the time I was truly attempting to read again—after the Battle of Damenal when my secrets were exposed—nothing worked correctly. My position with the Mystiques had been shattered, like a delicate pane of glass.

And Cypherion did not want to discuss any of it. No explanations, no excuses. I curled my fingers against the glass and breathed in deeply—just once. Then I let it go, as I let him go every time he turned his back on me these past few months.

Despite the way it sliced my heart right down the center, I let him go.

I had to let him go.

Releasing a breath, I looked out the window. Lumin Lake stared at me like a sheet of deep blue stained glass, roughly half a day’s journey away.

The temple containing all my earliest memories stood proudly on the cliff on the southeast side. Barely visible from here, sure, but I knew it loomed. As if it was a fate I couldn’t escape no matter how hard I tried.

Those pillars formed some contrived combination of safety and shackles. The two ideas melted together in my head, as they did every time I tried to pry them apart.

What was the truth?

How was I supposed to feel?

My chest ached.

The window was cold beneath my palm, but I let the sting settle in as the memories did. Diving in the lake during those early summers and playing on balconies swarmed by incense as the sun faded into stars. Stories and lessons and training to be the defense of the secrets buried within our sacred spaces. Slaps on flesh and loud, assuming remarks?—

I inhaled sharply, eyes squeezing shut and hand trembling against the glass.

Not those memories. You were rescued from those. Something within me tugged at the reminder.

I had few earlier memories than life at the Lumin temple. Fuzzy things that poked into dreams every now and then.

Bursts of laughter and bare feet on cobblestones, soft jungle moss between my toes and sunlight peeking through ferns. The earliest years of life that no one truly remembered in detail, mainly drowned by the polished marble floors and harsh instructors that came later.

I had more recent recollections, too, but the thought of touching them had my pulse racing.

I brushed them all away, one by one, and turned my back on the view of the temple. The good and the bad. Tucked it all into that dusty, worn box in my mind where the lid was peeling back at the edges from constant opening and closing.

Especially in recent months.

I’d hidden it away for good once I received the tattoo on my shoulder…until someone convinced me to open it up, one truth at a time.

It hadn’t been enough, though, I thought as I perched on the bed.

Curling my feet beneath me, I leaned against the pillows, full and feathered, despite the ramshackle state of the inn. I toyed with the corner of the soft sheets, my gaze automatically swinging between the door and the window every few seconds like I was some weak-minded, simpering young girl, desperate for a hint of acceptance.

I wasn’t.

I couldn’t be.

If I was, being back here would surely destroy me. I’d withstood barred cages my entire life, had learned what they were comprised of. I could summon their familiar iron-strength and forge it within myself.

My gaze caught on that cursed sleeping mat unrolled before the fire.

I’ll take the floor, he had said. Cypherion Kastroff was always such a stars-damned gentleman. I hated it.

No, that was a lie.