All the Stars and Teeth (All the Stars and Teeth Duology) (26 page)

“You killed her!” The man’s breath is sour and he reeks of blood. His skin grows more ashen by the second. While he struggles to sit up and keep his eyes open, his grip no longer wavers on his dagger. He lifts it over his head and points its tip to my chest.

He’s twice my size and too heavy to knock down, but losing isn’t an option.

It’s him or me, and I refuse to die on this island.

I jerk my hips up with all the power I have, trying to throw him even more off balance. He tilts to the left and I use the momentum to reach forward and stab both my blades into his thighs.

He doesn’t scream. Instead, he chokes on a sob and the sound flusters me. The blade falls from his hands as I claw my way to a stand.

My magic flutters and festers as the sound of his pain sears itself into my memories. It’ll be there later, I’m sure, waiting for me when I close my eyes tonight. But if there’s one thing I learned from my performance in Arida, it’s that I can’t allow myself to be distracted while using my magic.

The poison and blood loss have rendered my attacker useless, and Ferrick, Bastian, and Vataea are holding the others back. I sprint to Bastian first. His shoulder and chest are cut, but neither wound is deep. He presses something into my palm as I pass—it’s nearly an entire handful of hair. I make a fist around it, welcoming the magic that thrums to life, warming me.

The man Bastian’s fighting watches me cautiously as I make my way to the fire pit. Bastian uses his distraction to knock him to the ground and throw himself on top.

“Last chance to save yourself. Where’s Kaven?” Bastian presses the tip of his blade against the boy’s thick neck.

He spits a wad of blood to the side. “You really think that will scare me?”

Bastian presses his blade deeper. “Probably not, but she should.” He points to me. I stand several feet away, at the edge of the fire pit.

The thick-necked man stares at me, then at the hair in
my hands. Realization widens his eyes. “It can’t be. There’s no way.”

“Oh, there’s a way.” I open my satchel and draw several teeth from inside. I wrap the hair around it, and then hold the bundle directly over the still-hot coals. Sweat beads over the boy’s brows.

The others have slowed, probably wanting to figure out what this boy’s outburst is about.

Ferrick seizes the opportunity and stabs his rapier into his opponent’s leg, knocking him to the ground while Vataea rushes the girl and wraps her hands around her opponent’s dark hair. She brings the dagger down, chopping half the hair from one side. Quickly, Vataea draws back toward me and offers it with a wicked sneer. I take the hair, but I won’t use it yet.

“I am Amora Montara,” I tell them as the coals begin to sear the back of my hand. “I hail from Arida. I am the kingdom of Visidia’s princess, the future High Animancer. And whether you choose to stand in my way or not, I will restore this island to the kingdom.”

I don’t think of the dead girl on the ground or the way the blond boy cried out when I struck the final blow. I don’t think at all. I’m in full control as I open my palm and let the man’s hair and a handful of teeth fall into the flickering embers.

The man beneath Bastian tosses his head back and yowls in pain. He doubles over and grabs at his face, clawing at his mouth in an effort to rip out his scorching teeth. The coals still burn, but since the fire isn’t raging, they sear slowly rather than burn all at once.

“
This
is soul magic,” I say as the man beneath Bastian shakes and sputters violently. His mouth bleeds from how desperately he claws at it. It’s more than enough blood for me to end his life, but he’s too distracted by the teeth that slowly burn his gums to still be a threat.

Now, there’s only one opponent left—the girl whose hair I hold. She watches the man screaming before her with round, fearful eyes.

“This is a very,
very
small taste of the things I can do,” I warn her. “I can melt your bones, destroy your fingers—one by one—rot your teeth, your eyes, your tongue. I am a monster, and if you stand in my way, I will destroy you.” I mean every word that passes through my lips, and this girl knows it.

“I’m only going to ask you this once,” I say. “Where is Kaven?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but never has the chance to give an answer. There’s a rustle in the trees, and the quiet snapping of twigs beneath boots.

Bastian’s grip tightens on his sword. His shoulders stiffen as the figure emerges, and breath flees my lungs. Somewhere off to the side, both Vataea and Ferrick inhale a sharp, surprised breath.

It’s clear to all of us who this man is, because he looks just like an older version of his brother. But where Bastian carries the kiss of the sun on his skin, Kaven has been raised and fed by moonlight.

He’s exactly what I expected, and yet somehow entirely different. While he looks similar to Bastian in the face, he’s taller, and lithe where Bastian is broad. He doesn’t look like an adventurer, or have the same coiled muscles that give Bastian his strength in a sword fight. His chin is lifted high and proud; if I didn’t know better, I’d say he almost looks like a noble. Everything about him feels intimidating.

Strands of gray travel from his roots and dust his inky black hair, and his cheekbones are striking on his gaunt face, sharp enough to cut glass. But it’s not until his eyes find mine that I buckle, the intimidation settling into my bones from the coolness of his gaze. I can practically see the calculation behind
his steel-gray eyes, and I understand at once that Kaven doesn’t rely on blades to win his battles. His mind is his weapon.

He combs long, bony fingers through his hair, and on his wrist are dozens of thick leather bracelets, smeared with maroon stains. I remember Bastian’s story—this is where he keeps the blood of those he’s cursed, like a trophy. It’s where he holds not only his power, but also Bastian’s curse.

The chance to break Bastian’s connection with
Keel Haul
and restore his magic is right there within reach. Taunting us.

My fingertips numb as a rush of coolness floods through me.

“Four intruders,” Kaven says, voice surprisingly calm, “and you couldn’t take care of them?”

Kaven’s frigid presence is enough for the man beneath Bastian to stop screaming, and for the dark-haired girl to drop to her knees in a bow despite the imminent danger. In her distraction, Bastian takes his chance to shove the pommel of his sword into the back of her head. The girl chokes on a gasp as she stumbles forward onto her face, eyes rolling back as she passes out.

Bastian wastes no time. He ducks around me, chest heaving as he arcs his blade and brings it to the skin of Kaven’s throat. Rage is in his jaw. His shoulders. His breaths. Bastian reaches to Kaven’s belt and disarms the dagger sheathed there, tossing it to the dirt.

If he’s bothered at all by the blade at his throat, Kaven doesn’t show it. His smile is slow and mocking. “Welcome home, brother. I never suspected you’d show your face here again, especially with the princess in tow.” Kaven’s voice is predatory, but Bastian doesn’t waver.

“Brother?” Ferrick echoes quietly, anger in his eyes. “You never told me Kaven was his—”

“I just found out,” I whisper to him. “And now’s not the time. It wasn’t my secret to share.”

Bastian nicks Kaven’s throat in warning. None of us move to strike, giving Bastian this moment with his brother to see what might happen.

“Zudoh hasn’t been my home for a long time. You made sure of that.” There’s a quiver in Bastian’s voice. “Look what you’ve done to our island. To our people. This needs to stop; break my curse and step down, or I’ll end you here.”

Kaven lifts his chin higher, and Bastian’s blade cuts deeper. Every movement he makes feels precise and calculated, as though his mind is constantly working three steps ahead of his words. “You want your magic back? After all these years, you wouldn’t even know what to do with it. It would eat you alive.”

“Maybe so,” Bastian says as he eyes the dozens of thick leather bands woven around Kaven’s wrists with hunger. “But it’s time I take back what belongs to me.”

The right corner of Kaven’s lips twitches upward ever so slightly. I’ve seen Bastian make the same expression, and while it’s charming on him, it makes Kaven look dangerous. “And how do you intend to do that?”

“Zudoh will be returned to Visidia.” I hold my jaw high, fiercer than I feel. “Give Bastian his magic, break his curse, and step down from your position as Zudoh’s leader. This island is dying. If you don’t let us step in now, it’s going to be too late.”

Kaven scoffs. It’s a soft sound, but it sends dangerous chills up my spine. “I’m more of an animancer than you’ll ever be. You Montaras claim to be masters of souls, and yet you don’t even understand your own magic. Don’t you wonder why it challenges you, constantly? Why it tries to consume you?”

“I know why,” I snort. “I know all about the beast that King Cato bested.”

Kaven’s next words are spoken casually. So confident and self-assured that they freeze me. “Are you sure?” he asks, eyes narrowing as he searches my face. Slowly, as to not scare Bastian
into using his blade, Kaven points behind him and toward a towering waterfall I can barely see in the distance. “Everything you need to know about your family—the truth behind your magic, the knowledge of what they’ve done to this island and to Visidia—is there.”

Bastian shakes his head in warning, but the magic within me pulses with hunger as Kaven gestures.

“That’s what you came for, isn’t it?” he presses. “Answers? Let me show you the truth; there’s no need to make me your villain. Bring your weapons if you’d like; only the five of us will go. The rest of you…” He peers at the others, most of them bleeding on the ground or already dead, and huffs a tired breath. Blood trails from his throat where Bastian’s blade still quivers. “You’re no use to me.”

His soul is a swirling mass of shadows and deep, peeling purples. Parts have begun chipping and fading, and I know not to trust him even remotely. But he’s right about one thing: I’m tired of scraping for answers. I set out on this journey to prove to my people that I’m the future ruler they need. But if I don’t know the truth of Visidia and its magic, then that will never be possible.

I approach Bastian and take hold of his forearm. “Drop your weapon,” I tell him. “I need to see this for myself.”

When he hesitates, I pull his arm back again until he lowers his weapon to his side. “Don’t do this, Amora,” he grits out as Kaven wipes his neck and draws back a safe distance. “You’re walking straight into the belly of the beast.”

“That’s fine,” I tell him, thinking of the shadowy one coiled within me, waiting to strike. “I know how to handle beasts.”

Kaven smiles at his brother. “Follow me, then.”

With so much of the land burned away, it doesn’t take long for us to cross the flat, wooded terrain. Cool air bites at my skin, and Bastian shivers. Though his sickness is getting worse,
he stays at my side as we approach the waterfall, movements rigid and stiff. His hand never strays from the pommel of his sword.

There’s a small cavern tucked behind the roaring water, hidden to anyone not specifically looking for it.

Ferrick hesitates as he squints at it. The rocks barely gap open; there’s no telling how small the space may be, or what might await us inside.

“We may have opposing views, but I’m not an uncompromising man,” Kaven says. “If it’s answers you want, you need only to enter. And maybe when you emerge, you’ll understand what it is that I want for this kingdom. But there’s room only for one, Princess. You’ll have to trust that the others will be safe out here.”

I practically snort.
Safe
is not something I’d ever associate with this man.

“How do we know it’s not a trap?” Bastian asks. “That no one’s waiting for her, inside?”

Kaven waves a hand at me, arching a knowing brow.

“I don’t sense any other souls,” I answer his wordless question with a shake of my head. “It’s only us.”

But is it, truly? The magic within me is fully awake, writhing and anxious, goading me toward the cave with a force I’ve never before known it to possess. Within it is something my magic wants more than anything else.

“Be careful,” Vataea says. “There’s something dark inside that cave.” She strokes the hilt of her dagger and glares at Kaven all the while. He arches a thin brow, but she refuses to look away. Kaven’s alone; against the four of us, taking him out should be easy. Yet he doesn’t appear worried. He stands with his arms crossed and his stance leisurely.

“Will you be okay?” I ask Bastian, reading the anxiety creased into the wrinkles on his forehead.

“I’ll be fine,” he says fiercely. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

“I’ll be okay.” I draw a breath and lift my chin. Though the others don’t look convinced, I pull my attention away from them and move forward. “If anything happens, yell for me.”

Kaven’s laugh is nothing more than a quiet huff of air. “Nothing will happen until you get back, you have my word.”

At the lip of the cavern, I turn over my shoulder to steal one more look at them all. “As I said, yell for me.”

The cavern’s darkness is blinding. A musty stench penetrates the air, thick enough to make me choke as I step inside.

Though the entrance is hardly large enough to fit one person, it widens the farther in I venture, expanding into a circular space just large enough to stretch my arms out. The only sound is the soft pattering of water droplets as they splash to the floor, and the only light is from strange translucent blue insects that hide in the far corners of the cavern’s jagged ceiling. A fog of light emits from each one, brightening the back space enough for me to get a glimpse.

Slabs of withered wood cover a small portion of the floor. Blankets of fur are tossed in heaps beside it, glistening with the fresh droplets of water. As I step closer, I notice that’s where the musty smell is coming from and scrunch my nose. But I don’t turn away.

Instead, I crouch to inspect the strange items littered across
the insect-rotted wood. Sharpened metal scraps and makeshift knives are coated in thick layers of dirt.

I narrow my eyes on one knife in particular, rusted by blood and time, and the beastly magic within me pulses with longing. I try to ignore the magic that gnaws at my fingertips, luring me closer and closer. I know what it is without question.

This blade is one of legend and lore. One that saved Visidia; one that created it.

I have sworn on this blade and its owner time and time again—Cato’s skinning knife.

I forget how to breathe. How to stand. I sink to my knees, and set my hand atop it.

“I can’t do it!” the man snaps.

I’ve never seen the first king, not even in pictures.

King Cato ruled centuries ago, and though all we have to remember him by are the stories that have been passed down since he established the monarchy, I know without a doubt it’s him before me.

His complexion is a light olive and his build much slimmer than the grand figure I imagined. He sits cross-legged in front of me, only my body isn’t mine. This body has skin that’s several shades lighter than my own, similar to Cato’s, and her frame is petite. I know myself as Amora, but I’m also this young woman, living through her thoughts and memories. I have an abundance of dark curls plaited into an elegant braid, though a few of them have escaped, coiled tight behind my ears or hugging my forehead and cheeks.

I let myself sink deeper and deeper into this woman’s mind, until her thoughts are my own.

“You must relax,” I tell him. The words that escape my lips are soothing, though I’ve no control over them. “Curse magic
isn’t as hard as you think it is, I promise. Just give me your hand.”

Cato nods as he gives it to me, but lines of worry embed themselves deep between his brows.

I draw his hand into my lap. “Think of what you want others to see. Think about it deeply, as if it’s a memory you’re recalling.” I press a needle into his finger. A small bead of blood bubbles to the surface, and I turn Cato’s hand to press his finger against a pebble laid before us on the stone floor. I dab the blood onto it.

Cato’s eyes squint shut as he focuses, only peeling his hand away after a hesitant moment.

“How did that feel?” I ask, and Cato’s lips twist into a small frown.

“It didn’t.” He warily eyes the pebble. “Did it work?”

I touch the pebble, waiting to see if a curse envelops me. When nothing happens, I fill my face with warmth and keep a small smile on my lips even as my shoulders slump, knowing this will upset him.

I don’t need to say anything for Cato to understand. He groans, fingers running through his chestnut hair and over his face as he pushes himself onto his feet.

“It’s nothing to get upset over!” I insist. “Plenty of people wield only one magic, don’t be frustrated.” But the truth is that his frustrations are something I’ll never understand.

When I was young, I discovered I had the ability to see souls, a magic no one else had yet discovered. And I learned that I had an affinity for other magics, too, like curse magic and the ability to heal.

For weeks I’ve been trying to teach Cato curse magic, but the only magic he’s been able to learn is the one I taught him when we were children—soul magic. Back then we kept the magic between the two of us, a bond shared between best friends. He used to love the idea of a magic only the two of us
practiced, and begged me to never teach anyone else. But in recent months, our magic has stopped being enough for him. Now he craves more.

I try to set my hands atop Cato’s arm, but he jerks it away with a grunt.

“Says someone with an abundance of magic,” Cato scoffs. “If a woman can master more than one magic, it makes no sense why I can’t.”

I reel back as if struck, confusion twisting my face.

“You say
woman
like it’s a dirty word,” I tell him sharply. “Remember that I’m the one who taught you soul magic, Cato. I’m the one who discovered it.”

Cato takes one look at me and his shoulders sag. He steps forward, cups my face in his palms, and kisses my forehead. My skin warms from the softness of his lips, and I relax into him.

“I’m sorry, Sira.” His voice softens several degrees as he drops his forehead against mine. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I just want things to be better for us.”

“We’re fine as we are. We don’t need an abundance of magic to have a good life,” I whisper gently.

And though I mean every word, his jaw tenses. “Magic is power, Sira. It’s respect. How good of a life can I give you without that?”

I lift my hands to Cato’s cheek, gently stroking my thumb across his stubble. “You worry too much, my love.” I offer him a gentle kiss before easing away toward a door, knowing he needs time alone to work through his frustration. “We’re fine now, and together we will only grow. There’s no use dwelling on the things we’ve no control over.”

I mean it kindly, but Cato doesn’t know I can still hear him when I step outside.

“No control,” he grumbles under his breath. “We’ll see about that.”

The shores are flooded with people—some of them fishing and others climbing up giant trees, laughing all the while. My heart leaps into my throat as a young boy clambers up one of the tallest trees only to dive straight off it. But before he’s anywhere near the ground, he blows a gust of breath down at the sand and the air seems to thicken beneath him like a pad. It rushes to meet him, bouncing him back up a few more feet. But when he bounces back up, he slows his body with time magic. He laughs, flipping in the air, moving so slowly it’s as though he floats.

His skin glistens with sweat as the sun beats down on him. When he finally lands back on the ground, he scrambles for the tree once more. Beneath him, a tiny blond child tries to copy him, breathing air at her feet. She doesn’t get any higher than a foot off the ground.

I weave pretty stones and shells around thin pieces of leather as the children play. I prick my finger with a needle, smooth the blood across the leather as I attach a curse, and let it dry. I’m making cursed necklaces for the local girls, to keep them safe from anyone with foul intentions. As I’m bent over my work, three children flock around me, one redheaded boy and two twin girls with russet skin and tightly coiled curls—Lani’s girls and Markus’s son. They’ve given themselves brightly colored eyes—pink, purple, and gold—and giggle as they coat my hair with a lovely shade of lilac. I don’t mind letting them have their fun, laughing as they banter over what shade to try next. One of their parents can fix the color for me, later.

On the grass across from me, Cato skins a fish whose scales still glisten from the sea. He’s been in a mood today, so I try not to pay him too much attention as he continually flicks his focus to me, his movements becoming progressively angrier until I’m too distracted to do anything but give him my attention.

When I do, he glowers. “Are you trying to make me feel bad about myself?”

I still, as do the children behind me. Gently, I press one of the girl’s shoulders and nudge them away with the promise of playing with them later.

“Of course not.” I look at him firmly. “Why would you even think that?”

Cato wipes away the sweat that’s pooled onto his neck. “Because you can sell your little cursed charms and protections, while all I have is the ability to fish. I already know you’re able to provide more than I can, so why do you insist on rubbing it in?”

I press my lips together and exhale a gentle sigh. “It’s not a competition. They’re just little protection charms. You’re the one feeding us, and your fish make more money, too. Hardly anyone is interested in my silly cursed charms.”

My stomach churns at the sight of the half-finished necklaces and bracelets in front of me. The shells that litter the ground are beautiful, just waiting to be cursed. I’d planned on making dozens of them, but now I can hardly bring myself to look at them, knowing how much they upset him.

Cato doesn’t say anything. He only glares for another moment before returning to his work. I continue with my curses, running a finger over the leather as I contemplate my words.

“Has something happened?” I make my voice tender, the way he likes it. “Have I done something? I don’t mean to pry, but you’ve seemed on edge lately, and when I happened to see a glimpse of your soul—”

Cato freezes. His head whips up, green eyes vicious daggers. I flinch back.

“We agreed to never soul-read each other.” Every word is enunciated, seeping with vicious poison.

A pale, sunburnt woman using magic to float a net over
her head and into the water stills, turning to eye Cato. I don’t recognize her, though I do recognize one of the men who takes notice and steps forward.

“Everything all right here, Sira?” His voice is a soothing baritone, thick with fatherly concern. Wrinkles crease around warm amber eyes that melt into his dark brown skin as Basil assesses the situation, and my skin heats with embarrassment.

“Everything’s fine, Basil,” Cato growls. “Don’t you have babies to heal?”

I ball my hands into fists, hating that he speaks to someone I care about so cruelly.

Basil ignores the snide comment by looking at me expectantly.

“It’s okay,” I murmur quickly, because I don’t want to risk Cato getting any more upset. “Cato’s just been a little stressed.”

Basil doesn’t appear convinced, but he nods all the same. “Glad to hear it. How about we let him work off some of that stress, then? If you’re still thinking of trying your hand at healing, Sira, you could come sit in with us for the day.”

Cato’s lips twist into a sneer, but he doesn’t look away from his fish. I gather up my things with a swift nod. “I doubt I’ll be any good, but I suppose it’s worth the try.”

Those words are only for Cato’s benefit, so he doesn’t feel worse about his inability to learn other magics. But the truth is that Basil’s words ignite a sharp desire within me.

All my life, magic of all varieties has called to me, opening up for my exploration. Though I was able to teach Cato soul magic, he’s no idea the extent of the magic I know, or the others I intend to learn.

And because I love him, I’ll never tell him.

Basil smiles and guides me forward, down the path leading up to Arida’s main town.

“You know you don’t have to put up with that man,” he
whispers after a long while of silence, keeping his voice low. “You deserve better.”

“I’m fine,” I assure him, as if saying it over and over will somehow make it come true. “Really. Cato’s just going through a tough time. Ever since we began talking about marriage, all he seems to think about is how to pave a better future for us. He feels people will respect him if he has more magic. He still thinks his soul magic is too weak. I’m worried that perhaps I’ve put too much pressure on him.”

Basil purses his bottom lip in surprise. “There’s no shame in being able to soul-read. You were the first to discover this magic, Sira. You should be proud of it.”

I bow my head with a small nod. “I am, I promise. Cato’s just been obsessed with learning something new, but nothing’s working. It’s been ruining him, making him draw away from me. I’ve been worried about him for weeks now, so the other night I took a look at his soul…”

Basil stills. “Did you see something?”

I wind my arms tightly around myself, wishing I didn’t have to recall the images. A thin veil of sweat coats my skin as chills rush up my spine.

“It’s rotting,” I say, barely managing even a whisper. The words sink my stomach, making it burn. “And it’s getting worse every day. Pieces of it are falling away, as if it’s disappearing. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Basil stretches a soft, wrinkled hand forward to take hold of mine.

“You be careful with that one,” he warns. “I fear no good will come from him.”

Late one evening, I wake to find that Cato is not asleep next to me, and the door to our spare room has been left ajar. I toe
at it, trying to silently widen the gap before crouching to peek inside.

The space before me is dark, free from even the smallest oil lamp or an open window to allow in the glow of the moon.

As my eyes adjust, I make out Cato’s wide-shouldered figure seated on the floor. His back is turned to me, and as I silently ease the door open a fraction more, the small creature in front of him becomes clear—a rabbit.

It shakes fiercely within its cage, cowering in the corner as Cato reaches inside. In his hand is the same small blade he was using before to skin fish, and the rabbit’s squeals are deafening as Cato flicks it across the creature’s leg, drawing blood. He plucks a strand of fur from the creature.

I cover my mouth, whether to prevent myself from screaming or throwing up, I can’t be certain.

Cato coats the plucked rabbit fur with the blood on his knife, holds it between his fingers, and then dunks it into a small water bowl beside him.

I’ve never before heard a sound like the rabbit makes. The gurgled choking of a creature struggling to breathe, trying to figure out why it’s drowning when nothing but air surrounds it. It makes a desperate, almost childlike scream that sets my hands shaking.

I toss the door open and kick the water bowl across the room, and Cato jumps to his feet in surprise. The rabbit takes a desperate breath, coughing and trembling as I run for the cage and scoop it into my arms.