The Midnight Star (24 page)

I remember our laughter, the way we casually held hands, the unspoken feeling between us that we were, for a moment in time, free from our father's grasp.

“Sisters forever,” Violetta declared, in her tiny, young voice.

Until death, even in death, even beyond.

“I love you,” Violetta says, hanging fiercely on to me even as my strength dies.

I love you too.
I lean against her, exhausted. “Violetta,” I murmur. I feel strange, delirious, as if a fever had wrapped me in a dream. Words emerge, faint and ethereal, from someone who reminds me of myself, but I can no longer be sure I am still here.

Am I good?
I am trying to ask her.

Tears fall from Violetta's eyes. She says nothing. Perhaps she can no longer hear me. I am small in this moment, turning smaller. My lips can barely move.

After a lifetime of darkness, I want to leave something behind that is made of light.

Both of her hands cup my face. Violetta stares at me with a look of determination, and then she brings me to her and hugs me close. “You are a light,” she replies gently. “And when you shine, you shine bright.”

Her words are starting to turn soft, and she is beginning to fade. Or perhaps I am the one fading. The whispers in my mind are gone now, leaving the inside of me quiet, but I don't miss them. In their place, there is the warmth of Violetta's arms, the beating of her heart that I can hear against her chest, the knowledge that she will leave this place and return to the living.

Please,
I whisper, and my voice comes out as quiet as a ghost's.
Tell Magiano I love him. Tell him I'm sorry. That I'm grateful.

“Adelina,” Violetta says, alarmed as she continues to fade away. The feel of her is growing faint. “Wait. I can't—”

Go,
I say gently, giving her a sad smile. Violetta and I stare at each other until I can hardly see her. Then she disappears into the darkness, and the world around me blurs.

I feel the cold ground beneath my cheek. I feel the pulse of my heart die down. Over me, the looming figure of Moritas bends to enfold me in her embrace, covering me in a merciful blanket of night. I take a slow breath.

Someday, when I am nothing but dust and wind, what tale will they tell about me?

Another slow breath.

Another.

A final exhale.

T
here is an old legend about Compasia and Eratosthenes. As Violetta crouches, crying, over her sister's dying soul, she thinks of it.

Adelina had first told this story when they were very small, on a bright afternoon in the gardens of their old home. Violetta remembers listening contentedly while she braided her sister's silver hair, wishing her own hair could look so beautiful, grateful and guilty that she did not have to bear the consequences of it. Long ago, Adelina had said, when the world was young, the god Amare created a kingdom of people, who ungratefully turned their backs on him. Hurt and furious, Amare called on the lightning and thunder, and pushed up the seas to drown the kingdom beneath the waves.

But he did not know that his daughter, Compasia, the angel of Empathy, had fallen in love with Eratosthenes, a boy in the kingdom. Only Compasia dared to defy Holy Amare. Even as her father drowned mankind in his floods, Compasia reached down to her mortal lover and transformed him into a swan. He flew high above the floodwaters, above the moons, and then higher still, until his feathers turned to stardust.

Every night, when the world was quiet and only the stars were awake, Compasia would descend from the heavens to the earth, and the constellation of Compasia's Swan would transform back into Eratosthenes; and together, the two would walk the world until the dawn separated them again.

Violetta does not know why she thinks of this story now. But as Adelina made a bargain with Moritas for her life, so does Violetta find herself kneeling at the feet of Compasia, her own goddess, begging for the sister who had once cast her out, who had struck at her, who had nevertheless fought and hurt for her. She finds herself dreaming of the night they stood together, sailing through a sea and sky of stars.

Violetta aligns with Compasia, the angel of Empathy. And she makes a bargain of her own.

I am death. And through death, I understand life.

—
Letter from General Eliseo Barsanti to his wife

T
here is a small, singular light somewhere in the distance. It is brilliant and blue-white, something reminiscent of the color I'd seen when we entered the immortal realm through the origin. It is a light of immortality, a light of the gods, a star in the sky among billions. I find myself yearning toward it, struggling through the night in order to grasp that spark of warmth. I can see, for a moment, the world beyond ours, the heavens, the stars that burn alongside me.

Somewhere in the darkness, I hear voices. They are unlike any voices I've ever heard—clear as glass, mighty and deep, so unbearable in their beauty that I am afraid it might drive me mad. I think they speak my name.

As I draw closer to the beam, it splits into various colors. Red and gold, amber and black, deep blue and pale summer
green. They gather around me in shafts of color, until it seems as if I were on the ground and the colors surround me in a circle.

The gods.

Adelina,
one of them says. I know it is Compasia, the angel of Empathy.
There has been another bargain.

I don't understand,
I reply. They are so tall, and I am so small.

There is a feeling of light under my body, of wind and stars. There is the disintegration of my form. Then, there is sky.

You will.

T
here is a brilliant flash of light, and a ringing that reverberates outward from the origin. Raffaele falls to his knees. The world spins around him—the snow and monsters and forest all blending into one—and for a moment, he cannot move. Tears run down his face.

Through his blurred gaze, he sees the monsters slow in their attacks, their bodies hunched, their gaping jaws closed, and their eyeless sockets turned away. They seem confused, as if something had taken their energy and left them as hollow shells. One of them stumbles forward, letting out a low moan. Then it falls. As it does, its body disintegrates into tiny shards of black, scattering across the snow like broken glass.

The same happens to another creature, and another. All around them, the monsters that had seemed unstoppable
now crumble into pieces. Raffaele looks down toward the origin. The beam of light—the merging of the mortal and immortal worlds—has disappeared.

Raffaele takes a deep breath of cold air and tries to clear his head. Everything had seemed like a dream, a streak of events painted on canvas. What had happened? He remembers falling through the depths of a dead ocean into the Underworld, arriving on the still shores of another world. There were an infinite number of silver-white pillars reaching up forever into gray sky, and a black mist that shrouded everything around him, the tendrils of fog curling near his feet in anticipation of his death.

He remembers seeing his mother and father asleep, encased in moonstone. He saw old companions and friends from the Fortunata Court. He saw Enzo. He knelt at each of their feet, weeping. There was the sight of distant lights, his other companions that he could not reach. The gods and goddesses gathered before him, with their bright light and overwhelming voices.

Most of all, he remembers reaching into his heart and severing his connection to the immortal world, returning his power to the gods.

Had it
really
happened? Raffaele pushes himself into a sitting position in the snow. He holds out one hand. His grasp captures only the cold air, and his fingers touch nothing. There is an emptiness in his chest now, a lightness, and when he reaches out for his threads of energy, he finds that they are
gone. It is as if a part of him had died, allowing the rest of him to live on.

The Dark of Night is eerily silent. All that remains are the snow and the forest, the remnants of creatures slowly fading away, sinking into white. Time floats past. His vision sharpens. Finally, Raffaele finds the strength to stand. Around him are the others. He sees Lucent first, shaking snow from her curls, and beside her, Maeve, pushing herself up with her sword planted deep in the snow. Magiano crouches nearby, clutching his head. They must be feeling the same emptiness that Raffaele now feels, all trying in vain to reach for the powers that had once always simmered right at their fingertips. On instinct, Raffaele reaches out to sense their emotions . . . but all he feels is the bite of the cold.

It is strange, this new reality.

“It's gone,” Maeve whispers first. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and lifts her head to the heavens. A strange expression is on her face, one that Raffaele instantly understands. It is a look of grief. Of peace.

“Where is Adelina?” It is Magiano's voice now. He looks around frantically, trying to find her. Raffaele frowns. He had seen Adelina—he was sure of it. Her silver hair, glinting in the black mist; her white lashes, scarred face; her chin, always up. She had been in the Underworld with them. Raffaele scans the landscape, a knot tightening in his stomach, as Magiano calls for her again.

There she is.

There is a girl stirring nearby, her hair is dusted silver and white with snow, and it falls across her face. Raffaele feels immediate relief at the sight of her—until she lifts her head.

No, it is not Adelina. It is
Violetta
, with the snow hiding the color of her dark hair. The markings that had blemished her skin are now gone, and the color has returned to her cheeks. She shakes her head, blinking, and looks around. Her eyes are red from crying, but she is here and whole,
alive
.

Raffaele can only stare in silence.
Impossible.
How did she come here?

Where is Adelina?

Magiano has already struggled to his feet and is making his way through the snow toward her. “Violetta,” he calls. His eyes are wide, pupils dilated. He looks as if he can't believe what he is seeing. Then he embraces her, lifting her clear off the snow. Violetta makes a surprised sound. “What happened? How are you . . . ?”

Impossible,
Raffaele repeats to himself. How did Violetta return from the Underworld? She does not look like Enzo did when Maeve pulled him out, with pools of black in his eyes and an energy about him that felt like death. No, Violetta looks healthy and alive, even radiant, the way she had once looked when Raffaele first met her. He wants to cheer, to be joyous for her return—

—but her expression tells him otherwise.

Magiano puts her down and holds her at arm's length. He furrows his brow at her. “How are you here?” he exclaims. “Where's Adelina?”

Violetta returns his stare with an unbearable look in her eyes. At that, Magiano's smile wavers. He shakes her once. “Where's Adelina?” he asks again.

“She made a deal with Moritas,” Violetta finally says, her voice cracking.

Magiano frowns, still not understanding. “We all made a deal with Moritas,” he replies. “I was there in the Underworld—
we
were there, with the gods and goddesses.” He looks to where Maeve and Lucent stand, still dazed, and pauses to hold up one palm. He turns his hand over. “Like stripping a layer of my heart.”

Violetta looks toward the sky. She can't seem to bear meeting Magiano's eyes. “No,” she says. “Adelina traded her
life
.”

Even when the realization hits Magiano, he doesn't dare acknowledge it aloud. Instead, they all stand frozen in the snow, trying to grasp the weight of Violetta's words, hoping that Violetta is wrong and that Adelina will somehow emerge from the forest and rejoin them. But she doesn't.

Magiano gives an imperceptible nod, then releases Violetta. He slowly slides down to sit in the snow.

The first time Raffaele ever saw Adelina, it was a storm-wracked night that changed her life and, indeed, the world. He recalls looking down from a window in his Dalia lodging to see a girl with silver-bright hair, conjuring an illusion of darkness such that he had never seen. He remembers the day she first came to his chambers in Estenzia, when Enzo was still alive and she was still innocent, and the way she looked up at him with her uncertain, damaged gaze. He remembers
her test, and what he said to Enzo that night. How long ago that had been. How he had judged her wrongly.

Raffaele looks around the clearing, searching for one last figure. He looks high and low, hoping for footprints in the snow or shadows in the forest line. He wishes he could still sense the energy of the living, could pinpoint where she is. But even then, he knows that he would arrive at the same answer as the others.

Adelina is gone.

After she was gone, I sheathed her sword at my belt, draped her cloak over my shoulders, carried her heart in my arms, and, somehow, went on.

—The Journey of a Thousand Days
, by Lia Navarra

M
y name is Violetta. I am the sister to the White Wolf, and I am the one who returned.

It is a quiet journey back through the Karra passages. Raffaele had said that time in the immortal realms passes differently from time in our own world. What felt like a flash of lightning to us had been months for Maeve's soldiers—but even so, they stayed, faithfully waiting for her all this time. I look on as she smiles and greets her troops, as they cheer her in turn. Raffaele stands with the rest of us, his expression solemn and sober. Our return did not come easily.

There is an empty space between Magiano and me that pains both of us, a lingering silence that neither of us can break. We walk without talking. We look without seeing. We eat without tasting. I want to say something to him, to
reach out to him during evenings around our fire, but I don't know what. What difference would it make? She is gone. All I can do is turn my eyes skyward, starward, searching for my sister. Time may be different here, but my goddess made me a promise. A bargain of our own. I search and search the skies until sleep claims me, until I can search again the next night, and the night after that. Magiano watches me quietly when I do. He does not ask what I am searching for, though, and I cannot bear to tell him. I am too afraid to raise his hopes.

One starlit midnight, as we at last begin our voyage back to Kenettra, I find Magiano standing alone on deck, his head bowed. He stirs, then looks away as I join his side. “The ship is too still,” he mutters, as if I had asked him why he is awake. “I need some waves to sleep properly.”

I shake my head. “I know,” I reply. “You are searching for her too.”

We stand for a moment, staring out at the stars mirrored in the calm seas. I know why Magiano doesn't look at me. I remind him too much of her.

“I'm sorry,” I whisper, after a long pause.

“Don't be.” A small, sad smile touches his lips. “She chose it.”

I turn away from him to study the constellations again. They are particularly bright this evening, visible even as the three moons hang in a great and golden triangle. I find Compasia's Swan, the delicate curve of stars standing out in the blackness like torchlight. I had knelt at the feet of my
goddess, begging with a voice choked by tears, and she had made me a promise. Had she not?
What if none of it were real? What if I dreamed it?

Then, Magiano straightens beside me. His eyes focus on something far away.

I look too. And I finally see what I have been waiting for.

There, prominently in the sky . . . is a new constellation. It is made of seven bright stars, alternately blue and orange-red, forming a slender pair of loops that aligns with Compasia's Swan.

My hands cover my mouth. Tears well in my eyes.

When Compasia took pity on her human lover, she saved him from the drowning world and placed him in the sky, where he turned to stardust.

When Compasia took pity on
me
, she reached down into the Underworld, touched the shoulder of Moritas, and asked her forgiveness. Then Compasia took my sister in her arms and placed her in the sky, where she, too, turned to stardust.

Magiano looks at me, his eyes wide. It seems as if he already, somehow, understands.

“My goddess made me a promise,” I whisper.

Only now do I realize that I have never seen him cry before.

In the stories, Compasia and her human lover would descend each night from the stars to walk the mortal world, before vanishing with the dawn. So, together, we stare at the sky, waiting.

Over the span of a few months, the color of Magiano's remarkable golden eyes fade into hazel. His pupils stay round, unchanging. Raffaele's sapphire strands grow out raven black, blending in with the rest of his hair. His jewel-toned eyes, one the color of honey under sunlight, settle into an identical pair of emerald green. Maeve's hair, half black and half gold, gradually becomes pale blond. Michel's nails, once striped deep black and blue, have changed into the color of flesh. Sergio's eyes transition from gray to a forest brown. And the dark, swirling lines on Lucent's arm fade, lighter and lighter, until one day they are gone altogether.

The Young Elites were the flash of light in a stormy sky, the fleeting darkness before dawn. Never have they existed before, nor shall they ever exist again.

Across Estenzia, Kenettra, and the rest of the world, the last touches of the blood fever and the immortal world fade, leaving little difference between the marked and the unmarked. But you can never truly forget. I can hear it in our voices, the sound of another age, the memories of darker times, when immortal power walked the world.

Six months after we return to Kenettra, when twilight is descending on the day, I stop in the palace gardens to see Magiano swinging two canvas packs over the back of a horse. He pauses when he notices me. After a brief hesitation, he bows his head.

“Your Majesty,” he says.

I fold my hands in front of me and approach him. I knew this day would come, although I did not think he would leave so soon. “You can stay, you know—” I start to say, knowing my words will be in vain. “There is always a place for you in the palace, and the people love you. If there is something you want, tell me, and it will be yours.”

Magiano laughs a little and shakes his head. The gold bands in his braids clink musically. “Lucent has already returned to Beldain with her queen. Perhaps it is my turn now.”

Lucent.
Across the oceans, Queen Maeve had decreed her eventual successor to be her niece, the newborn daughter of her brother Augustine. Thus, finally, she was free to wed Lucent, returning the Windwalker to the birth nation that had exiled her for so long.

“I've always been a wanderer,” Magiano adds in the silence. “I grow restless here in the palace, even among such fine company.” He pauses, and his smile softens. “It is time for me to go. There are adventures waiting for me.”

I will miss the sound of his lute, the ease of his laughter. But I don't try to persuade him to stay. I know whom he misses, whom we
both
miss; I've seen him walking alone in the gardens at sunset, perched on the roofs at midnight, standing at the piers at dawn. “The others—Raffaele, Sergio—they will want to see you before you leave,” I say instead.

Magiano nods. “Don't worry. I'll say my proper farewells.” He reaches out and lays his hand on my shoulder. “You are
kind, Your Majesty. I imagine Adelina could have ruled like you, in a different life.” He studies my face, as he often does now, searching for a glimpse of my sister. “Adelina would want to see you carry this torch. You will be a good queen.”

I lower my head. “I'm afraid,” I admit. “There is still so much broken, and so much to fix. I don't know if I can do this.”

“You have Sergio at your side. You have Raffaele as your adviser. That's quite a formidable team.”

“Where will you go?” I ask.

At that, Magiano puts his hand down and turns his eyes up to the sky. It is a habit now that my eyes instinctively turn skyward, too, to where the first stars have begun to appear. “I'm going to follow her, of course,” Magiano says. “As the night sky turns. When she appears on the other side of the world, I will be there, and when she returns here, so will I.” Magiano smiles at me. “This farewell is not forever. I will see you again, Violetta.”

I smile back at him, then step forward and wrap my arms around his neck. We embrace each other tightly. “Until you return, then,” I whisper.

“Until I return.”

Then we move apart. I leave Magiano alone to prepare for his journey, his boots already turned in the direction where Adelina's constellation will appear in the sky. I hope, when he comes back, she will return with him, and we might see each other once
again.