Queen of the Night Sky

Book 2: Starkeeper

by Amalie Howard

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure; Romantic Fantasy; Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology; Fantasy Romance

Synopsis

The sequel to The Starlight Heir and the epic conclusion to the romantasy duology that Rebecca Yarros calls, “a breathtaking, sexy romantasy full of twists and adventure.”

The Kingdom of Oryndhr has been saved by the will of the Royal Stars. But King Roshan, once Sura’s best friend and chosen love, has changed. She can sense corruption growing in him, and her own magic is being twisted by his command to dangerous ends. As dreams of her strange shadow guardian return in force, she is left unsure of her path—and of her heart.

When an attempt on her life leads to her rescue on the back of an azdaha, the dragon-like creature she once thought a myth, Sura truly finds herself in uncharted territory—in a land far beyond Oryndhyr’s borders. Everlea is full of magic, ruled by the deadly and enigmatic Night King, Darrius. And to Sura’s shock, Darrius is none other than the man in her dreams…and possibly her soul fated mate.

As a prophecy unfolds, the old gods awaken, and a war between kingdoms looms, Sura has no choice: she must fully embrace her destiny as Starkeeper and the entirety of her power before it’s too late. But all power comes at a cost…and darkness has a way of slithering into the smallest spaces.

Queen of the Night Sky is a lush, fast-paced romantasy inspired by Indian and Persian mythology, featuring:

• Open door spice
• “Why choose” trope
• Yearning and heartache
• Magic system inspired by Vedic astrology

Release date: March 17, 2026

Publisher: HarperCollins

Print pages: 464

Sample

Chapter One

Coban is hot. Desert hot.
I can’t help the grin that breaks over my face as the dry
wind hits my cheek when we step through the enormous
shimmering portal. Of course, it’s nothing like the first time I used a
portal to travel to the capital city of Kaldari for Prince Javed’s bride
contest—or the last time, when I came back alone to say goodbye to
my father and Amma.

Sands, the invitation that had changed my life seems like a life-
time ago.

I suppose it is. I’m a different woman now. A magi. Powerful in
my own right with the magic of the stars at my fingertips. Silvery
iridescence flickers over my knuckles as the simurgh inside of me
stirs, sensing my joy.
We’re here. Finally.

It feels as though a huge weight has been lifted from my shoul-
ders. I breathe in the desert airlike someone deprived of oxygen

for years.
The noise of the village hits me then as cheers of welcome rend the
air. The smell of sweet incense infuses the village as we step into
the decorated market square. Connected garlands of flowers stretch
across the space, and colorful yellow and orange marigold petals lit-

ter the ground wherever we tread. I can barely see over the heads of
the men marching in front of me, but my heart knows that it’s home.
Instead of the single runecaster and dozen guards I’d had before,
I now arrive in the presence of the king of Oryndhr. King Roshan
Acharia, First of His Name. Illegitimate son of the former sovereign,
King Zarek. Brother to the deceased regent Javed, the despotic ruler
who sought to bring back the worst of the old gods by using me.
Me, Suraya Saab, the prophesized Starkeeper.
The only natural source of true magic in Oryndhr for centuries.

As a result, we are accompanied by several dozen imperial sol-
diers, six runecasters, the full might of the entire kingsguard, and

a handful of attendants. The guards are all armed to the teeth with
jādū-forged weapons, not that we expect any kind of attack from the
people of my simple village, but one can never be too careful.

I’m no longer the humble tavern girl who had never left the des-
ert. In fact, I’ve seen enough of Oryndhrto make me want to settle

down for a while and just enjoy the tranquility of being still. Though
there doesn’t seem to be any sign of that happening in the immediate
future, not with this royal tour of the realm. It’s a necessary show of
strength to the four noble houses, that much is clear. Coban is the
first stop, but the bigger cities are still to come.
I’m still hoping that I can get out of that; Roshan doesn’t need me.
“Suraya! Sura, over here!”
I turn wildly, searching through the faces surrounding us, and
ignore the barked warning of the commander of the guard—Hamid,
formerly the leader of the now dissolved Dahaka—to propel myself
into my father’s arms. Amma is next, her round face already wet
with tears. Mine are quick to follow as I inhale her delicious, familiar
scent of wood, baking bread, and spices.
“Stars, I’ve missed you both so much!”
“My lady,” Hamid says, looming behind me, narrowed eyes on my
father. “Please get behind the guards with His Majesty. It’s not safe.”

I frown. “This is my home. I have nothing to fear here.”
“It’s the king’s command,” Hamid insists.

“Fine.” I want to roll my eyes, but Roshan’s protectiveness is noth-
ing new. In fact, I usually enjoy having the gratifying sole focus of his

attention, especially after we’d nearly lost each other, but sometimes
it can be excessive.
With an apologetic look to Papa and Amma, I comply, moving
closer to where Roshan is being greeted by the effusive alderman of
Coban. The local representative takes both of my hands in his and
bows. I don’t remember him ever being so friendly to me, but being
in the presence ofroyalty will have that effect.
As we are led to the village hall, once more surrounded by Hamid

and his very efficient kingsguard, most of whom are trusted senior of-
ficers from the Dahaka, I glance over at Roshan, who is immaculately

dressed in his ceremonial golden-threaded, amethyst-hued robes. My
heart instantly beats a little faster. Sands, he’s so handsome.
His dark hair is brushed back from his brow and his eyes are
lined with kohl. An elegant dusting of gold shimmers across his high
cheekbones, enhancing their sharpness even more. The faintest hint

of dark stubble over his hard jaw brackets that sultry and very tal-
ented mouth—the one he’d used earlierthat morning to my utter

ruin—making me catch my breath. The memory of those lips nearly
makes my knees buckle.
His head swivels, and his golden-brown gaze slams into mine.
“Stop it,” he whispers. The mouth that I’d been thirstily staring at
curls into a smirk.
“Stop what?” I ask.
“Ogling me like I’m a sweetmeat.”
I can’t help the snickerthat erupts from me. “I was not.” I totally was.
“Behave, my starling,” he says softly, though his eyes convey the
opposite. He loves it when I defy him, and besides, he knows what
that directive does to me. I despise being told what to do, even by the

man I’ve accepted as my sovereign, but in public, the rules of being
the future royal consort apply, which means I must be demure.
Or at least try to be. That was the promise I made, anyway.
“As you wish, my king.”
Edging out of reach, I lower my lashes as a tendril of my magic
wisps across his shoulders, down his muscular back, and over his

tight rear. He gasps, which he covers up with a cough, causing a so-
licitous attendant to dash up with a cup of water. Impishly, I don’t

relent, sending the sinful stroke of magic down his leg and then
back up, winding my way around his knee, over a rock-hard flexed
thigh . . . and higher . . .
“Sura.” His warning is a gravelly rasp as my invisible, playful
touch inches upward, nearly to where we both desire it the most.
“Yourfamily,” he grits out.
“What about them, Your Majesty?” I ask innocently, and widen
my eyes with concern. “They’ve gone ahead. Is everything well?” I
fight the urge to bite my lip at the strained look on his face. We’ve
toyed with my magic before in the bedchamber, though never in

public, and the power I feel over my poor, tortured king in this mo-
ment is practically indecent.

With no one else the wiser, I shift to cup his rapidly stiffening
length beneath his silk trousers and groan at the feel of him, even
via my magic. Holding his gaze, I indulge in a long stroke. Roshan
stumbles and hunches over, the back of his neck going crimson and
the veins in sharp relief on his forearms.
“Your Majesty!” General Clem Jinn, one of my few friends and
Hamid’s second-in-command, shouts. “Guards, formation! To the
king!”
As the guards form a defensive circle around us, I crouch down,
peering up at him with a sweet, solicitous smile. He sees right through
my act, glittering eyes that promise vengeance meeting mine.

“You don’t like it when I behave, Ro,” I whisper, my breath grazing
his ear.

He chuckles. “Stars, what compelled me to fall in love with a mag-
ical sadist?”

“I don’t know,” I reply cheekily. “Why did you?”
I stand up to shoot a glance at Clem, who has hurried over but
still stands a respectable distance away to respect our privacy, her
face stern as she scans the surrounding area for threats. I’d met
Clem during the games for the competition for the former prince’s
hand. Two outsiders, we’d bonded quickly, only for me to discover
later on that she’d been one of Roshan’s inner circle and part of the
Dahaka. Her deceit had been a hard blow, but I understood the pull
of duty and her loyalty to her cause above all else. It didn’t mean
our friendship wasn’t real, and I’d chosen to forgive her just as I had
Roshan.
I pat her shoulder. “It’s nothing, don’t worry. He has a cramp from
an injury. Give him a minute.”
She frowns. “When was he injured?”
“Er, yesterday?” My brain whirls. “During training.”
“He didn’t have training yesterday,” she says. “He was in the forge,
if I recall, with you. Did something happen there?”
I blink and inhale a suddenly shallow breath. Oh, something did
happen. The king and I had thoroughly defiled almost every available
surface in the castle forge to the point where I’d sustained temporary
minor burns on my backside that had healed immediately.
Worth it.
It’s my turn to blush when a smug Roshan stands and lifts his

brows, finally able to rise without an embarrassing tent in his trou-
sers. “Yes, Sura, did something happen?”

Clem’s gaze dances between the two of us before she lets out an
aggravated sound and rolls her eyes. “By the gods, can the two of you

keep it in your pants for once?” she mutters, keeping her voice low so
that no one else can hear.

“What can I say?” Roshan teases, winking at me. “She can’t re-
sist me.”

“You’re an arrogant pain in the ass.” I must say it much too loudly,
because someone gasps on the periphery as we resume our progress
to the village hall.
We are separated once we enter, Roshan striding to the front to
make his address to the townspeople. I choose to stay near the back,
ducking into a quiet corner. I’ve heard his speech multiple times since
his coronation in Kaldari: an acceptance of the transfer of power, the
condemnation of the coup that had nearly decimated the Imperial
House, and reassurance that the dark forces have been eradicated
from Oryndhr.
For good.
It feels like a step in the right direction to rebuild and to restore
the confidence of all the people in the realm. Coban was targeted

specifically by the former king because of me, so Roshan’s reassur-
ances mean more than he knows. I wave hello to a few Cobanites,

mostly old neighbors, some of whom stare at me openly. The notoriety
I’ve gained for my part in the rebellion still makes my skin itch, but
I’m used to the attention by now.
Who in Coban would have guessed that the Starkeeper would
have been Suraya Saab?
Even after a handful of months, it’s a heavy mantle to carry, and
I still struggle with the memories of how close I came to giving in
to the darker siren song of my magic. Like any power, it’s shaped by
the mind and hand of the wielder. Lost in grief and rage after Laleh’s
death and Roshan’s betrayal, I’d almost descended into darkness
myself.
With the amount of starlit magic I had in my veins, things could
have gone very badly for everyone in Endara. Our entire world might

have been destroyed. The risk is always there if I don’t continue my
lessons with Aran—Roshan’s cousin and a practitioner of formerly
outlawed arcane magic—to strengthen my skills.
Roshan has tasked him with training magic users from all the
houses, instead of keeping all magic and jādū use under the control
of the crown as his father had. Jādū is a finite resource in our realm,

but it’s like oxygen. It belongs to the people. Of course, there are reg-
ulations and laws in place around its use—never to harm—but we’re

making progress.
Sometimes, and especially here, in the familiar heat of my beloved
desert, I wish I could go back to the old me and my old life, when all
I cared about was not getting caught for forging illegal jādū blades.
But Zora, the goddess of time, waits for no man. She keeps marching
forward, no matter our secret wishes.
In recent months, I’ve become familiar with our pantheon of
gods, not just Saru and Fero—the gods of creation and death—but
others like Huma, the god of harvest and rain; the mischievous twin
gods of wind, Vara and Vati; and Ris, the stern god of the afterlife.

Goddesses like Zora as well as Anahima, the goddess of wisdom, fer-
tility, and war, fascinate me. Erased over generations by the ruler of

the Oryndhrian Imperial House who wanted to be worshipped as a
god-king, it was no wonder they had forsaken us.
A deafening round of cheering jolts me out of my musings.
“His Majesty is charismatic up there,” Clem says from where she’s
standing close to my side like an ever-present shadow. She is usually
the one assigned to guard me, even though I’ve insisted time and
time again that I don’t need it. She’s better off protecting the king.
I nod. “He was born to rule. Oryndhr is in good hands.”
She glances at me. “And if he needs you, will you fight at his side?”
“The waris over, Clem,” I say with a frown at hertone.
She doesn’t answer for a minute, but her mouth flattens as her eyes
continuously survey the room. “That doesn’t mean our enemies are

•

gone. We need to be vigilant, especially in Eloni and Veniar, and even
with the Scavs.”
“The Scavs?” I ask. “Their general is dead. They have no leader.”
“For now. They have been confined to the northern Dustlands for

the time being, but they won’t be held forever. We can’t underesti-
mate them again.” She pauses. “As compelling as the king is, he’ll

have to keep his crown with force, if necessary. There are many who
would see him off the throne permanently, especially in the House
of Regulus. A leaderless army addicted to Jade could be a boon to an
ambitious enemy.”
I shiver at the mention of the hallucinogenic drug that had almost
felled me. Twice. I knew the houses were discontent, questioning the
succession of the newly coronated king and hunting for creative ways
to unseat him. But at her words, awareness skitters over my tight
shoulders. “Regicide?” I ask.
Her face is grim. “Assassins are the greatest threat.”

Much later on and safe, thankfully, after too many hours of
food, fanfare, and celebration, Roshan and I are finally alone. I’ve
convinced him to spend the night in Coban instead ofreturning to
Kaldari, and while the rooms above the tavern have to accommodate
us and his personal guard, my father and Amma don’t mind. My
aunt loves having extra mouths to feed.
“So this is the workshop I’ve heard so much about,” Roshan says,
coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist as I
stare at the cold forge.
“Where all the magic happened,” I say, and turn to face him. I take
in Hamid and two other guards who are standing near the door, as
well as the shadows of others outside the window. I wish we could be
alone, but Roshan’s title comes with . . . an armed entourage.

“Magic?” Roshan asks, bending to nuzzle my temple. “Tell me
more.”
“I am a master bladesmith, you know,” I say, my body heating
at the gentle touch. “People paid good money for me to forge their

swords with jādū.” I wrinkle my nose. “Remember my old boss Va-
sha? He said I had a way with the crystals.” I lift a hand between us

and wiggle my fingers. “I suppose my magic manifested in its own
way even then.”
Roshan presses his lips to my fingertips, unexpectedly taking two
of them into the wet heat of his mouth. My breath hitches, every inch

of me intently focused on that scorching point of contact. I’m mes-
merized by the movement of his lips and tongue, shivering when his

teeth graze lightly over my skin. Heat gathers in my blood as I raise
my gaze to find his eyes smoldering with desire. With a tiny moan, I
sink my teeth into my bottom lip, and his stare darkens.
He releases my glistening fingers with a soft pop and glances
over his shoulder. “Hamid, wait outside,” he says huskily, walking
us backward until the backs of my legs hit my old workbench. The
sound of the door closing is the only sign that we are alone. Finally.
“You were amazing today with the people. They needed to hear
you say that they were going to be safe,” I tell him, gasping as his
palms slip under my thighs and he lifts me to sit on the bench. He
slides his trim hips, still wrapped in his ornate ceremonial tunic and
pants, into the space between my knees, making my pulse ratchet.
“You were very kingly,” I add breathlessly, when he tucks my legs
around him and pulls me flush against his torso.
At this angle, we both suck in a gasp at the snug, perfect fit of our
bodies. Roshan rests his forehead against mine, taking his sweet time
as he slides his hands down my shoulders and gathers my wrists in
his grip at my back. He runs his nose up the column of my throat. “I
like you like this, my starling,” he says. “At my mercy.”

Grinning, I lock my ankles, and he lets out a groan. “And you’re
at mine, my king.”
He crashes his mouth down, the kiss a near-violent tangle of lips,
tongues, and teeth, rife with hunger and dominance. It’s wet, hungry,
and wild, but so us, and I meet him stroke for stroke, desperate to
satiate the desire burning in my blood. He releases my wrists to cup
my face, gentling the kiss as his molten eyes burn into mine. “Gods,
you’re beautiful.”

“Ro, I’m aching,” I whimper, and wind my fingers into the wrin-
kled silk of his tunic. The runes on my arms begin to glow with

silvery radiance as the magic fires in my veins. “I need you now.
Please.”
He smirks. “When you beg so prettily, how can I say no?”

Our hands fumble gracelessly at the ties and buttons of our cloth-
ing. We’re so lost in disrobing each other that we don’t hear the door

slamming open until an urgent voice pierces through the thick haze
of desire. “Your Majesty.”
“Shit,” I say, grasping the ties of my tunic. “It’s Hamid.”
Roshan hisses through his teeth, covering me from view with his
body. “What is it?”
“Two of our men are down, Your Majesty,” Hamid says in a low
tone. “There are soldiers here, we don’t know how many yet, but they’re
fast and skilled. We need to get you back to Kaldari.”
Fumbling with my clothing, I sit up quickly and hop off the table.
“We’re under attack? Here? Is my family safe?”
Hamid’s dark eyes meet mine. “Men are already in the tavern.
There are . . . hostages, but I don’t know if any are your father or
aunt. They’re demanding to speak to the king alone. I suspect it’s a
thinly veiled ploy to draw His Majesty out.”
“Ro,” I say, stomach diving to my feet at the thought of Papa and
Amma being in danger. Again. “I won’t run and leave them. We have
to do something.”

His brow creases, but then he nods. “Hamid, take some men to the
front. Have Clem man the windows. We can shut this down without
any more casualties, if we are careful.”
“It’s too risky,” he begins, but is shut down by a ferocious glare
from Roshan.

“Ro, it’s best if you go with Hamid,” I say, and lift my palms, flick-
ers of magic sparking between my fingers. “I’ll stay behind and make

sure they’re safe.”
“Not an option,” he says, banding a thick arm about my waist.
“You stay with me. We do this together or not at all.” Sands, he’s so
stubborn, but the truth is I’d refuse to leave him, too.
“They’re probably watching this entrance,” Hamid says. “It’s what
I would do, and despite their skill, we don’t know if we’re dealing
with seasoned assassins or simply disgruntled countrymen.”
“There’s a back way over there.” I point to a small trapdoor in the
rear of the workshop. “It leads to a storage room, but there’s an exit
near one of the old jādū mines.”
“That’ll do,” Roshan says, just as shouts and sparks light up the
night. Magic arcs into the air from crossbows, thudding into the wood
of the building, and I can see the ice spreading on the inside from the

impact. Someone crashes against the door, and the sounds of clang-
ing swords ensue. Orange flames shoot into the sky as the earth

trembles.
“Go now!” Hamid says as the doors rattle. I don’t know when
he locked them, threading a metal bar through the handles, but the
workshop is secure forthe moment.
The trapdoor is a tight fit for both men, but they manage to squeeze
through before I yank it closed, throwing the inner bolts. Again, it
won’t deter anyone for long, but it will buy us some time. The storage
room is pitch-black and smells musty and unused, but I know the

small space like the back of my hand. We quickly clear the way, shov-
ing bags of sand, old tools, and metal sheets aside, before pushing on

the doors leading up and out. They’re rusty and the creaking sound is
loud. Hamid goes first—and the sounds of a scuffle instantly filter in.
“You stay here,” Roshan tells me. “I’ll go.”
Furious, I yank at his shirt. “I’m the Starkeeper. You’re the king, so
you stay put. I’ll go.”

I’m out the door before he can argue or stop me with some horse-
shit overprotective chivalry. I’m the only one with natural magic here

and he knows that. My starlight flies out of me toward the grappling

shapes on the sand and identifies Hamid at the last second. It inca-
pacitates the two other men immediately and soundlessly.

“Thanks. Are they dead?” he pants, limping back toward me.
“Unconscious,” I say, and glance over his shoulder, my magic
lighting their faces. Both men are unfamiliar—neither of them looks
like he’s from here. More sounds of conflict pierce the air, the noise
of two swords loud in the night. “Roshan, the tavern!”

Panicked, I start to sprint toward it, ignoring his hushed warn-
ings to wait. My magic crackles, the simurgh inside alert. There’s no

movement around the back of the inn, and I signal to the two kings-
guard to stay in their positions at the door. Clem is crouched near

a side window, her weapons at the ready, and Irun silently overto
where she is.
“What’s the status?” I ask, just as she demands, “Where’s the
king?”
“With Hamid,” I reply. “Behind me. How many assailants?”
“At least five,” she says, “with a dozen hostages in the main part of
the tavern. Aran is in there, too.”
My stomach roils, though I know Aran can handle himself. While
my magic is fueled by the raw akasha in my veins, he uses jādū—a

crystal form of magic—to amplify his runes. He is a more than ca-
pable master runecaster.

Unless there are too many of them.
Clem had said at least five hostiles, but more could be hiding out

of sight, biding their time. This whole offensive appears to have been
orchestrated very carefully, which means whoever is the leader in
there had to have had information from someone on our side who
was privy to our plans. They had to have known that we were staying
with a smaller contingent of guards. The knowledge is gutting—we
have a traitor, and it could be anyone.
“And my father? Amma?”
“Both inside.” She turns to Hamid. “You need to take the king to
safety. I’ll stay with Suraya and get the situation under control.”
“No!” Roshan snarls. “The Starkeeper does not leave my side.”
I flinch at his unusual vehemence, more so when his fingers fall
and tighten over my wrist. Despite the words being similar to his
ones earlier, they don’t evoke the same feelings of warmth. The edge

of anger feels more possessive than protective. But I have more press-
ing things to worry about than sifting through Roshan’s mercurial

emotions, namely my family’s safety.
“Calm down, caveman,” I mutter, and ease myself out of his hold.
“No one’s going anywhere until we can figure out how to defuse the
situation. I’m the least exposed. My magic will protect me, so I can
go in there and see what they want.”
“Suraya.”

I stare at Roshan. “Do you have a betteridea? They’ll kill any-
one else. What you three need to figure out is who leaked informa-
tion. Barely anyone outside our inner circle and your war council

in Kaldari knew that Coban would be our first stop or, even worse,
that we would be remaining here overnight. All the cities of Oryndhr
were told to prepare, but the order for the tour was only announced

this week to the aldermen out of an abundance of caution. This as-
sault was planned. These mercenaries are not disgruntled villagers.

People in many cities hated the previous regime and were punished
for it.”
The three of them exchange dark looks.

I don’t wait for Roshan’s assent before slipping around the side
to the front and boldly banging on the door. I can hear his growl of
displeasure, but with him, it’s always better to ask forgiveness than
permission. He’d wrap me in wool if he could and tuck me away like
a precious jewel. It would be sweet if we didn’t have any other option.
But there aren’t enough soldiers to storm the tavern, and even if there
were, the risk of innocents dying in the crossfire is too high.
“Open up!” I yell. “I’m not armed and here to talk!”
When the door cracks open, I walk in with both hands in the air to
multiple weapons pointed at me. I’m not too concerned about those,
but I am worried about the ones aimed at my father’s head. Aran’s,
too; he’s crouched down beside my father, blood spilling down his
cheek from a nasty cut on his temple. I scan the room, relieved to find
Amma sitting in one corner with no sign of injury or fear on her face.
She looks utterly furious.
I smile at her before staring down each of the men. More than
double the five Clem had initially counted . . . and there could be
more hiding.
“Who are you?” I ask them, trying to determine which one’s the
leader.
One sneers, a man with a half-shaved head and long upper braid
pointing a crossbow at my father. Him, then. “Where’s the false
king?”
I lift my brows. “The false king?” I echo. “He has a blood claim to
the throne, and I seem to recall he’s the one who saved your homes,

lands, and families from being destroyed by a usurper god who in-
tended to yoke Endara into subjugation.”

“We have no quarrel with you, Starkeeper,” the aggressor says,
though his voice is belligerent with skepticism. Stories of my power
have traversed the land, but men out here haven’t seen it. Most of
those who have are dead.

“But you see, if you have a quarrel with the king, you have one with
me.” I pull a nearby chair out, flip it around, and straddle it. “Now,
let’s be civil. I’m Suraya Saab. My father under your arrow is the
owner of this tavern. Who are you, and what house are you from?”
I can hear his teeth grinding from where he stands. “I am Sandar
of Eloni, House Regulus.” He points at a tall man with golden skin

and a thick auburn beard. “Alderman Rubias of Eloni, House An-
tares.”

“An alderman, my stars, and you’re both far from home,” I say
with an impressed expression. “What grievance do you have with
King Roshan, pray tell, that you attack him in my home under my
hospitality?”
“He’s a bastard,” the redhead grinds through his teeth, “and led
the Dahaka. The rebellion stole from us for years. He’s untrustworthy
and undeserving of the crown.”
I nod again. “Harsh words. But where were you during the battle
of the capital? Where were all your men who find it so easy to prey
upon unarmed villagers now? Does doing this—forcing people to
their knees in their own homes—make you feel powerful?”
“Kill the bitch, Sandar, she’s nothing but a traitor, just like her
king,” one of the other men growls from the side—a fox-faced grunt
holding a glowing crimson mace.
Seeing me staring, he lets one of the red-hot points on the mace
touch a hostage’s shoulder, making the poor man at his feet groan.
It’s Cyrill, I realize, one of the tavern’s regulars and the man who had
accompanied my father to the capital to save me from Javed. Cyrill
is kneeling beside my former childhood nemesis, Simin, one arm
around her quaking shoulders. They’d been dancing earlier in the
tavern, with Simin flashing her pretty new engagement ring. Silent
tears track down her cheeks.
I want to send them a reassuring look, but I don’t. I’m hoping to

end this with the least amount of carnage possible, and even with
the increased control I have developed in recent months, thanks to
Aran’s tutelage, my magic can still be volatile.
Because, if I’m attacked, my simurgh will defend me at any cost—
that is a certainty. She is waiting alertly under my skin, flexing her
wings with a flick against my senses as if to assert she’ll never let
anything happen to me.
“The Starkeeper is a lie,” someone else says from the back.

With a slow lift of my brows, I let my magic roll along my fore-
arms, the runes there lighting up in silvery symbols and spirals as

the akasha in my blood makes itself known.
“Parlor tricks!” Alderman Rubias says, his eyes full of suspicion
and contempt. “The monarchy is spinning stories to control us, to
control the houses and diminish our influence. The House of Antares
was on the brink of exposing the Imperial House’s lies and the seed
of their corruption.”
“By ‘seed’ you mean the dead Queen Morvarid?” I ask. “Because

as far as I know, she was the unhinged magi resurrecting a danger-
ous god.”

His face twists at my sarcasm. “She was the prophet who meant to
cleanse her house of the rot eating away at its very foundations,” he
shouts, a fanatical tone to his voice that makes me stiffen. “She was to
usherin a new age forthose who served! Who still serve!”

My breath catches at the last. Suddenly, the situation becomes in-
finitely more dangerous. Nihilistic arcanists are unpredictable. We’d

known that there would be pockets of Morvarid’s rabid supporters
lingering throughout Oryndhr, especially in Eloni, but to be faced
with them here in Coban is surprising. But it solidifies my suspicion
that this incursion wasn’t by chance.
“I was there,” I say. “I know exactly what the queen planned to do
and how she intended to do it. She embodied the rot you speak of,

and yet here you are, praising her. What is it you think you can do in
her name now that she’s dead?”
He glares, and I can sense the darkness of his spirit, roiling within
him. “Call in the false king. Tell him to surrenderto his fate or we
will execute everyone here, including your family.”
“You know I can’t let you do that,” I say. “Because if you hurt a

single hair on their heads, I promise you will find yourself in un-
speakable agony.”

He nods at someone I can’t see, and I feel the blade at my neck a
heartbeat later. Icy tendrils lace across my throat like eddies of frost,
but there’s something else imbued in the blade, not just ice. There’s
a power within some kind of underlying death magic. I quell the
instant roar of my simurgh and the burst of akasha in my blood that
wants to incinerate the steel at my throat.
Where and how would they have gotten a weapon like this?
Or better yet, from whom?

The man sneers. “You’re flesh and blood like any of us, so pay at-
tention. That blade will freeze your blood from flowing and eat away

at your organs if you so much as twitch in a way I don’t like. And
the little light show on your arms means nothing, Starkeeper.” He
spits the name like it’s a curse. “The oracle might need you alive, but
trust me, we can bleed almost every drop of you and still keep you
breathing.”
Exhaling, I blink. The oracle?
My gaze drops to Aran’s, and I see the alarm and suspicion spark
in his gaze. This is new. Despite Roshan’s hopes for a united peace

throughout the realm, confirmation of an antagonist changes every-
thing. Who is the oracle? I need to get the alderman talking.

“Such a good boy, following orders,” I taunt, trying to keep my

face neutral while my simurgh roils beneath my skin against the cor-
rupted magic it can sense from the knife still pressed to my throat.

Soon, I promise her. “If you’re not the true leader, then who is? This
oracle? Maybe the grown-ups should be speaking.”
“I am the starsdamned leader,” Alderman Rubias hisses.
“Are you sure it isn’t the oracle?” I press. “You seem uncertain.”
His eyes shoot daggers. “No.”
“Who are they?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he says.
I fold my arms, ignoring the razor-sharp blade cutting into the
flesh of my neck. I don’t do anything to heal myself, letting the blood
drip down my skin.
The alderman’s eyes snag on it and brighten. “See? The Starkeeper
can bleed. Now, get me your king or we’ll sever your spine!”
Knowing I won’t get more out of him, I let my lip curl. “No.”
It’s the only thing I utter before I let my simurgh loose. ...