Stars Above: A Lunar Chronicles Collection (The Lunar Chronicles) (20 page)

The difficult part was making herself seem older. In order for a glamour to be effective, you had to believe that you looked as you wanted others to see you. And while Winter found it easy to change her tight curly hair or the hue of her brown skin or to make herself taller or shorter or thinner or curvier—making herself
mature
, with all the grace and experience of her stepmother, required a mental focus she was still developing.

She was getting better, though. Master Gertman praised her often.

Someday, she would be powerful.

Someday, she could be as strong as a thaumaturge.

She stared at the top of the servant’s head.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

The tutor frowned.

Rubbing the back of her neck as if she were embarrassed, Winter gave him a faint smile. “I’m just so tired. And distracted. Perhaps we should try again another day. If that’s all right, Master Gertman?”

His frown did not disperse. The servant made no movement, nothing to suggest she had even heard Winter or cared the slightest that the princess would not be manipulating her today. It was as though she weren’t there at all.

Finally, Master Gertman leaned back and nodded. “Of course, Your Highness. You should go rest. We’ll try again next week.”

She stood and smiled as prettily as she could. The tutor looked briefly flustered. “Thank you, Master.” She curtsied before leaving his office.

Jacin was still waiting in the hallway, just where she’d left him. He scrambled to his feet in surprise. “Done already?”

Winter shut the tutor’s door behind her and held Jacin’s gaze. His eyes caught the light of the enormous windows that lined the corridor wall. Her friend was becoming handsome indeed, and he would never need a glamour to improve upon that.

Her palms were suddenly warm and growing damp.

Her unexpected resolve frightened her, but she knew she wouldn’t change her mind.

“I’ve come to a decision, Jacin.”

He cocked his head at her.

All the best people—Jacin and her father and Sir Garrison Clay and the servants who smiled kindly in the hallways and did not seem at all bothered that they did not have perfect unblemished skin or dark, thick eyelashes—they did not use glamours. They did not manipulate the people around them.

Winter didn’t want to be like her stepmother or the thaumaturges.

She wanted to be like the people she loved.

She stepped close to Jacin, because no one else could hear her now. Because her decision would go against everything their society stood for, everything they valued.

“I will never use my gift,” she whispered. “Not ever again.”

*   *   *

It was easier than she expected it to be, once the decision was made. It required some changes of habits, no doubt. If she wanted a servant to bring something, she had to ask, rather than simply impose the request into their mind. If she wanted to look extra pretty for a party, she would call up a stylist to tint her cheeks and glitter her eyelids, rather than create the illusion in her mind’s eye first.

She never once forgot her vow, though. She stayed true to her word.

Master Gertman was confused as all the progress they’d made in the past years dissolved over the course of a single week. Winter was persistent with her excuses. She pretended to try. She was very convincing. But after every fake attempt, the servant would crease her brow and shake her head, as confused as the tutor.

A month after Winter had sworn off her gift, she passed that servant girl in between sessions and, for the first time, the girl smiled at her in a way that suggested a shared secret.

She wondered if the girl knew that Winter was only pretending. She wondered if the girl was grateful for her weekly respites from whatever manipulations were done to her by the rest of the tutor’s pupils.

“It’s called Lunar sickness,” said Jacin as they whiled away an afternoon in Winter’s chambers. Though rumors had begun circulating about the two of them and how they spent more time alone with each other than was proper, Winter and Jacin refused to be cowed by the passing scowls and snide remarks from the court. Besides, she knew her guards would never say anything. They respected Jacin’s family too much to add fuel to such shameful gossip.

Jacin slid his hand through the medical-studies holograph that shimmered in the center of the room. There had been a time when they would call up adventure stories and virtual reality games using the holograph node, but now more often than not Jacin wanted to study anatomy books and psychology texts instead. In a year he would be applying for an occupation, and his heart had been set on a doctor’s internship ever since Winter could remember.

Seeing how excited he got when he talked about it made her heart warm, but she also dreaded to think of the years he would spend away from her. He could be stationed at any med-clinic on all of Luna. There was a slim chance he could end up in Artemisia, at their med-clinic or in one of their laboratories, but it was more likely he’d end up in the less desirable outer sectors, at least for the first few years of his training.

Winter hated the thought of him leaving, even temporarily, but she would never tell him so for fear he would give up his dream in order to stay with her. She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if he did that. “Lunar sickness?” She cupped her cheek in one hand, sitting cross-legged on the carpet and staring up at the holograph. It showed a very dull brain diagram.

“That’s the common term. The official name is Bioelectric Suppression Psychosis.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s very rare. It happens whenever a gifted Lunar chooses not to use their gift for an extended period of time. The only cure they know of is … well, to start using the gift again.” Jacin’s jaw was tight as he swiveled the holograph one way and then the other. “It doesn’t come up very often, though, because why would a gifted Lunar forgo using their gift?” He glanced at her, and he seemed concerned, but not judgmental. He had never once, since Winter had told him of her conviction, tried to persuade her to change her mind.

“And what will it do?” she said, leaning back against the sofa. “This Lunar sickness?”

His shoulders drooped. “It will make you go crazy.”

She tilted her head to one side and refrained from laughing, but only barely. “Well, I’m
already
crazy, so that doesn’t sound so bad at all.”

His lip twitched, but the smile was halfhearted at best. “I’m serious, Winter. People who suffer from it have frequent hallucinations. Sometimes bad ones. Being chased or attacked. Seeing … monsters.”

Her playfulness drooped and she inspected the brain diagram, but it was just a brain. How frightening could that be?

“I already have nightmares and I survive them just fine,” she said. “I’ll survive this too.”

Jacin hesitated. “I just want you to be ready. And…” He fixed his eyes on her. “If ever you change your mind, I’ll understand. Everyone would understand. You don’t have to do this, Winter. You can manipulate people without being cruel, you know.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t think I was being cruel when I pulled that woman back from the ledge.”

Jacin lowered his eyes.

“It has to be this way,” said Winter. “I will accept this side effect. I will accept any amount of monsters my mind wants to give me, but I will not become a monster myself.”

*   *   *

She was beginning to think that Jacin had only been trying to frighten her with all that sickness and psychosis talk. Five months had passed and she felt more grounded than ever—more in control of her decisions and willpower than she’d felt her whole life. Her thirteenth birthday was on the horizon, and her choice to live only by the skills that did not require manipulation had made her more aware of what those skills were.

Politeness, it turned out, was almost as effective when you wanted someone to do something for you. And kindness went further toward lasting admiration than any amount of mind control.

Word was spreading, too, about her lack of a gift. Though no one could call her a shell, it was becoming apparent that her Lunar abilities were inferior to the other sons and daughters of Artemisia’s families. Some thought it a shame that their beloved princess was turning out to be so weak-minded, but others, she sensed, weren’t so easily fooled by Winter’s failings. The servants had started to give her appreciative smiles whenever she passed them. The looks of fear that she noticed in her stepmother’s presence ceased to exist around Winter, and this alone made her happier—and stronger—than any amount of tutoring had ever done.

There were changes, too, in how members of Artemisia’s aristocracy acted around her, though Winter sensed it had less to do with her gift and more to do with the growth spurt that had finally arrived, forcing the seamstresses to work overtime to keep her in hemlines that reached the floor and sleeves that didn’t ride up her forearms.

“Her Highness is growing into a fine lady indeed,” she had heard one of the thaumaturges say in court, and though the queen had snorted her disagreement, Winter had seen multiple conferring nods before she bashfully lowered her head. “Of course, no beauty could ever compete with yours, My Queen,” the thaumaturge had continued, “but we will all be proud to have such a beautiful princess in our midst. She does our court proud, I think.”

“She will do our court, and this family, proud,” Levana had said derisively, “when she learns to control her glamour like a proper member of the gentry. Until then, she is nothing but a disappointment.” She’d cut a glower at Winter. “To me, and no doubt to her father.”

Winter had squirmed in her seat, embarrassed.

But it had not changed her decision.

Besides, Winter’s instincts told her Levana was wrong. Her father
would
have been proud.

As for Levana herself, Winter couldn’t help but wonder if it was jealousy that had prompted her to lash out. Except, jealousy of what? That someone had called her beautiful, when everyone knew that Queen Levana was the most beautiful of all?

Absurd.

*   *   *

The queen—who had never acted warmly toward Winter, even when she’d been a child—grew even colder in the weeks that followed. Always watching Winter with wary eyes, her red lips twisted in annoyance. Winter couldn’t guess why Levana was inspecting her. She had very little concept of what she looked like, other than what Jacin told her and the compliments others paid. Mirrors had been banned in Artemisia since before her father’s death.

“You are looking lovely as ever, Your Highness,” said Provost Dunlin, brushing a kiss against Winter’s hand. She pulled herself from her thoughts and forced herself not to recoil. Though the gala being held in the great hall was crowded and loud with music and laughter, she knew her stepmother was always near and always watching. She would not be pleased to see Winter spurning the court’s respect. No matter how gross and slimy some of them made her feel.

“You are gracious as ever, Provost Dunlin,” she said, and though she smiled, it was a reserved one.

“My son has been paying you many compliments since we saw you at your birthday celebration,” he said, waving his son over. Alasdair was a little older than Jacin, but shorter and significantly rounder, and he could claim about as much charm as his father.

He grinned at Winter, though, as if he were entirely unaware of this fact, and kissed her hand as well.

“A pleasure to see you again, Alasdair,” said Winter.

“The pleasure is
all
mine.” Alasdair’s gaze slipped down to Winter’s chest, and her gut tightened.

She ripped her hand out of his grip—but her disgust was momentary. Another second and she was flushed with satisfaction at the compliment, pleased with the flattery. She
was
maturing, and it was nice to know that the handsome, eligible men of the court were taking notice …

Winter had to excuse herself to keep from turning into a stammering fool. She glanced up at her stepmother, who was watching her curiously, even as Head Thaumaturge Sybil Mira prattled on about something or other.

Queen Levana raised her eyebrow, and Winter hastened a curtsy in her direction before slipping out of the hall.

The feelings of flattery fell off her shoulders, slowly at first, then faster and faster until all that was left was a twist of loathing.

That filthy scum had been manipulating her.
Her.
Though she expected glamours from the court, only the queen and her thaumaturges ever dared to influence Winter’s emotions. Alasdair hadn’t even been particularly subtle about it, which repulsed Winter more, knowing how easily he’d caught her unprepared. She shuddered, feeling more violated than she would have imagined a basic mind trick could make her feel. She knew that some Lunars were able to put up barriers around their minds, but it took practice and a skill that she didn’t possess. She
hated
this court. She hated the lies and the fraud of it all.

“
Winter?
”

She halted.

The corridor was quiet here, though not completely deserted as women came and went from the washroom. Palace guards stood statue-like along the walls. She let her gaze travel over the lines of their faces, thinking maybe Jacin’s father, Garrison Clay, was among them—but no. She did not know any of these men.

Winter …

She shivered. Her breaths turned to tatters.

“Your Highness, are you all right?” asked one of the servants who stood nearby.

Ignoring her, Winter took off running in the direction of the voice.

It was him.
It was him.

She skidded around a corner, away from the private wing of the royal family, where she’d last seen him alive, and toward the guard quarters. The place where her father had lived before Winter was born. Before Levana had claimed Evret Hayle as her husband and tied their fates together forever.

Winter …

His voice rumbling and warm, just how she remembered.

Winter …

She saw his open smile. Remembered how tall he was, how strong. How he could throw her into the air and catch her every time.