Stars Above: A Lunar Chronicles Collection (The Lunar Chronicles) (21 page)

Winter … Winter …

“Winter!”

She gasped and spun around just as Jacin grabbed her elbow. She blinked the daze away. Looked back down the corridor, past the guard quarters, toward the servant halls.

Empty.

“What are you doing here?”

She met Jacin’s eyes again. He was looking at her gown, frowning. “Why aren’t you at the gala?”

“I heard him,” she said, taking Jacin’s hand into both of hers. Gripping so hard that part of her feared she would crush his fingers, but he didn’t even flinch.

“Who?”

“My father.” Her voice splintered. “He was here. He was calling to me and I … I followed him and … and…”

Her heart rate began to slow. Realization crept through the bewilderment at the same moment that Jacin’s confusion turned to concern.

Releasing him, she pressed a palm to her own forehead. No fever. She wasn’t ill.

Before she had time to be frightened of what it meant, he was holding her, telling her that it would be all right. He was there. He would always be there.

That was the first of the hallucinations.

They kept coming.

They got worse.

Hungry beasts crawled out of the shadows in the night, scratching at the floor beneath her bed.

Bodies hung from the chandeliers over the tables in the dining hall.

A necklace of jewels would tighten around her neck, strangling her.

Usually Jacin was there, as he’d been all her life. He would make light of it and force her to laugh about the absurdity of whatever trick her mind was playing. He would talk her through each episode with his steady rationality, leaving no room for her to doubt his words. He would hold her and let her cry, and it was during one of these embraces when Winter realized with all the force and clarity of a solar flare—

She was in love with him. She had always, always been in love with him.

*   *   *

“I brought you something,” said Jacin, smiling impishly when he spotted her. He was sprawled out on a bench in the gardens, his legs stretched out before him. It seemed he would never stop growing, even though his legs and arms no longer fit his body.

He was holding a white box that was emblazoned with the seal of Winter’s favorite candy maker.

Her eyes widened. “Petites?”

“Mom took me for new boots this morning and I made her stop for some.”

Winter hopped up onto the bench, sitting on its back so that her feet were tucked under Jacin’s knee. Though the biodomes of Luna were temperature- and climate-controlled, there was always an extra chill beside the lake, warranting the closeness. She did not hesitate, as soon as the box was open, to pop one of her favorite candies into her mouth. The sweet-sour burst of apples melted across her tongue.

“S’pose you wan’ one?” she said through her full mouth, pretending resentment as she held the box out for Jacin.

He smirked. “So generous,
Your Highness.
”

She wrinkled her nose at him and took another bite.

There had been a time—right after she’d realized how hopelessly in love with her best friend she was—when she had become awkward and reserved. When she had thought that she must become a lady when she was near him, as she was expected to be in the presence of any suitor … should she ever
have
a suitor. She smiled demurely when he made a joke and she touched him only timidly and she sat like a proper princess when they were together.

That time had lasted for about three hours, until Jacin had given her a strange look and asked what was wrong with her.

There was no point in pretending to be someone else now. Jacin knew every one of her secrets, every habit and every flaw. There would be no hiding them, and besides, those three hours had served only to make him uncomfortable, not enamored.

A cold voice cut through their candy devouring, shooting a tinge of anxiety along Winter’s spine.

“Winter.”

A single word, her own name, that brought more dread with it than a thousand threats.

Jacin jumped to his feet, swiping any candy bits off his mouth as he bowed to the queen.

Winter was slower to follow, but she, too, lowered into a curtsy as her tongue dug out bits of candy from between her teeth.

“Hello, Stepmother,” she said.

The queen’s glare was focused on Jacin. “You are dismissed, Jacin. Go find some way to be useful.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he said, still in his bow, and a second later he was marching away from them, back toward the palace. The stiffness to his stride made Winter curious if he was mirroring the strut of the guards or if Levana was controlling his limbs.

“Did you need something, Stepmother?”

Levana stared at her for a long time.

A very long time.

Winter could read nothing behind her glamour, her placid expression, her breathtaking beauty. She had heard some rumors lately that
she
, Winter, the gangly princess with the unruly hair, might someday surpass the queen’s beauty. She laughed every time she heard such nonsense, knowing that it could be only empty flattery.

Finally, one side of Levana’s lips curved upward. Maybe it was meant to be comforting, but it failed.

“Come with me, Winter.”

She turned and headed back toward the palace without waiting to see if Winter would follow, because of course she would.

“You are spending too much time with that boy,” Levana said as they stepped beneath the portico overhang and back into the bright-lit corridors of the palace. “You are getting older. You are no longer a child, and soon you will have suitors and perhaps even requests for marriage. You must be aware of propriety and expectations. That is your role in this family. That is the part you will play on behalf of the crown.”

Winter kept her eyes focused on the floor. Nothing the queen was saying was news to her, but she had never broached the subject so openly. She
did
know what was expected of her, and marrying the son of a palace guard wasn’t it. She ignored the fact that Levana herself had married a man from the working class when she’d been just a princess. Winter’s father. A lowly palace guard himself.

The sneers and derision from the court continued even to this day, thirteen years after their marriage and four years after her father’s death. It was a mistake that Winter would not be allowed to make for herself.

She would marry for political gain.

Jacin would go off and become a doctor and she might never see him again.

“Of course, Stepmother,” she said. “Jacin is only a friend.”

It was the truth. He was a friend, albeit one she would cut out her heart for.

Levana took her to the elevator and they rode it to the top floor, to the queen’s solar. A private place that Winter had rarely entered.

The room was beautiful—the highest place in all of Artemisia. The walls were made of glass and she could see the entire city, all the way to the walls of the dome and beyond into the desolate landscape of Luna. Far off on the horizon, she spotted the glow of the other nearby sectors.

It occurred to Winter for the first time how odd it was that her stepmother was alone. No thaumaturge loitering at her elbow. No simpering member of the court trying to earn her favor. Only a single guard was posted at the solar’s door, and Levana sent him away.

Winter’s stomach began to churn.

“Master Gertman tells me that you have not been improving in your lessons,” said Levana, floating around a desk. “In fact, he says that you have not shown any sign of the Lunar gift in nearly a year.”

Winter felt a sting of betrayal, though she knew it wasn’t fair. The tutor was doing his job, and keeping the queen apprised of Winter’s progress was a part of it.

Her tutor could not be blamed for Winter’s choices.

Lowering her gaze, Winter did her best to look embarrassed. “It’s true. I don’t know what happened. I thought things were going well, but then … well, there was that suicide. You remember? The servant who threw herself into the fountain?”

“What of it?”

Winter shrugged sadly. “I tried to stop her once before. I used my gift to bring her away from the throne room ledge and it worked. I thought I’d done so well. But then … after she died, it was as though my gift began to weaken.” She frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I try. I try so hard. But it’s like … it’s like my gift is broken.”

To her surprise, tears were starting behind her lashes.

Quite the actress she was becoming.

Levana sneered. She did not look even remotely sympathetic. “I had hoped you would progress well and become a useful member of this court, but it seems that you might take after your father after all.” She paused. “You are aware that he was not adept at his gift, either.”

Winter nodded. “Guards never are.”

She had no idea if her mother—her biological mother—had been skilled with her gift. No one ever spoke of her, and she knew better than to ask.

“But we do know, don’t we, that you are not as talentless as your father, because Master Gertman tells me that at one point you showed marvelous promise. In fact, he feels that you were once one of his most outstanding students, and he is as baffled as anyone over your current lack of ability. I wonder if this isn’t all due to some … psychological trauma. Perhaps pertaining to that suicide?”

“Maybe, but I don’t know how to fix it. Maybe I need to see a doctor rather than a tutor.” Winter barely smothered her own smirk. A
doctor.
What might they prescribe for the girl who was going crazy, who heard monsters clawing at her door nearly every night?

But she would not mention that. She knew what was wrong with her. She knew how to make the visions stop. But she wouldn’t give in to them. She was stronger than the monsters.

“No,” said Levana. “I have another idea, Princess. A bit of added motivation, to assist with your studies.”

She opened a drawer, smiling serenely. Every movement was graceful and precise. The queen moved like a dancer, always. So controlled. So lovely to watch, even now, despite the cruelty that Winter knew lay beneath her beauty.

She waited, expecting a lesson plan or some trivial instructions for practicing her gift.

Instead, the queen produced a knife.

The handle was carved from milky crystal and the blade was obsidian black. Like her stepmother, it was both threatening and exquisite. Winter’s stomach dropped. Her head spun with alarm, but her feet were cemented to the carpet. “Stepmother?”

“You will learn to use your gift, Winter. You will not embarrass me and this crown any more than you already have.” Pacing toward her, Levana held out the knife, handle first.

It took a while, but finally Winter forced herself to take it. Her hand was shaking, but she knew that she took the knife of her own will. She was not being coerced.

Not yet.

She had seen this scene play out dozens of times in the throne room. Criminals being sentenced to self-inflicted death.

“I don’t understand.”

“You are a very pretty child.” Levana’s expression remained poised. Winter’s arm still trembled. “We would not want to ruin that prettiness, now would we?”

Winter swallowed.

“Manipulate me, Winter. Go ahead.”

“What?” she squeaked, certain she’d heard wrong. She’d only practiced on malleable servants in the past. She wasn’t sure she could manipulate her stepmother even if she tried—and she wasn’t going to try. She
couldn’t
, not after working so hard to free herself of her Lunar instincts.

But what was the queen planning?

Images of her own throat being slit flashed through Winter’s thoughts.

Her heart pounded.

“Prove that you are capable of a simple little manipulation,” said Levana. “That you aren’t a waste of my time and my protection. That you aren’t the mockery of a princess the people of Artemisia believe you are. Just one little tiny manipulation, and … I will let you go.”

Winter looked down at the knife in her hand.

“Or,” Levana continued, her tone sharpening, “if you fail, I will give you a new reason to practice your glamour. I will give you something to
hide.
Believe me, I know how strong that motivation can be. Do you understand?”

Winter did not understand.

She nodded anyway.

Her fingers tightened around the cool handle.

“Go on, then. I will even let you choose what manipulation you will perform. A glamour. An emotion. Make me take that knife back from you if you can. I won’t fight you.” Levana’s smile was patient, almost maternal, if Winter had known what a maternal smile looked like.

It took a long, long time for the smile to fade.

A long, long time for Winter to consider her choice.

Her decision.

Her vow.

I will never use my gift. Not ever again.

“I’m sorry,” Winter whispered around her dry throat. “I cannot.”

The queen held her gaze. Passive at first, before Winter saw fury spark in her eyes, an anger that burned hot with loathing. But it soon faded, smothered with mere disappointment.

“So be it.”

Winter flinched as her hand began to move of its own accord. She slammed her eyes shut against Levana’s detached expression and saw the vision again. A deep cut in her throat. Blood spilling across the floor.

Her breath caught as the tip of the blade grazed her neck. Her body went rigid.

But the knife didn’t cut her throat. It continued up, up, until the sharp point settled against the corner of her right eye.

Her gut twisted. Her pulse thundered.

She gasped as the blade cut into the soft flesh beneath her eye and was dragged slowly down her cheek. She could feel tears welling behind her eyelids from the stinging-hot pain, but she kept her eyes shut and refused to let them fall.

The blade stopped at her jaw and her hand lowered, taking the knife with it.

Winter gulped down a shuddering breath, dizzy with horror, and opened her eyes.

She was not dead. She had not lost an eye. She could feel blood dripping down her cheek and throat and catching on the collar of her dress, but it was only a single cut. It was only blood.