was no mountain She did not crest, no valley She did not sweep. Yet the Lady had no arms to reach down from the clouds, no hands to till the barren wastes below. And so She waited, watching, for someone worthy to bear Her mantle of starlight.
“Eventually there came a handsome youth, named Guzan, with hair that flowed like a river and skin as gold as sand. He was clad in vines of the brightest leaves, and globeflowers sprang up beneath His feet. The Lady of the Sky fell in love with Him on sight, and through their union, She bore flowers and trees, gurgling streams and crystal lakes. And, eventually, people.
“But the Lady of the Sky was never meant to love a being of the land,” Temujin continues, “and as a result, the children She bore had the weight of boulders and were fixed to the earth with deep roots that snaked beneath the soil. Even man, when he perished, was trapped beneath the loamy dirt. Bound forever to their father.
“Father Guzan saw how lonely the Lady of the Sky was, how She tried to reach out to Her children with light and warmth and rain, helping them thrive and grow, so He took pity on Her. He began burning the bodies of the dead, allowing their ashes to float up to the heavens and reunite with their mother. And, in turn, She made them into stars, so they could shine down on their father. The perfect balance.”
Temujin reaches into the black urn, extracts a pinch of ash, and throws it over his shoulder. “Be humble, for you are made of earth. Be noble, for you are made of stars,” he intones reverently.
The rest of the Shoniin repeat the mantra, and the words linger in my ears, familiar somehow. I know I heard them long ago, chanted by a withered voice in my memory, but I’ve heard them recently, too.
“That’s what you yelled from the top of the Sky Palace,” I say with a start, “the day you freed me from the zurig.”
Temujin hops down from the boulder and takes a seat beside me. “It was my mother’s favorite mantra. I thought it would make a good motto for the Shoniin.”
“It does,” I whisper, my voice scratchy. “It’s been years since I thought about how we burned the dead in Verdenet.” In Ashkar, the dead are wrapped in linseed oil cloth and buried in large mass graves, sometimes twenty deep. The last time I saw a funeral pyre was when my grandfather died, the year before our village burned. We danced around the flames for hours, until my skin was coated with soot and the straps of my sandals cut into the backs of my ankles.
The memory makes my heart twinge with nostalgia, but also burn with fire—melting away the skin the Sky King and his empire foisted upon me. Until I can almost feel the girl born of sun and sand underneath. A girl made of flame and smoke and heat.
Temujin steeples his hands and stares into the blaze. “There are many things we’ve been required to forget. Pieces of ourselves we’ve been forced to leave behind. But the Lady and Father’s story is your story too. More than any of ours.”
His words click into place inside of me—like a key sliding into a lock. This is who I am. Who I’ve always been. Before the monster. Before the Kalima. Before any of it.
According to Southern legend, Night Spinners speak for the dead. Our starfire is an embodiment of their wrath—a way to punish the wicked and exact revenge. That’s why I fought so hard to avenge my parents during my time in the Kalima. And that’s why being stripped of my power was such a devastating blow. The stars aren’t just an ability; they’re my family. The only connection I have to my past. If I’m able to carry them with me, I’m not so alone.
Why did I let this slip away? How did I lose sight of this most integral part of me?
“Thank you for this, for making me come,” I say softly.
Temujin clutches his hands to his chest. “Are you admitting I did something right?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far … but maybe you’re not all bad, deserter.”
“None of us are,” he says, looking me dead in the eye.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE DAYS RUSH AWAY LIKE A RAGING RIVER, TRAPPING ME beneath the current and washing me toward my impending mission. Which, on the one