Page 7 of Starside

Murmurs spread through the crowd like wildfire. Why would the head of the king’s guard risk the quest across Starside? Lesser members of the guard have before, but never their leaders. They already have what so many challengers want—a home, food, riches, glory. The king gives them all they could ever need. Still … I suppose there are things even the most powerful person on this side can’t give.

The Questral is a journey across Starside, to the Land of the Gods, to claim a goblet of magic.

Everyone has their reason for going. Drops of magic can be used for medicine, or sold for riches, or—if an entire cup is swallowed—turn a human into an immortal. If they survive the Turn, that is. More often than not, humans don’t, so most challengers don’t risk it.

No, if a Questral challenger actually returns victorious, they come back heroes, and relish every drop, spreading their magic over decades. Entire villages have been pulled out of poverty by a cup of magic—their residents live in splendor while the rest of us starve and steal to get by.

Most of the Fifty never return at all.

Stellan did—but with an empty chalice. All he had to show for his journey was the sparkling metal that made the dagger I now hold tightly in my palm. People hated him, and questioned him, and so he became a pariah. He moved, but his reputation followed. The only reason he has any work at all is because his skills are undeniable. Still, he lives with little, when he could have returned with the wealth of the king.

I’ve always wondered why. I’ve asked him, of course, more times than I can count.

He’s never answered.

Kira jumps as the hawk unfurls its wings in a flash of silver. According to the Watchman, there are two hundred and twenty-six of us on the stone.

The ones who didn’t make it are strewn throughout the crowd, dead or dying. Their blood has turned the dirt into mud. Lesser members of the king’s guard start to throw the bodies into the flames beside us.

The man I cut down is one of them.

Bile crawls up my throat again as the fire rages. Memories flash, choking me. I want to look away—I want to run. I want to sink to my knees and retch. But I can’t be seen as weak. Not now, when the competition has hardly begun. I force myself to stand and watch as skin and bone and the flames themselves become nothing but heaps of ash.

The Watchman drags a bucket through the cinder.

One by one, he steps in front of each of the survivors—now, Questral challengers. I stand straight, gaze locked with Stellan’s, sweat spilling down my back, cursing all the fabric I’m forced to wear, until the Watchman finally reaches me.

“Will you participate in the Culling?” he says for the fifty-seventh time.

Stellan is still in view off to the side. This is my last chance to back out. My last chance to step off the platform and return to the forge. There’s work waiting for me. There’s dinner to be made.

His eyes are pleading. Don’t do this, they seem to say. Say no.

I break our gaze and say, “Yes.”

The major dips his hand into the bucket. His hot, sweaty thumb makes an arc across my brow, a crown of ash.

“In the name of the gods,” he says.

“In the name of the gods,” I answer.

He moves on.

And I look up at the sky. Right at those gods. I wonder if they can sense the fury in my bones meeting the heat of hope—boiling metal hardening into steel. A sword of vengeance being forged within me.

This is truly in your name, I think. This is for you.

Because I’m not going to Starside to get magic, or to kneel before our beloved gods.

I’m going to kill them.

2

I was ten years old when a goddess burned down my village like it was nothing more than kindling. Every night since, I’ve seen her eyes in my sleep, glowing silver with power. I’ve seen her metal-colored hair, and gem-encrusted skin, glittering in the light of the flames. I’ve seen the curl of her cape as she turned on her heel and left us all to burn.

I’m going to kill her, and the rest of the gods who have forgotten this side of the gates. Even if it kills me too.

Which means I have to survive the Culling. I have to become one of the Fifty. For them, I will survive anything. Even the haunted look in Stellan’s eyes as he watches me jump off the platform.