When Stars Die (The Stars Trilogy) (11 page)

Nathaniel keeps glancing at her hand. Even in a dull dress of gray wool, she is a pretty little thing with her sunshine hair and skin as pale and lovely as Colette’s. If Nathaniel’s interest in her never wanes, he’ll have made a fine catch of her.

“Oh, Nathaniel, look at the snowflakes!” Isis says, pointing at a few falling from the sky. She grabs his hands and starts twirling him beneath a portal. “I wish you didn’t have to go home, then we could twirl forever.”

Nathaniel, being a typical eight-year-old, doesn’t try to satiate her worries. Instead he rids of them completely with a more palatable option. “Let’s build snowmen that look like each other, Isis.” He grabs her hand and gently leads her down the cathedral’s steps slick with ice and snow. An enormous smile plasters his face. “Then maybe I’ll give you a kiss.” I don’t know where he got that bit of cheek, but I could use some.

Isis grabs a bunch of snow in her small hands and tosses a ball at Nathaniel. “Not if I kiss you first!”

Their joviality, their ability to forget the world around them, sickens me. I cannot handle a fictional world, no matter how desperately I want to build one for myself. Reality is all there is for me. For the moment, I’m fine with that, so I face Oliver, who is the realest thing at this moment for me, someone who will not wrap reality in a pretty bow for me as he coaxes me to forget the world with a cup of hot tea.

Whether it’s the unbearable snow, or the gray sky, I don’t know, but Oliver looks different today, more sullen than usual. Or maybe he just doesn’t look right in a country suit. I’m more used to seeing him in white priest robes, lined with gold threads that curl together to form the words of an ancient tongue that no longer exists. I move closer to him, if only to block out some of the biting wind.

Maybe he’s upset that he won’t get a chance to know what it’s like to kiss me. Then again, I can’t imagine that could be it, for he doesn’t really know if I would have kissed him yesterday or not. It is too late to give him an answer. He’s better off not knowing.

Then again, perhaps he is upset that I’m going home. In spite of believing this is the best for me, maybe the reality of the situation has hit him too. “I haven’t forgotten our promise, Olly,” I say. “I’m still going to keep it, even if I’m gone from here for five years.”

Oliver looks at me and sighs. “Amelia…” He fidgets with the buttons on his cuffs, then pulls out a blue scarf from his pocket and wraps it snug around his neck. “I told you to forget about that promise.”

Now I feel reality slipping away from me, pushing me in the land of delusion over this comment. “Am I being that foolish to want to hold on to a promise that suggests my being professed is still possible? Why should I forget it? Even if it takes me ten, twenty, or fifty years, that promise can still stand.” My voice softens, the buried tears threatening to surface. “And it’s what Colette would want.”

His shoulders slump. Sympathy surfaces in his tone that makes me feel like a child being told that her daddy isn’t dead but in a deep sleep. “I know it’s hard, Amelia, and I don’t expect it to be any other way for you. I understand that. I truly do. But…” He looks out to a point beyond the city that only he can see. “Colette, I think her mind is gone…for good.”

Either outside has gotten colder, or there is an iciness to Oliver’s words that shouldn’t be there. “What do you mean her mind is gone?”

“She has been in this unresponsive state for far too long, Amelia. Well, long in the eyes of the Professed Order. The physicians have tested her every waking moment. They can’t get her to respond to anything.”

I grab Oliver’s hand with both of mine and squeeze it. “What are you trying to say? Don’t mince words with me. I don’t need that right now.”

“Mother Aurelia believes it would be best to move Colette to an asylum.” His eyes widen. “There isn’t anything else they can do for her. There is a slew of girls who are moving up a level, and one of them could use her room. She isn’t doing any good here, especially not in this chill. They’re thinking of moving her to an asylum by the ocean, somewhere she might respond to. Somewhere warmer, though Warbele is hardly a warm country in the first place.”

“An asylum…” The words are a hot poker to my tongue. Colette warned me to keep the shadows to myself for the very reason of being sent to an asylum. Now the Professed Order wants to send her to one because she has become a burden to them. One moment Colette is a charming girl who smiles and engages in intellectual banter with the Professed Order, and the next she is like an elderly lady who has been forgotten, her glory days so far behind her it’s as if they never existed. “You can’t let them do this to her, Olly.”

Oliver loosens his scarf, keeping his eyes on that point I can’t see. “This is what’s best for her, Amelia. She hasn’t eaten anything. She can’t feed herself, and we very well can’t feed her with the limited technology the physicians have used. But where they want to send her, they’ll be able to feed her so that she doesn’t starve. Be reasonable, Amelia. You don’t want your friend to die, do you?”

Everything I’ve been told about asylums, the harsh treatment of the patients, wrap around my windpipe, stealing the breath from me. I can’t get any words out. All I can do is gasp as something in my heart snaps.

Not my best friend. Not my best friend who smells like clover, whose hair blends in with the sunshine on a bright day, whose eyes reflect the very sky. Who would eat too many toffees with me until our stomachs hurt, who would study with me for hours until daylight broke, who would brush and braid my hair until her hand ached. That can’t be the one the Professed Order wants to send to an asylum. I slip down on to the step, wetness seeping through my overcoat, and wrap my arms around my legs, burying my face in my knees. A sob wracks my voice. “This is all my fault. This is all my fault. Colette…she’ll never be my Colette again!”

A hand rests on my shoulder. “None of this is your fault,” Oliver says.

I look up at him, snowy tears running down my face. “I set her on fire, Olly. I felt her skin yesterday. It felt burnt. You can’t tell me that is just an illusion when I. Felt. It.”

Oliver’s hand tenses on my shoulder. Down the steps, wheels creak and horses clop, then stop at the crack of a whip. Oliver’s breath is cold on my ear. “The cab is here.”

Out of the corner of my eye, Nathaniel plants a kiss on Isis’s cheek. She giggles, embraces him, and helps him toward the cab. Oliver reaches out a hand to help me up, and for a moment I think to kiss him some place other than his cheek. But that moment passes, replaced by a thick bitterness. Saying good-bye to Cathedral Reims becomes all too real for me. I refuse Oliver’s hand and help myself into the cab.

#

An hour later, Oliver, Nathaniel, and I are on a train chugging along steel tracks that lead to Norbury, almost a full day’s journey from Malva. We three have our own compartment, courtesy of Cathedral Reims, I’m certain. Oliver naps on the velvet seat across from mine, his bowler hat tipped low over his eyes to block out what little light struggles through our leaded-glass window. Nathaniel seems to be lost in thoughts of Isis as his hand runs over her handkerchief, her initials I. O. sewn in the corner in silver thread. Assuming Mother Aurelia never calls us back to Cathedral Reims, that handkerchief will be all that remains of her. Nathaniel is a resilient boy though. He won’t forget her, but he’ll move on from her in a few days.

I wish I could be that way. Instead Colette’s burned appearance will be forever branded in my mind, and that angelic image I had whenever I thought of her will be no more. That will slip to the back of my mind as the new Colette crowds my thoughts. She will never be the same again, and it’s all because I set her on fire. And I will never know what became of her because I will be on the other side of the country.

I kick off my boots and run my stocking-covered feet over the beige, plush carpet, trying to comfort myself with the warmth that lingers on my soles when I pull away. Nathaniel sees what I’m doing and imitates me. He giggles, the fibers tickling his toes.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?” he asks me, his eyes big and round.

“I thought you didn’t want to kiss Isis.”

“I didn’t…but I did, and I liked it.” He giggles, bringing a small smile to my face. “So have you ever kissed anyone?”

I look at Oliver whose soft snoring crescendos as if to block out this embarrassing conversation. The kisses on our cheeks to seal the promise weren’t anything but a contract between two friends. They didn’t mean anything, and so aren’t real. At the same time, Nathaniel’s question gives me this burning to desire to kiss Oliver, and I hate that I initially refused him. A mixture of heat and cold flush through me. I shouldn’t be having those thoughts--for only one good reason. If I accept these thoughts as something I want to happen, then I accept that I will never return to Cathedral Reims and be professed, for to kiss Oliver would be giving up any holds to my chastity. This is something I am not yet willing to accept, so I should stop thinking about Oliver and kissing him.

I look away from Nathaniel. “I can’t have emotional bonds with anyone, Nat. And you shouldn’t either because you’ll be in the priesthood, and even kissing a girl on the cheek will be forbidden.” I know Nathaniel doesn’t want to be in the priesthood, and I know he shouldn’t be, but I want to keep believing that he will be if only to believe that I will return to Cathedral Reims.

I shove my feet back in my boots, one of the hooks tearing through my stockings and scraping my shin. “I’m going to the observation deck, Nat. Let Oliver know when he wakes up.” If I stay in these cramped quarters any longer, I fear I will come undone, never to be put back together again.

I slide open the door and step out into the narrow corridor that divides the compartments. Dusty lights dangle overhead, casting orange halos on the long carpet. There are hardly any sounds, save for soft murmurs in compartments farther down the corridor. I step through the orange lights and make my way down the hall, fists balled at my sides. For some reason I am enraged at my answer to Nathaniel. I wish I had never formed emotional bonds with anyone, then saying good-bye wouldn’t be so hard.

I continue stepping through the orange circles of light and make my way past more rooms. I open the door to the next car that leads to the observation deck. There are no lights on, save for one overhead lamp at the end of the car that swings its light in an elliptical pattern, revealing polished wood paneling. It swings my way, and its light reaches far enough to reveal faint outlines of the dead lamps, which hang curiously still.

I push my way down the hall and notice a rectangle of light slanting across the floor at the end. The lamp makes another circle before flickering, and then going out completely. The lamp stops swinging, and the rectangle of light seems to grow brighter.

I stop to stare at this rectangle of light, this curious thing that feels like a beacon to me. I relax my hands and think back to the promise with Oliver, to what Colette told me about not quitting. If I don’t feel like quitting, then I haven’t failed. Even right now, as tumultuous emotions dance through my being in angry waves of black, I don’t want to give up in spite of “insurmountable odds.” And if I don’t feel like quitting, then why should I give up? Mother Aurelia may not want me back at the cathedral, but I will force my way back in if I have to. I will have to rely on determination alone to get me back into consideration for the Professed Order. And there is a bright side to this going home: I won’t be around those shadows. I can put them out of my mind and hope that when I return, they’ll be gone too.

I walk toward the light, fortitude compelling me to find a light of my own. As I step into the light, I look through the window to where the light comes from. A gasp chokes me. Sitting in the compartment is a shadow, not Sash or Asch, but a shadow nonetheless. It turns to me, revealing that it is a she. The face looks familiar, but I am too stunned by the meeting of my eyes with impenetrable black ones to process who the face reminds me of.

I stumble away from the door, bumping into someone. I look up to find Oliver, his bangs drooping over tired eyes. He opens his mouth to talk, but then goes silent when he looks up. Without saying anything, he grabs my upper arm and shoves me back into our car.

I stumble down the corridor, confusion sweeping my mind. I throw myself against the door to our compartment. I pull on the metal handle. It won’t open. Panic embraces me, every pulse throughout me thrumming, wanting to break through my skin. I slam my fists against the door. “Nat, open it!” The dim lights swing in the car, casting confusing mixtures of shadows and light in every direction. I keep banging against the door. “Nat!”

Why isn’t he responding?

I give up on our door and start banging on other rooms. No one comes. The rectangle of light that was in the other car creeps to ours, and it grows. It grows so big and bright, it engulfs the entire car, blinding me, forcing my eyes shut.

A mixture between a scream and a helpless sob tears its way out of my throat. The power of the scream is enough to push me to my knees and compel my body into the fetal position.

I lay like that until the insides of my eyelids sense total darkness.

When I open them, I find not darkness but an alley in Malva.

Chapter Eleven

The eaves of night veil the city. When I look up at the stars and moon, panic swirls through me and makes reality a kaleidoscope of indecipherable shapes. How did I get here? Was I just dreaming before, about going home? Or is this a dream? Since I don’t have answers for any of these questions, I gather my thoughts and decide to find out why I’m here. Or, if this is a dream, find a way to wake myself up.