She’d hesitated too long. He’d come back.

Except when the door opened, it wasn’t the Fallen Star. Morning light poured through the doorway as a servant boy wheeled in a cart laden with food, which he promptly set on the dining room table.

Scarlett hadn’t realized how hungry she was or how stale the air had become until suddenly it was filled with the scents of breakfast cakes, strawberry puffs, honeycomb spirals, brown-sugared sausage, seasoned eggs, and piping-hot tea.

The young woman finally moved from her chair. She rose, walked over to the tray on the dining room table, clumsily picked up the pot of tea with her palms, and dumped it over all the food before Scarlett could stop her.

Her cloak of anger briefly flickered with burnished threads that looked something like victory. But like most feelings of success, it didn’t last long. After a moment the threads shifted to red-black feelings of hatred and rage and bitterness.

A new plan formed as Scarlett watched the young woman’s writhing, uncontrolled emotions. She was miserable, but not without reason. The Fallen Star had cut off her fingers and then given her to his daughter as a training tool. Scarlett would have been furious, too.

The thought gave her a wild flicker of hope. Maybe there was a way for her to shift the woman’s emotions, after all.

“I’m disappointed,” Scarlett said. “I would have thought you’d be cleverer at defying my father. I might not be able to control your feelings, but I can see them. He’s the one who chopped off all of your fingers?”

The woman sat still as a placid doll, but Scarlett could see the vivid colors of her emotions crackling like a fire after a fresh log had been tossed into it.

“The Fallen Star is the one you hate and you think acting like a spoiled child with me will hurt him, but you’re wrong. If you really want to injure him, help me.” Scarlett picked up a soggy strawberry puff and took a bold bite, as if she wasn’t about to make a risky proposition. This woman might have hated the Fallen Star, but that didn’t guarantee she would help Scarlett. Her loathing was so horrible and heated and powerful, Scarlett was unsure if the woman was capable of feeling anything else.

But Scarlett had to try. Anissa was right; if Scarlett left now, it would be the start of the wrong ending. Scarlett could use the Reverie Key to escape, but she and her sister and Julian would only be safe for so long, and the entire Meridian Empire might never be safe again.

“I have no love for the Fallen Star either,” Scarlett confessed. “I may be his daughter, but he murdered my mother and put this cage around my head. If you want to hurt him, help me deceive him—find a more effective use for your hate. I can see it burning you up, but you can use it to burn him instead. Or you can stick to dumping over pots of tea.”

Scarlett finished off her sodden strawberry puff as she attempted to read the woman’s response. But her anger and hate were so powerful, if she felt anything else, Scarlett couldn’t see it.

She glanced back at the Lady Prisoner, once again sitting pretty on her gilded swing. “This should be very interesting.”

And then the doorknob turned.

This time, the Fallen Star strode in. A heavy gold cape with elegant red embroidery and dense white fur hung from his shoulders. It was too much for the Hot Season, but she doubted he cared. It looked powerful, which was of ultimate importance to him.

The pleased smile he’d worn during his last visit was gone; that victory had already turned into history, and now he was hungry for something more.

“I’ve brought you another gift.” He snapped his fingers. A streak of sparks shot out, and a pair of servants carrying a box nearly as large as Scarlett stepped inside.

“I think you’ll like this present. But let’s see your progress first, or this might not be the gift that I give you.” His golden eyes cut to Scarlett’s tea-soaked breakfast.

“I think you’ll be pleased.” Scarlett forced herself to grin. “You might be able to tell from my morning meal that frustration was one of the emotions I effectively projected. I also—”

“I don’t need a summary. I want a demonstration, and I’d prefer to see an emotion that deviates from her natural state of anger and displeasure. I want her to feel adoration, for me.”

The Fallen Star sat on the marble bench. “Make her worship me. I want her to feel as if I’m her god.”

Scarlett’s stomach turned queasy. Even if the woman were inclined to go along with Scarlett’s plan, she couldn’t picture her doing this. Feigning confidence, Scarlett looked at the woman through the ruby bars of her cage, but doubted she would help.

Scarlett was going to have to try again.

Please. Please. Please work, she silently chanted. Her heart pounded and her fingers clenched as she pictured the woman getting up from her bench and falling to her knees in reverence.

Across from her, nothing changed; the woman’s emotions were a firestorm of bold and searing colors. The intensity was so extreme it took Scarlett a moment to realize the young woman’s eyes had softened. Then her lips began to move. Until this point her pale mouth had been a thin line, but now it parted as if a silent gasp had escaped at the sight of the Fallen Star.

It was the most extraordinary thing to watch.

The woman fell to her knees, tears glistening in her eyes as if the Fallen Star really were someone she worshipped.

It was beyond what Scarlett had pictured. Scarlett might have believed she’d done it, if not for the hateful colors that continued to cascade from the woman’s shoulders and down her tattooed arms. Thankfully, the Fallen Star couldn’t see them. If he had, his eyes wouldn’t have glittered as he watched the woman kneel before him.

“It’s remarkable. I never thought she’d look at me like this again. Lift your head,” he instructed.

The woman obeyed.

The Fallen Star reached out and stroked her neck, making the woman quiver with what he must have interpreted as pleasure.

His lips formed a flawless sneer. “It’s really too bad your magic is gone and you’re absolutely useless now. Even touching you disgusts me.” He pulled his hand away. “You should get out of my sight before I decide to remove more than your fingers.”

The woman broke into tears.

The Fallen Star laughed, vicious and bright. Scarlett wasn’t certain what she was watching, but she imagined his reaction wasn’t purely from what he perceived as Scarlett’s actions. Somehow he had a history with this woman, and Scarlett sensed it went far beyond cut-off fingers.

“Now that’s gorgeous. She responds as if she really does worship me and I’ve broken her. This is very good, auhtara. You didn’t just make her feel, you’ve given her real feelings. But”—a wrinkle marred his perfect brow—“I don’t sense that you’ve tapped in to your full magic yet. Let’s see what happens when you take them away. I want every hint of love and adoration gone. I want her to feel nothing. Turn her into an emotionless husk.” His voice dripped with cruelty.

Scarlett fought against betraying her disgust, once again focusing her full attention on the woman, as if Scarlett were the one in control of her.

But nothing happened.

If anything, the young woman sobbed harder. She wailed thick, sloppy tears, as if her emotions had gone out of control.

Scarlett didn’t know what the woman was doing. Her true emotions hadn’t ever changed. Her tears weren’t real, but they were effectively infuriating the Fallen Star.

The air in the room grew thick with heat; the walls began to sweat.

He glared at Scarlett. “Make her cease.”

“I can’t,” Scarlett admitted. “I—”

“Stop this or I’ll put a stop to it,” he threatened.

The woman fell face-first onto the floor, hysterical as a child. It echoed off every surface.

The Lady Prisoner covered her ears.

Scarlett furiously tried to project calming thoughts and images. She didn’t have to read the Fallen Star’s emotions to know how destructive he was feeling. He rose from the chair. Flames licked his boots.

“Just give me a minute,” Scarlett pleaded. “I can fix this. I’m learning.”

“That won’t be necessary.” The Fallen Star pulled the woman up from the ground by her neck. And then he snapped it.

THE ALMOST-ENDING

47

Donatella

Tella’s dreams tasted of ink, blood, and unrequited love.

She was inside Legend’s mural. The night smelled of paint, and the spying stars looked like smudges of white gold rather than sparkling orbs. When she looked down, the paint from the moonstone steps stuck to her toes, turning them a glowing white.

She was in the mural’s last scene, standing on the steps outside the Temple of the Stars. But unlike in the painting, Legend was not with her.

There was only Tella and the steps and the godlike statues, which glared down on her as the Maiden Death glided near.

“Go away!” Tella didn’t need another prediction of a lost loved one right now.

“Does that ever work?” asked the Maiden.