Page 41 of The Poisoned King (Impossible Creatures #2)

The Star Tower

Anya was unable to sleep that night. Despair had taken hold of her body: the true despair that weights the stomach with nausea and fills the lungs with dirt.

It was past eleven o’clock. She pulled on her coat, and Gallia fluttered to her perch on her shoulder, and together they made their way down the corridors until they came to a small door at the end.

Opening it, she saw narrow steps turning upward.

She peered out of the corridor window and saw it was the taller of the towers.

The stairs went up and up, twisting, until they reached a second, far smaller door: it was wedged shut, but she kicked it three times, and it opened. She stepped out onto the tower roof.

She lay down on her back, on the hard stone, and stared up at the sky, and thought of her father. He could not see the stars.

She tried to concentrate on the infinite night sky, but her uncle’s face, smiling, rose before her eyes. He had won.

What do you do in the face of evil men? In the face of evil men protected by strong men and served by weak men?

She thought of Rillian Gerund, and Samvel, and the crossbow the guard had aimed at her heart. What do you do with the knowledge that so many human souls are so bitter and so weak? Where could she put it down, the horror she had carried ever since? It was so heavy, and she was so tired.

Anya lay paralyzed in her despair. Her mind would not travel: it was frozen still. “My good is dead,” she whispered to Gallia. “I can’t go on.” She couldn’t wake up tomorrow, and feed Koo, and make jokes with Christopher; not if he, her father, was to die.

Tears were running down her cheeks. Anya had never felt so old, nor so pathetically young. Sobs shook her as she lay. Not a princess, or a fighter: just a girl.

The door creaked open, and Christopher said, “Anya?” He wore his coat but no shoes. He said nothing, only lay down next to her on the stone.

She felt his warmth fill the space between them. His breathing calmed hers. Her sobs slowed. The night still swelled around them, infinite; but his presence had cut one small hole in her despair, in her fear.

“Alive?” he said.

“Alive,” she said.

“Good.”

“I need to go back, Christopher,” she said. “I need to go back to the castle. I need to stand in front of everyone. I need to make them believe me.”

“I know,” he said. “But I’ve been trying, and trying, and I can’t think of a way.”

She jerked her head downward, “No,” and Gallia cawed. “There has to be,” she said. “I’ll do anything.”

“But you heard what the manticore said. They’ll kill you if they see you: catch you, tie you, poison you. It told you. You won’t get into the castle alive.”

The words rested in the air for a cold, starlit moment. You won’t get into the castle alive. And then Anya sat up. The idea bit her like a lion. She knew what needed to be done.

One of fear’s darkest powers is that it makes murky that which would otherwise be clear. It hides us from ourselves. Anya’s fear cracked, one tiny crack, and light shot through. The stars burned.

“Christopher,” she said. “Christopher!”