Phoebe North: Starglass

“Abba?” Silvan put his arm around me again, pulling me close. “Well, whatever you want to say to Terra, you can say to me.”

Mazdin set his glass on the counter. “Please, Silvan,” he said gently, “can’t I have a word with my future daughter-in-law?”

Silvan let me go. “Fine!” he said, huffing toward the stairwell. Then he paused, giving me an amorous smile. “I’ll see you later, Terra.”

“See you, Silvan,” I said, but my gaze was fixed on Mazdin Rafferty. In my ears I heard my heart beat a wild rhythm.

Silvan and his mother made their way up the stairs together. At last I heard bedroom doors click shut. That meant I was alone with Mazdin—my mother’s killer. He watched me carefully even as a smile played on his handsome, hungry lips.

This man’s not a doctor , I thought. He’s a hunter.

“Terra,” he said, “come sit with me.”

He gestured to their sitting area, which, so far as I’d been able to tell, mostly went unused. My glass was almost empty, but I still clutched it in one hand. It gave me something to focus on as I made my way over to the leather sofa and sat down. I fought the urge to leap up, to bolt toward the front door.

Instead I sat, smoothing my trouser legs against my thighs with my palm. Then my gaze fell on a book that sat squarely on the coffee table. It wore an ancient cover, gold letters stamped into the leather.

“That’s mine!” I cried. I grabbed it, crushing Momma’s journal against my chest.

Mazdin chuckled as he sat down.

“Is it?” he asked. “A little boy by the name of Apollo brought it to Captain Wolff. He found it in his quarters, in his sister’s room. Read a few pages and it troubled him. And I can see why. Can you imagine being a child and stumbling across such treacherous words in your own home? He knew he was doing a mitzvah, bringing it to her.”

A mitzvah. Apollo, who’d called me names and vied for his mother’s attention, knew what he’d done. The boy wasn’t stupid, but he was jealous. Holding the book against my body, I saw how Mazdin’s lips—full, like his son’s—twisted angrily.

“One of the benefits of living on such a small ship,” Mazdin said, “is that petty disagreements easily run amok. And it’s always only a matter of time before one citizen betrays another.”

His words reminded me of Koen. I hadn’t meant to let the truth slip out about his love for Van, and certainly not in front of Silvan. But it had. I hadn’t meant to hurt anybody, but the boys would pay the price anyway. I closed my eyes against the pain and the fear that was boiling over inside me. Mazdin didn’t seem to notice.

“Now, Terra,” he said, “don’t feel bad. This isn’t the first time such a thing has happened, and it won’t be the last. Why, four years ago I ran into our clock keeper at a pub down in the commerce district. He looked so sad , so I bought him a drink for his troubles. And you know what he told me in return?”

Abba , I thought. Oh, Abba, what did you do?

“Told me he’d caught his wife with the librarian. Lying together, in his very own bed.”

My mind resisted his words. My mother and father had loved each other, hadn’t they? He had called her his bashert . But had she felt the same way about him? I couldn’t remember, not really. What I did remember was the expression on Benjamin’s face at Momma’s funeral and then again on the day I received my vocation. Like he’d lost something precious. Like he was searching me for some shadow of my mother. I set the book down on my knees, staring down at the cover. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the doctor.

“He didn’t mean to betray her,” he said, his voice syrupy. “He was in pain. Why not talk to a Council member about it? Of course, it was easy after that to find out what had brought the star-crossed lovers together. The Children of Abel. Your mother was one of their leaders, you know. And Jacobi their messenger. I imagine that it all seemed terribly romantic.”

There was a long pause after that. I guess I was supposed to say something, but I couldn’t make my lips move. I only stared down at Momma’s book. Mazdin reached out and snatched it from me. He glowered at it, then tossed it down onto the table.

“What do you know about this book?” he demanded.

I wanted to blurt out that I knew nothing, to beg for forgiveness, to throw myself on my knees. I wanted to save myself from the gleam in his eyes. But the gleam in Mazdin’s eyes was too much like my father’s. I was frozen in fear where I sat.

“The writer’s name was Frances Cohen,” he said. “She was the ship’s first psychologist. A specialist, like you. She even tried to start an uprising. Seems to be common in your family. Though I never did understand why her journal was considered a document of the rebellion, myself.

“Frances might discuss freedom. But in the end she gave in, as they always do. She had her babies. Obeyed the Council. Became a true Asherati. That’s how it always goes. Well, either that, or you die.”

I hadn’t moved a centimeter from where I sat, hadn’t even looked up. Without a word Mazdin rose from the sofa, leaving me there alone. But he stopped at my side as he passed me, and bent at the waist. When he spoke again, his words were whispered, hot against my ear.

“I’d hoped my son would choose better,” he said. “But Silvan’s never been bright. I have to let the spoiled child have his marriage. Still, I’m not worried. You’re just a broken little girl, aren’t you? You might have dreams of rebellion, but you’re not a threat.”

I watched him as he started up the stairs.

“You pose no danger to me or my son,” he called out behind him.

He disappeared into the darkness above. I heard a bedroom door slam. Soon silence followed. I was alone, all alone, in his living room.

My body thought for me. Trembling, I rose, taking the journal in hand. I shuffled toward the door, groping for my coat. Numbly I slung it over my shoulders. My fingers moved mechanically, fastening the buttons.

It was the weight in my breast pocket that brought me back. I reached in. My fingers found a red-gold bottle, heavy with white powder. A grin curled my lips.

My body moved with sudden anger, my limbs propelling me across the galley and right to Mazdin Rafferty’s wine rack. My hand flashed down to the bottle he’d just uncorked. It moved with purpose. His smug words echoed in my brain.

I think I can handle leftovers.

Handle this , I thought, gripping the cork and tugging it out of the bottle’s mouth. The galley echoed with a resounding pop . I unscrewed the cap from the bottle of poison and began to pour it in.

It’s funny. I had spent so much of my life sad or scared. But my hands didn’t shake as I emptied the powder from the bottle and watched it sink into the dark liquid. I couldn’t even hear my heart in my ears. Instead I saw the moment with perfect clarity: the white of my hands in the galley light, the bloodred of the wine behind them. It was a rash, angry, terrible thing that I was doing. But I didn’t feel angry. Only strong, decisive.

Because I wasn’t acting for myself or for the Children of Abel. No, the poison I put in Mazdin Rafferty’s wine was for Momma, and my father, and even for Mar Jacobi. It was for everyone who had died, everyone I had lost.

I shoved the cork in and gave the bottle a few fierce shakes. I was strong, whole. Someday soon Mazdin would learn.

Other than a few frothy bubbles, you couldn’t even tell the bottle had been disturbed. With satisfaction I slid it into place on the wine rack. Then I turned to where I’d set the bottle of poison on the counter, and froze.