She beamed from the inside out. It was one of those precious moments when someone recognized her for who she truly was and all she had achieved in her life above her job of delivering letters. And it wasn’t just anyone—it was Prince Valen.
Star shifted in her saddle, a bit restless. She didn’t know where this conversation was going, but she didn’t want it to end. Unfortunately, she could think of nothing further to say.
Valen beat her to the next words. “Thank you again.”
“You’re most welcome.”
“I’m sure you must be on your way, with all those letters to deliver.”
Star knew enough to let things be and urged Windracer to start moving. “Yes, I should.”
But the prince moved with her, steering his own stallion to match Windracer’s gait. “You will be coming back, I presume.”
“Most definitely.”
“Then I look forward to our next conversation.” The prince bowed in his saddle. “Until next time, Miss Star Nightengale.”
“I bid you farewell, Prince Valen.”
The prince rode off in a swift flurry of flowers and leaves, leaving Star to reflect on the odd conversation. She watched his scarlet cape flutter in the wake of his black stallion, turning over their words. Each sentiment was a luscious morsel, still lingering on the tip of her tongue.
Chapter 4
Father’s Shadow
The rest of the day whizzed by in a blur of letters, a surge of pleased recipients and a slew of strategically planned destinations. Star made up time by scavenging cheap merchant food stands in between stops and hastily stuffing her mouth as she rode to the next delivery. Thank goodness she’d placed each letter in order the previous night, thus was able to accomplish more than one delivery at a single stop. She caught up with her deliveries when the moon reigned in the sky and the lanterns blazed like giant fireflies, one by one.
As she approached the Overflow Tavern, Star reached down to skim the bottom of her carrier’s bag. She had a nagging doubt she’d overlooked a letter in the rush. Her fingers brushed wads of crumpled receipts and the crust of the bread she’d nibbled for lunch. Digging deeper, Star felt a fold in the leather where her arm had clutched the bag too tight, crinkling the corner. The weight of the letters had wedged a small piece of paper underneath the crease.
When Star brought it out into the light, her stomach pitched. Not only was it another letter, but it was the exact one Zetta had so carefully entrusted to her safekeeping. She’d been catching up all day and the outskirts were not part of her ordinary circuit. In all the commotion, she’d overlooked the most important correspondence of her job.
If she waited until morning, Star would have to delay her ride home by another day. Zetta would fume when she returned, her cheeks red as the Devil and her mouth full of questions. Star would be forced to explain the matter of the bunnyfly and why the most important letter arrived late.
She bit her lower lip. She could already hear Zetta’s shriek of a voice: You risked your life and the letters? For a bunnyfly? And then, at an even higher pitch: You delivered the bunnyfly before the letters? You delivered the most important letter last?
No, it would be better if she could finish the task before sunrise. Feeling foolish and irresponsible, Star pulled on the reins and Windracer swiftly turned around, fast as the dovetail of an arrow. Star smiled at her horse’s resilience to fatigue. At least this delivery would not take long.
The outskirts were an extension of the mountain behind the city, where a plate of granite hovered over a crevice between the earth and the mountain itself. It was known for sudden cave-ins and never saw the light of day. The dirt-paved streets harbored petty thieves and frantic citizens too poor to afford a residence in the inner districts. The growing population had pushed several housing communities beyond their limits, forcing many toward desperation, scrounging for food and shelter.
Star could only wonder how someone from such meager means could afford a personal message, and why he wouldn’t spend the money on a way to better his makeshift accommodations.
Perhaps this message did just that.
When Star reached the outskirts, the sky was a sheet of black, and the cave was even darker still. Here, no lanterns lit the throughways. People carried their own lights, as if each of them held a piece of the sun over their shoulder to remind themselves darkness was not everlasting.
Tonight the streets were empty of golden orbs. The inhabitants had retreated long ago to their shacks thrown together with stray wood and decorated by tattered curtains. The streets were shadowy and Star did not have a lantern. Reaching in her coat pocket, she brought out a crumpled box of matches. After striking one between her fingers, she crossed the threshold and the canopy of rock hovered over her like a storm cloud.
The dwelling she sought was part of a shantytown of pillaged wood houses huddled against the backdrop of the far side appropriately titled Rugged Ridge. The number of the address was 11678.
Star peered through the darkness. A scuttling sound came from deep within an alleyway. It could be as innocent as a tomcat or as malicious as a starving vagabond. Her match fizzled out. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she urged Windracer on in the darkness. Her horse’s ability to see ahead did not concern Star. Windracer had excellent night vision and Star had trained her with frequent night walks in the misty, dimly lit streets of Evenspark.
To her dismay, the sound tracked Star through the grimy streets. Every few steps Windracer took, the scurrying followed like a delayed echo. Star looked back, but bundled trash clogged the alley.
Star cursed under her breath then dismounted Windracer, silent as a windless day. Bending down, she unsheathed a dagger lodged in the top of her boot. Every messenger had their own defenses.
A forced silence prevailed, broken only by the skittering of rats in the corner of the back alley. Holding the dagger in front of her, Star tiptoed around Windracer. As she entered the passageway, the darkness engulfed her in a stifling, black embrace.
The attack came swiftly, the thief bolting from the shadows. He knocked her to the ground, but she recovered, hoisting herself up on her elbows. Wrestling her attacker, she managed to squirm from underneath him and kicked the scraggly man in the stomach. In two seconds, she had him pinned down with her dagger hovering above his throat. “How dare you attack a messenger.”
Star could barely make out the shape of a young man’s face underneath his wiry brown hair. The dim light from an upper window shone further down the way and she dragged him underneath it to identify him. He looked impoverished, skinny as a lamppost, with pock-marked skin and watery eyes. The recent scar boiling above the bridge of his nose looked infected. As much as he repulsed her and set back her delivery, a rush of sympathy swelled in her heart for the vagrant.
“Messenger, heh? Well, I’ve got a message for you.” The man wiggled and she pressed the dagger closer until the cool metal of the blade touched his skin. He stopped moving, but his eyes were still wild. “Deliver all the messages you want on that high horse of yours, collect everyone’s money ’til you’re richer than the king himself, but none of it will save you when they come.” The man smirked, displaying a mouth full of broken, yellow teeth.
Star paused. The man must be delirious, but she had to ask. “Who? Who is coming?”
The man laughed, first quietly to himself before erupting into a full belly rumble, his ragged voice echoing out into the night.
Star let him go, disgusted. The street urchin slunk into the darkness without further quarreling, but his comment left a mark on her composure, a stain of doubt that her life was not as perfect as she imagined it to be.
She was grateful to see Windracer’s familiar silhouette against the backdrop of the alley. As trained, the mare remained stationed