“He has, and I’m happy that shift happenedbeforehe found out.”
Mila nodded. “It’s better he grew into it on his own.”
“It is.”
We were silent for a few moments. Then, since I seemed to already be talking about things I’d tried to avoid, I admitted, “I opened a new journal of Lucidius’s last night on the ship.”
Mila smiled over her shoulder at me. “I know,” she said. My brows rose. “I wasn’t asleep.”
“Spirits,” I grumbled. I’d been in the cabin she was sharing with Lyria late into the night, the commander and Mila gossiping until they fell asleep while I read—or so I’d thought.
She laughed, and the sound had me smiling, too. “What was that one about?”
“Starsearchers.”
Mila considered, scanning the sky. “Have I told you I was obsessed with constellations as a child?”
I shook my head, but didn’t comment on the abrupt shift of conversation.
“I always detested school, but I loved learning.” She laughed as our horses ambled down the path. “I just didn’t like others telling mewhatI had to learn. I would sit in lessons and read books beneath the table. Usually about stars and the myths surrounding them.”
“Always so headstrong,” I muttered, and Mila scoffed.
Then, her voice sobered. “When I was in that cage,” she said, and my spine stiffened, “I watched the stars. Told myself to look up and remember what I was fighting to get back to.” She swallowed, adding softly almost as an afterthought, “I hope Vale has someone to look to.”
Angels, I fucking hoped so, too. I knew how torturous that sort of isolation was, regardless of anything else she was enduring. Hating the way that made me feel—and the way it dimmed Mila’s voice—I nudged Ombratta closer to Luna. “Tell me about the constellations you love so much.”
She brightened. “What do you want to know?”
“I want everything.” Not only the stars above, but every damn piece of her. Because every hint of Mila I got only snared me further, and I’d spend every tomorrow learning the rest.
Mila laughed, the worries of moments before easing, but I wasn’t sure if she caught onto my innuendo. “Malakai there are eons worth of information I could give you. Thousands of star maps and harrowing tales behind the legends.Everythingmight take some time.”
With the way her cheeks tinged pink at the end of that sentence, maybe she did know what I meant.
“Then start at home. Start with the warriors.”
And she did. As we found a trail that offered an unimpeded view of the sky, Mila began with the story of how the warrior constellations were placed one by one, by an all-powerful hand, the being rearranging the heavens for our Angels.
I knew of the constellations already—had them drilled into my head at a young age both in school and in the supplemental lessons I took in preparation for running our clan—but hearing Mila talk about them with such fascination was like learning them for the first time.
When told in her voice, the stories carried more magic than any rendition I’d ever heard.
Soon, the world was fading around us. Like the cavernous sky was a dome, carving out this patch between the cyphers for our total isolation, with a myriad of glimmering specks above.
The coos of birds and echoing gusts of wind faded. Sharp navy edges of the sky stretched down, giving the illusion of cutting off the rest of the world. It almost felt as if the stars were shifting and speeding, rearranging themselves in time with Mila’s voice. Or perhaps the exhaustion was hitting me, combined with her lulling tone and Ombratta’s pace.
“And Ptholenix’s—the firebird,” Mila said, reaching the sixth of the Prime Warrior constellations, “is said to burn a ferociousorange on select days every few decades, though few have truly seen it.”
“That’s fitting,” I answered.
“It is,” Mila said, her voice distant. My eyes snapped to her. Her gaze roved the stars, like she was intent on finding something.
“What is it?” I asked, alert. Screeches of impossibly large birds echoed in my imagination.
“Ptholenix’s constellation is the firebird,” Mila mused. “And Thorn’s is the crown.”
“Damien’s is the sword.” I shrugged.
