“...That’s not funny, Ester.” Saphy tried to force a strained

  laugh. But upon seeing Ester’s eyes, her reaction pointed

  otherwise.

  Saphy’s wide, hazel stare went blank. The playful light snuffed out

  like a candle, replaced by something processing, stuttering. Her lips

  quivered, as if they had a mind of their own. The silence pressed

  down on Ester like water, filling her lungs while she waited for

  Saphy’s response.

  “So...when you first arrived at the dorm…”Saphy took a step

  back from the bed. “The way you looked…”

  “I had just been released from the Geneevan dungeons in the

  capital...They gave me a choice.” Ester shifted forward. Saphy

  moved back another step.“Rot down there, or become a weapon for the

  Church.”

  “B-but the way they described the murder.” Each word made Ester

  flinch. “You him. They say when they

  found......you were in a pool of his own blood, his face

  unrecognisable. You caused so much shame your family was made an

  example of. Your father..first, then your mother...They died.”

  Saphy’s voice climbed. “How could you?”

  There it was. The final nail.

  Not because Saphy accused her. Not because the words cut—they

  did—It was the look. The same look the instructors wore. The same

  one in Jacen’s eyes. Even Saphy couldn’t hide it now. Like she

  wasn’t

  “How could I?” Ester’s jaw worked around each syllable. “How

  could

  Saphy’s eyebrows pulled together. “What do you-?”

  “HOW COULD THEY ALL..!”

  The shout tore out of her. Ester, who had always internalised

  everything from everyone, found herself unable to stop it from

  escaping her. Or the tears that came with it. “How could they all

  treat me like that…” Her voice splintered into something sharp

  and small, breaking between breaths.

  Saphy who had been slowly trying to reach the door, stopped. “What

  are you about?”

  Ester dragged air into her lungs. Once. Twice. “My mother. My

  father.” The next words like a bad taste in her mouth. “My

  uncle.”

  “Your Uncle?” Saphy’s face twisted into something between

  disbelief and horror. “An Archon candidate...And you killed him.”

  The phrasing was supposed to show how stupid what she did was. “Why?”

  Ester just shook her head. “He wasn’t a good man, Saphy.”

  Ester’s gaze drifted sideways to the wall, the closets, anywhere

  else. “He didn’t leave me a choice.”

  “He didn’t leave you a choice!” Saphy gestured around the whole

  room as if it all made sense now. Her scoff cut through the newly

  furnished room. “Do you hear yourself Ester? Who’re you to decide

  someone’s fate?”

  Ester had asked herself similar questions in the dark. In the

  dungeons. In the nightmares where she would see her parents. Standing

  there, with Saphy’s righteous anger filling the space between them,

  amidst all the sadness and pain, she felt something crack open. Was

  it relief? Gratitude?

  Finally there was a voice who, for once wasn’t her own.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “If not me, another girl would have.” The smile crept across

  Ester’s face like a thief. Too calm. Too smooth. Too wrong. “I

  just happened to be the one chosen to give him what he deserved.”

  Saphy, who had still been backing toward the door, stumbled as her

  heel caught the leg of the table. She stumbled, steadied herself.

  “Why would you say that…” Saphy’s fire gutted out.

  “He paid my parents for their silence. Paid them while he tried

  to...have his way with me.” A laugh bubbled up from somewhere

  hollow. It rattled in the air. “And do you know what they did? They

  took the money! They let him.” The smile pulled tighter. “Isn’t

  that funny?”

  Saphy’s shoulders hit the door. “How is that funny?” Her voice

  a whisper.

  Ester turned back. Their eyes met, a manic glint in Ester’s.

  Saphy jerked away like she’d been struck. It was the sound of

  Ester’s tears dropping onto the floor that she realised what she

  had shown Saphy. The side she wanted to bury.

  Her mouth opened. Nothing came.

  Saphy’s hand found the latch, fumbling with it. She wrenched the

  door open, it swung inward, forcing her to step aside, and fled into

  the corridor. The door slammed behind her, hard enough Ester winced

  from it.

  Ester stared at the closed door. Then at the white table Saphy had

  stumbled into. Then she turned and collapsed onto her bottom bunk,

  pulling the stiff sheets for a hug. They smelled of harsh soap and

  nothing else, no history, no previous occupants. Just the chemical

  clean of Church funded things. She was fucked. Any moment now Saphy

  would tell someone. Tell someone that she was room mates with a

  murdering maniac. But the question was, who would it be? An

  instructor? A guard? One of the students? It was the first full day

  and she was already hollowed out.

  The book lay on the thin mattress where she’d left it. Might as

  well, she thought. It was just getting good.

  But her eyes wouldn’t focus. Outside, beyond the window a few paces

  from the bed, the sun bled gold across the sky, then amber, then the

  bruised purple of dusk. Voices drifted up from the grounds below,

  laughter, shouting, the ordinary sounds of people who hadn’t killed

  anyone. The lamp on the cabinet flickered. She turned pages without

  reading them, the words incoherent to her. The room was too quiet,

  all except her breathing and the whisper of pages and the occasional

  question circling back, again and again.

  Who’re

  you to decide someone’s fate?

  She’d reached chapter thirty-five when the door creaked.

  Her heart lurched into her throat. Saphy stood silhouetted in the

  doorway, alone, before closing the door behind her. Her eyes were

  rubbed raw and red in the lamp’s light. Ester’s hands went numb.

  She sat up too fast, the book tumbling from her lap onto the floor

  with a flat smack.

  This, she decided, was worse than her uncle.

  “Saphy...I-”

  Saphy shook her head. Her gaze stayed pinned to the table, to

  anything but Ester.

  “To be in that situation..” Her voice came out raspy. “With

  your family. And to end up in those dungeons. Alone…” Slowly, she

  lifted her eyes, and they were glassy, swollen. “It wasn’t easy,

  was it?”

  Something lodged itself in Ester’s throat. She wanted to tell her

  everything, how she’d needed someone, , to understand.

  To not paint her in the shapes of their worst nightmares. To say it

  was okay, even if it wasn’t, even if it never would be.

  Nothing came out. Just tears, hot and stinging, welling up faster

  than she could blink them away.

  “It wasn’t.” The words barely made it past her lips. “I tried

  to tell myself it had to happen. That there was no other choice. It

  was me or them. And now...”Her voice fractured. “And now…”

  Saphy crossed the room, footsteps quiet. She hesitated when she

  reached the bed, close enough that Ester could see her hands

  trembling. Then she sat on the edge of the bottom bunk and pulled

  Ester into her arms.

  She smelled like night air and salt and something floral. Ester

  pressed her face into Saphy’s shoulder and came apart. The room

  stayed silent around them, just new emptiness holding their grief.

  A knock at the door shattered it.

  Both of them jerked apart. A maid with a stern, pinched face pushed

  the door open without waiting for an answer, took one look at them,

  eyes red, faces wet, sitting too close on the bed, and her cheeks

  flushed.

  “The train will depart shortly…” She cleared her throat, gazing

  at anywhere in the room. “Please be ready before then.”

  Then she was gone, door clicking shut behind her. Off to the next

  room.

  Saphy pulled back, avoiding eye contact after the misconception.

  “We need to get our dresses. For the Banquet.”

  The Starless

  Banquet! Ester blinked. How had

  she forgotten? Was she ever told about it?

  “From where?”

  Saphy’s face darkened.

  “The capital.”