and abused you?”
“He has changed —”
“Bah! WolfStar never changes*. Zenith, what can you possibly find with him that you cannot find
with me?”
Her eyes blurred with tears. “I do not regard him the same way as you,” she finally managed.
StarDrifter’s face and voice were rock hard. “And that is?”
“As a grandfather.”
Nothing else she could have said would have shocked StarDrifter more. He stared, helpless,
his mind unable to come to terms with what she’d just said.
“And have you,” he whispered harshly, “managed to go to his bed, then, if you can’t stomach mine?”
She stared at him, then she lifted a hand and struck him hard across his face.
Without a word, Zenith bent and collected the linens, then marched, straight-backed, down the
corridor.
StarDrifter stared after her, his entire world collapsing within him.
The room was cool and dim, only a single lamp burning on a far wall.
Zenith silently placed the linens in a chest, then turned and sat on the stool by WolfStar’s bed.
He stretched out a hand, and she took it without hesitation.
“What is wrong?” he said.
Zenith let her tears slide down her cheeks. This was all wrong. What she wanted was for
StarDrifter to so take her hand, and for her to lean against him and sob out all her woes and let him make
them all better.
StarDrifter was all she wanted, and yet here she was with WolfStar. Why? Why? Why?
Because, strangely, she felt comfortable with WolfStar in a way she never could with StarDrifter.
StarDrifter was her loving, protective grandfather.
WolfStar was merely another man: one who caused her complex and conflicting emotions, true, but
he was just another man.
Although he was also technically her grandfather, Zenith found it impossible to perceive him as such.
Just a man. But a SunSoar. A man of her own blood, and a man she could possibly learn to trust.
She pulled back her hand, and WolfStar let her go.
“Has the Healer seen to your wounds today?” she asked, even though she knew the answer
from talking to the guardsman on duty outside.
“Yes. I feel …better.”
Indeed, WolfStar looked remarkably better. Whether it was the attention he was receiving from the
Healers, or the undoubted benefit of breathing the untainted, undemonised air of Sanctuary, or simply his
own remarkable recuperative powers, WolfStar was very definitely improving. His colour was good, his
breathing unlaboured, his wounds scabbing and crusting over cleanly, and he could move about the
bed without wincing with every minor effort.
Very soon, Zenith thought, he would be up and moving about the room.
She stiffened at the thought.
“I will not harm you again,” WolfStar said, looking at her carefully.
Her mouth twisted. “But will I harm myself?” she said.
WolfStar struggled up onto one elbow. “Why should you?” he asked.
Zenith looked at him. His face and form were half-hidden with the shifting shadows cast by the lamp,
but she could see the gleam of his eyes, the hard planes of his face, the rise and fall of his chest.
“StarDrifter and I,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, “have been having some personal difficulties.”
“Yes?”
Zenith stared at WolfStar suspiciously, trying to find the merest hint of sarcasm, or even triumph, in
his voice. But it was not there. What she could see of his face was merely wearied by the effort of raising
himself up to look at her.
Zenith shrugged, letting her eyes drift away. “We are SunSoar,” she said. “And our blood
calls each to the other.”
She glanced back at WolfStar, but his face was unreadable, and he remained silent.
“But … but however much I love StarDrifter, and I do, and however much I want to be his
lover, and that I desire as well, I cannot.”
“No,” WolfStar said, and his voice was low, thoughtful. “You could not, could you?”
Now it was Zenith’s turn to remain silent.
“You are Azhure’s daughter,” WolfStar said, “and you could no more sleep with your own
grandfather than you could thrust your own child into the fire.”
And then he burst out laughing, apparently with genuine amusement. “Ah! I forgot. That you could
do, and that you did do, very well, didn’t you? Oh no, Zenith, do not go. I am laughing, but at
my own stupidity and careless words than at you. Please, stay. Please.”
Zenith sank back onto the stool, and let WolfStar take her hand again.
It was warm and dry and very soft and reassuring.
“I used the wrong words,” he said, “but the meaning is true enough. StarDrifter is your beloved
grandfather, and as much as I like to belittle the man, there are some things he does well — and being the
warm, protective grandfather is one of those things. But now he wants to bed you. Poor Zenith. Your
Acharite reserve must be at full war with your Icarii longings.
“And yet I,” his voice lowered, and his hand slipped down to grasp lightly her wrist, “am a
full-blooded Icarii man with no such reserves. A man who abused and wronged you, true, but one
who has now been suitably punished, is suitably regretful … and who is of SunSoar blood.”
“Shut up!”
His fingers tightened. “Hate yourself, Zenith. Not me. Not for speaking the truth.”
WolfStar paused, and when he resumed his voice was hard with truth. “Why are you here? Why?
Why come back?”
Chapter 30
The Unexpected Heavens
As StarDrifter had said, Axis had more than enough help without begging assistance from anyone.
Sanctuary was peopled with helpers, and while few as yet realised the imminent danger that faced
Sanctuary, those that did were numerous enough, and eager enough, for what Axis needed.
There was the Lake Guard, twiddling their thumbs about now that DragonStar had no immediate
need for them. There was Zared, and the vast army and loyalty he commanded. The Icarii numbered in
their tens of thousands, and while Axis had only told FreeFall and EvenSong and their immediate aides
about the demonic danger facing Sanctuary, they could command enough Icarii into the sky to blot out
even Sanctuary’s apparently limitless light.
“Just a few score will do,” Axis had said, smiling.
Now he, Azhure, Zared and FreeFall stood about on one of the larger balconies of the main palace
complex, Katie clutching Azhure’s skirts as she had once clutched Faraday’s. Katie had been very, very
quiet in the past few hours, and while Azhure had worried about it, and tried to ask the girl what was
wrong, Katie had only shaken her head and refused to speak.
The Mother’s death had made her fully conscious of the terms of her own sacrifice.
A light, warm breeze blew over the balcony, tugging at coat and shirt-sleeves and wrapping the folds
of Azhure’s gown about her body. Zared, tired of the inaction, wandered listlessly about the balcony
itself. It was tiled in a wondrous translucent turquoise, and it had salmon crystal columns
supporting a balustrade of the same material.
“Not something I would have commissioned myself,” he said dryly.
“It could be,” Azhure said, one of her hands absently ruffling Katie’s hair, “that the original Enemy
had a more ostentatious taste in colour and vibrancy than their later children.”
“And it could be,” FreeFall said, walking to the balustrade and looking out over the orchards and
fields spread out below them before turning back to the others, “that Sanctuary is merely storing all the
colour and vibrancy that has been lost above. Tis no wonder, perhaps, that at times it appears a trifle
gaudy.”
Axis sighed, and restrained the urge to pace about restlessly. Where were the scouts he’d sent
out hours ago? Was there no news?
“Storage for no reason,” he said, folding his arms and tapping a foot impatiently, “if Sanctuary is
about to collapse about us.”
Axis’ eyes flitted skywards as if he could see the cracks appearing in the sky already. He
remembered how the wards covering the Star Gate had sickened and died, and he thought that much the
same would eventually happen to the skies of Sanctuary.
I curse Isfrael, he thought, and then let his mouth twist wryly. He had spent the past forty years
cursing the wrong son; he would have done better to raise Drago in love rather than hate.
But would love have tempered him into the man he is now?
“What are the other Star Gods doing?” Zared asked.
Azhure glanced at Axis, and then shrugged elegantly. “The events of the past few months have been,
I think, rather too much for them.”
“They can’t cope?” Zared raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “What sort of gods are they, then?”
Axis gave a harsh laugh. “None of us are gods any more, Zared. For Adamon, and Xanon, as for
the others, the shock was overwhelming. They lost contact with their mortality over the tens of thousands