Stars Above: A Lunar Chronicles Collection (The Lunar Chronicles)(54)

She had no idea if her mother—her biological mother—had been skilled with her gift. No one ever spoke of her, and she knew better than to ask.

“But we do know, don’t we, that you are not as talentless as your father, because Master Gertman tells me that at one point you showed marvelous promise. In fact, he feels that you were once one of his most outstanding students, and he is as baffled as anyone over your current lack of ability. I wonder if this isn’t all due to some … psychological trauma. Perhaps pertaining to that suicide?”

“Maybe, but I don’t know how to fix it. Maybe I need to see a doctor rather than a tutor.” Winter barely smothered her own smirk. A doctor. What might they prescribe for the girl who was going crazy, who heard monsters clawing at her door nearly every night?

But she would not mention that. She knew what was wrong with her. She knew how to make the visions stop. But she wouldn’t give in to them. She was stronger than the monsters.

“No,” said Levana. “I have another idea, Princess. A bit of added motivation, to assist with your studies.”

She opened a drawer, smiling serenely. Every movement was graceful and precise. The queen moved like a dancer, always. So controlled. So lovely to watch, even now, despite the cruelty that Winter knew lay beneath her beauty.

She waited, expecting a lesson plan or some trivial instructions for practicing her gift.

Instead, the queen produced a knife.

The handle was carved from milky crystal and the blade was obsidian black. Like her stepmother, it was both threatening and exquisite. Winter’s stomach dropped. Her head spun with alarm, but her feet were cemented to the carpet. “Stepmother?”

“You will learn to use your gift, Winter. You will not embarrass me and this crown any more than you already have.” Pacing toward her, Levana held out the knife, handle first.

It took a while, but finally Winter forced herself to take it. Her hand was shaking, but she knew that she took the knife of her own will. She was not being coerced.

Not yet.

She had seen this scene play out dozens of times in the throne room. Criminals being sentenced to self-inflicted death.

“I don’t understand.”

“You are a very pretty child.” Levana’s expression remained poised. Winter’s arm still trembled. “We would not want to ruin that prettiness, now would we?”

Winter swallowed.

“Manipulate me, Winter. Go ahead.”

“What?” she squeaked, certain she’d heard wrong. She’d only practiced on malleable servants in the past. She wasn’t sure she could manipulate her stepmother even if she tried—and she wasn’t going to try. She couldn’t, not after working so hard to free herself of her Lunar instincts.

But what was the queen planning?

Images of her own throat being slit flashed through Winter’s thoughts.

Her heart pounded.

“Prove that you are capable of a simple little manipulation,” said Levana. “That you aren’t a waste of my time and my protection. That you aren’t the mockery of a princess the people of Artemisia believe you are. Just one little tiny manipulation, and … I will let you go.”

Winter looked down at the knife in her hand.

“Or,” Levana continued, her tone sharpening, “if you fail, I will give you a new reason to practice your glamour. I will give you something to hide. Believe me, I know how strong that motivation can be. Do you understand?”

Winter did not understand.

She nodded anyway.

Her fingers tightened around the cool handle.

“Go on, then. I will even let you choose what manipulation you will perform. A glamour. An emotion. Make me take that knife back from you if you can. I won’t fight you.” Levana’s smile was patient, almost maternal, if Winter had known what a maternal smile looked like.

It took a long, long time for the smile to fade.

A long, long time for Winter to consider her choice.

Her decision.

Her vow.

I will never use my gift. Not ever again.

“I’m sorry,” Winter whispered around her dry throat. “I cannot.”

The queen held her gaze. Passive at first, before Winter saw fury spark in her eyes, an anger that burned hot with loathing. But it soon faded, smothered with mere disappointment.

“So be it.”

Winter flinched as her hand began to move of its own accord. She slammed her eyes shut against Levana’s detached expression and saw the vision again. A deep cut in her throat. Blood spilling across the floor.

Her breath caught as the tip of the blade grazed her neck. Her body went rigid.

But the knife didn’t cut her throat. It continued up, up, until the sharp point settled against the corner of her right eye.

Her gut twisted. Her pulse thundered.

She gasped as the blade cut into the soft flesh beneath her eye and was dragged slowly down her cheek. She could feel tears welling behind her eyelids from the stinging-hot pain, but she kept her eyes shut and refused to let them fall.

The blade stopped at her jaw and her hand lowered, taking the knife with it.

Winter gulped down a shuddering breath, dizzy with horror, and opened her eyes.

She was not dead. She had not lost an eye. She could feel blood dripping down her cheek and throat and catching on the collar of her dress, but it was only a single cut. It was only blood.