I barely finish drying off the last set of dishes when there’s a knock at my door. I don’t even have to look at the clock ticking away in the living room to know what time it is; growing up, supper was always prepared by six-thirty, and he’s nothing if not punctual.

  Smoothing out my blouse, I give the dining area one final glance. Steam encircles the cooker pot at the center of the round table, the runes carved into the ceramic surface pulsing with a subtle red hue as the pot roast sizzles inside. Slices of fresh rye bread, cut to perfection, are neatly arranged in baskets on either side with two lidded butter dishes nearby, and an uncorked bottle of sparkling red wine is resting in an engraved ice bucket next to a glass pitcher filled to the brim with cold water.

  By all accounts, dinner is ready.

  Taking a deep breath, I shake off my nerves and make my way to the door.

  A man in his late fifties with curly brown hair, a thick graying beard and handlebar mustache, and black-rimmed glasses is standing on my front porch. The woolen beige vest, dark gray blazer, and plaid slacks—his usual work attire—are wrinkled from a long day. A bouquet of starweaver lilies, the colors ranging from bright blue to a deep purple, is clasped firmly in one hand as he extends his arms wide and a warm smile curls his lips.

  “There’s my star lily!”

  “Dad, please. You haven’t called me that since I was a little girl.”

  He laughs. “You’ll always be my little girl. And I seem to recall that you used to love getting these.”

  I return his smile, taking the flowers from him as he kisses my forehead and steps inside. Native to the Illys Isles and named for their curious trait of blooming under the stars when they shine at their brightest, there was a certain mystique to the starweaver lily that always fascinated me. As enigmatic as the cosmos and as arcane as the celestial magic flowing within their petals.

  “Thanks, dad.”

  As he shrugs off his coat and drapes it over the back of my sectional, a rolled-up scroll tied with a worn leather cord falls out of the inner pocket. The parchment is weathered, like something straight out of history, and the ornate waxy seal is broken from having been opened many times.

  “A little light reading?”

  He quickly snatches it up off the floor, tucking it out of sight before I can get a good look at it.

  “Something like that, yes.”

  Living under his shadow all my life, old manuscripts and ancient texts taken from the Imperium’s archives for his extracurricular studies weren’t an uncommon sight. Always a scholar, if he isn’t consumed by his work then he was often burying himself in his research.

  Sometimes I wonder if he ever really notices me at all.

  He hums as he inhales the aromatic medley wafting through my apartment. “Now isn’t this a nice surprise. I haven’t had pot roast in years.”

  He never liked talking about his research, so there’s no point in asking him questions about it. He’ll only deflect the conversation on to other topics.

  I close the door and make my way into the kitchen. “I remembered that it’s your favorite and it’s been a while since we’ve shared a home-cooked meal together.”

  “Well I’m famished and it smells delicious.”

  “How was your trip?”

  “Oh, the train ride was comfortable enough and I made decent time. Even had a chance to visit the college yesterday before checking into the hotel.” He pours himself a glass of wine as I place the bouquet in a vase and set it on the table. “Unfortunately, work doesn’t stop just because I leave the capital.”

  “Busy day?”

  “Insufferably so. The regents are once again asking us to send reinforcements to the border, as if battle mages grow on trees. Cieren and Giselle are up in arms about it and I’ve spent the better part of the afternoon on a conference call reminding those pompous politicians back in Delkai that the wards have been standing strong for a thousand years and they will continue to stand for a thousand more.”

  “So the rumors are true, then?” I ask, filling my own glass as I take a seat. “The Rifts are getting worse?”

  “The Imperium’s official stance is aligned with the Tetrarchy’s in that these rumors are baseless falsehoods spread by fearmongers and heretics to stir unrest in the country during the upcoming elections.”

  A response spun from the numerous threads of his experience with mediating sociopolitical relationships as the Hand of the Imperium and tailored for the media, but I know the old silvertongue better than that.

  “And unofficially?”

  He takes a sip and inclines his head with a sigh. “Unofficially, we are losing more ground with each passing decade and are no closer to solving the mystery of stardust than our predecessors were. Although the regents disagree, our talents are best suited for finding a way to seal the Rifts once and for all, not fighting the things that come through them. Besides, the Blades Society has already sent a few of their hunters as a precaution and they are much better equipped at dealing with these demons than we are.”

  “Better equipped than a mage?”

  “It’s what they’re bred for, my dear.”

  Yes, trained assassins who operate outside the laws are a much better fit for protecting the border than soldiers loyal to the cause instead of the coin. I doubt these killers-for-hire are fighting out of the kindness of their hearts, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the Tetrarchy’s debt to the Society bankrupts the entire country when the Rifts are finally closed.

  I quirk a brow. “Speaking of hunters, did you know that there was one prowling our streets a few nights back?”

  “You mean that body they found? Is that what they’re saying it was?” He laughs. “Sweetheart, you shouldn’t put such faith in gossip. There is no race more proud than the vitaari and, although it was not easy for them to admit fault, they have made assurances that these incidents won’t happen again.”

  “So long as the Tetrarchy makes good on their promise to build more brothels, of course.”

  I read the official statements released shortly after the leaked images were made public. Although they exist as a means to satisfy their specific dietary needs—an alternative to them feeding in the streets—I wouldn’t be caught dead in a blood bar if my life depended on it.

  “Peace is not without its compromises.”

  I can’t hide the skepticism in my voice as I say, “This sounds more like a clever ploy than some unfortunate accident.”

  “Don’t be so naive, Danika.” He waves a dismissive hand as if this was a conversation he’s had many times before. “One of the regents is vitaari, herself, and she voted against it. This is why diplomacy exists in Caelysia—it’s just as vital for the quenari’s survival as it is for ours. Magic may have turned the tides of war in our favor but its misuse nearly destroyed this country and everything in it. We’ve all had to adjust and these compromises exist so that another war doesn’t happen again. Gods know that the whole of Primae won’t survive a second one.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  A familiar silence falls over us as we fix our plates, the talk of politics still heavy in the air. It’s all I ever heard about growing up, though I suppose given his position within the Imperium that’s all there was to talk about.

  I watch as he lifts the lid to one of the butter dishes and picks out a slice of bread. His mannerisms are poised and polished, executed with the practiced ease of someone who is well aware of the image they project and accustomed to the nuances of high society, but I can see the effects of his stress written in the creases of his brow and in the gray of his hair. Piece by piece, the weight of the world is slowly taking its toll.

  Is this what I have to look forward to after graduation? Is this the future I’m supposed to want?

  “So,” he says as he bites into his bread, “it’s been a while since we’ve had time to sit and chat. How have you been, sweetheart?”

  “I’ve been alright. Between work and my studies I’ve been keeping myself pretty busy.”

  He nods. “And how’s Monica?”

  “Monica?”

  “Your partner.”

  “Oh.” I swallow a mouthful of roast and reach for my glass. “She’s fine, I guess. Probably working right now.” Why is he asking about my former lover?

  “It’s a shame she couldn’t join us for dinner. Are you planning to propose anytime soon?”

  I nearly spit out my wine. “W-what?”

  “She’s a sweet girl and her family is well respected within the upper echelons of the Imperium. When the time is right, I’m sure you’ll make a fine family—once you’ve both officially committed yourselves to each other in the eyes of the Archons, of course.”

  I frown. “Monica and I broke up three months ago, dad. I told you this weeks ago.”

  Perhaps he would have remembered if he paid more attention to his own daughter. Between his work and his obsession, where do I fit in?

  “You did?” His brow furrows. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. You two were a lovely couple.”

  “We’re still amicable, we just wanted different things.” I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Are you seeing someone else, then?”

  Yeah, I am not discussing my love life with my father of all people.

  Reflexively I grab my necklace, thumbing the inlaid ruby as I say, “I’ve been too focused on passing my finals to worry about relationships right now.”

  Commitment was one of the things that Monica and I couldn’t agree on and, in the end, we decided that it was best for us to just part ways rather than keep trying to make something out of nothing. And, if I’m being honest, I haven’t really been interested in anyone romantically in a long time.

  A part of me wonders if I’ll ever be ready to open my heart up to someone; another part of me fears that, after all these years, I’ll never get that chance again.

  “I understand.” He clears his throat, drawing me from my thoughts. “Since you brought it up, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” I lean back with a huff. Here it comes. “Have you given any thought to your career path once you graduate?”

  It’s all I’ve been thinking about lately, and although he presents it as a question—as if the choice is mine to make—I know that there is only one right answer. The path has already been predetermined for me, laid out at my feet since before I could walk. A lifetime of long nights, stressful days, and carrying the problems of everyone on my shoulders.

  It’s a familiar pivot. My relationships, my friendships, my happiness—they’re all just background noise, details to be filed away and forgotten. But my career, my future with the Imperium? That was the only conversation he was ever truly present for.

  Is any other part of me even real to him?

  “If I graduate,” I mutter.

  “When you graduate. There has never been a Vossler who failed the academy. Our family’s heritage dates all the way back to one of the founding Magi, after all. Weaving magic is in your blood.”

  “Weaving isn’t an inherited trait, dad.” Only the Asiri were born with magic in their veins and that didn’t turn out so well for them—or the world, for that matter.

  “Maybe not,” he continues, unfazed, “but we Vosslers have always had a natural affinity for it. As my daughter you are no different.”

  “But what if I am?” I ask, a streak of defiance overcoming me. This is my life we’re talking about. Shouldn’t I have a say in how I live it?

  “The Vossler name holds weight within the Imperium, Danika, and Caelysia looks to the Imperium for guidance during these troubling times—perhaps now more than ever. Upholding the family legacy will one day fall on your shoulders. I trust that you’ll make me proud.”

  And just like that my fate is sealed.

  I move the pendant around, the subtle grating sound as it slides across the thin silver chain catching his attention.

  “That necklace I gave you for your tenth birthday, the one that belonged to your mother. You still wear it?”

  I glance down. When I was younger, I used to fantasize that if I wore it long enough—if I prayed hard—the gods might take pity and cure me of my affliction. Deep down a part of me still hopes for that to be true. But now, I wear it as a reminder.

  “I never take it off.”

  The halfhearted smile that touches his lips doesn’t reach his eyes as he leans back. “Good. It’s a family heirloom, you know, and the last reminder we have of her. She’d be glad to know you’ve taken such good care of it.”

  “I don’t want to talk about her, dad.” I know her ghost still haunts him—I can see it written in his face. But as for me, well, you can’t miss what you never had.

  “We’ve been over this, Danika.” He dabs at his mouth with a napkin and pushes the empty plate aside. “She was your mother,” he says slowly, like he’s rehearsed this same speech a hundred times before. “Despite everything she loved you very much. She only wanted what’s best for you.”

  My hand clenches around the pendant, the sharp edges biting into my skin as venom laces my words. “That still doesn’t change what she did.”

  “Danika—”

  “She made a choice, dad! And I’m the one who pays for it!”

  “She was trying to spare you!” The sadness in his gaze deepens and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Her mind was sick for a long time, sweetheart. We were able to keep the disease at bay but when she became pregnant with you she feared that it would take you, too, and that fear led her down a dark and dangerous path.”

  No matter how many times I hear him tell the story, it never changes anything. My dad is still heartbroken and I’m still ill. How is it fair that one person’s fear gets to scar us for the rest of our lives?

  A dull throb begins to radiate in my temple and my vision blurs. I grit my teeth against the familiar pressure building behind my eyes, the metal tines of my fork digging into my palm as I try to anchor myself.

  No. No, no, no, please. I have to stay focused!

  “Danika?” His voice echoes slightly. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m fine.” It feels like I’m swimming through a thick fog. Every sound is a ringing in my ear and the enchanted bulbs from the overhanging fixture flare, creating bright spots and halos.

  “You’re having an episode, aren’t you?” When I don’t immediately respond he clears his throat. “It’s the stress. You know that it only aggravates your condition and the ingredients are hard enough to come by without these episodes making your symptoms worse. Have you been managing the—?”

  “I said I’m fine.” My head is pounding now and, with a shaking hand, I set the fork back on the table. “It’s not fair.”

  “Come again?”

  “She knew the risks,” I snap despite the pang of guilt thumping in my chest. “And she chose to weave rift magic anyway.”

  “She didn’t know what she was doing. The disease had been getting worse for months. The tremors, the paranoia, the delusions. When she started talking about rituals, about ending it before it could spread—”

  “She knew exactly what she was doing,” I cut in. “You told me so yourself. She was trying to kill herself that night”—I swallow—“and if you hadn’t stepped in, she would have killed me, too. That’s not confusion. That’s a choice.”

  “She wasn’t an apostate,” he says firmly. “She was desperate.”

  “And yet I’m the one who gets punished for it.”

  He reaches into his vest pocket and pulls out a small wooden box. “She gave her life the night you were born. However it happened, that much is true. This tonic will help you but it won’t cure you. Only the Fracturing can do that.”

  “It didn’t help her.”

  For a moment, he doesn’t answer.

  “No,” he says quietly. “It didn’t. But there’s still time for you.” His expression softens as he removes one of the vials from inside and holds it up, adding, “She wouldn’t have wanted you to suffer her fate.”

  There’s a finality in his tone that leaves no room for argument and I know better than to stoke the flames. It wouldn’t make a difference, anyway; deep down, I know he’s right.

  He’ll never see me as the daughter who’s starved for his attention, his little star lily who only wants to be seen between the pages of his tomes and in the margins of the missives that rule his life. He only sees the heir. In his eyes, I’m just a reminder of his pain and a problem to be solved.

  I stay quiet as I focus on the vial in his hand, squinting through the haze and biting back the ache, and I can’t help but feel like my entire life has revolved around its existence. If I stop taking the medication then I’ll go crazy like my mother did and end up hurting the ones I love as the stardust poisoning my blood consumes me, but it’s not a permanent solution. How long before it stops working altogether?

  On the other hand, the Fracturing can fix me but at the cost of my soul—possibly even my life, if something goes wrong. Either I lose myself to insanity or I lose a part of who I am to become something that I’m not even sure I want to be.

  I reach out and take the tonic from him. If I’ve learned anything in my twenty-five years it’s that, no matter how hard we try, we don’t get to choose our paths.

  But maybe I can prolong my fate just a little while longer.

  “I said I’m fine, dad,” I mutter, placing the vial back and snapping the box shut. “It’s just a headache. I can handle it.”

  “Danika, don’t be stubborn—”

  “This is my choice.” I take a deep, steadying breath as I meet his gaze. I hate how he looks at me when I get like this, like I’m a broken artifact that needs fixing. “This is my curse and I’ll manage it. But right now, I just want to finish dinner.”

  He hesitates, studying me with that clinical concern I’ve become accustomed to. Like I’ll fall apart on my own when all I’m trying to do is hold myself together so he doesn’t have to worry.

  Then, with a heavy sigh, he relents. “Very well. In a few weeks it won’t matter, anyway. Once you pass your exams and undergo the Fracturing, these tonics won’t be necessary anymore.”

  I tuck the box in my bag, ignoring the throb behind my eyes as I down the rest of my wine.

  Some family legacy I have to look forward to.