Alaric’s house was a cozy little mixture of a miniature inn and a cottage; it had enough space for at least a family of five with an upstairs floor and three bedrooms. Even the goats, bulky and large as they were, had room to stay on the first floor, resting on the carpets like a content pair of house cats who’d just finished a feast.

The man insisted that they stay and, despite both Magic and Mira’s pleas on the contrary—that they had places to be and were on a very odd timetable that involved avoiding Mira’s possible capture—Alaric was adamant that they stay the night at least.

So, that was what they did.

Magic didn’t enjoy the forceful hospitality (if anything, he found it a bit grating), but he couldn’t deny that the portion he’d eaten before the cavern tunnels had been long since gone. He lounged on the couch, his feet resting on the back of Bjorn’s neck; the goat had wormed its way to rest its massive body behind Magic’s legs and so, with an exasperated breath, he obliged the goat by placing only the spot where his heel met his ankle along the animal’s neck, sinking into the couch so that the pressure wouldn’t make Bjorn uncomfortable.

While their host prepared what Magic would consider a buffet from behind the counter—which, as far as Magic could tell, consisted of several large dishes—Mira paced back and forth, her knuckles pressed against her mouth like she was deep in thought. Wind followed in her wake, ruffling Jeralt’s fur and the goat huffed with annoyance at its rider’s restlessness.

Eventually, Bjorn began to do the same, and Magic, rubbing at his temples, had also had enough. “Mira, sit down.”

“We need to be going,” she said in a low whisper. He wasn’t sure if it was because Mira had meant to talk to herself or because she didn’t want Alaric to hear.

“It also wouldn’t be a bad idea to rest,” he retorted, matching her tone.

“You were against this whole thing earlier, too.”

“I was,” Magic conceded. “But you kind of learn not to bother when you’re surrounded by stubborn people your whole life.” Mira scoffed. When she didn’t say anything else to fight against him, he took the opportunity to go one. After all, it was rare to force Mira into a corner, so he took what he could get. “Considering the fact that it’s being handed to us, we’d be stupid not to take the offer and I’m sure the goats could use it, too. Just sit down before our cook starts having second thoughts about having two, weird Droidellans in his house.”

His sister rolled her eyes and sank into a rocking chair closest to the sofa under a window, her feet perched on the edge of the seat, crossed arms resting against her legs.

Alaric shouted in delight, grabbing the attention of Magic, Mira, and the goats, who perked up at the sound of their caretaker, rectangular slitted eyes intensely focused. The man walked over slowly, balancing a large tray with several plates on it, stacked and filled to the brim with food Magic had never seen before. Embarrassingly, he felt overwhelmed by the selection placed before him: a variety of meats from animals he didn’t know, some seared and other fried with a coating of crumbs, glazes drizzled in zigzags that dripped into small pools on the plate. He saw the familiar egg dish he and Mira had been served in the Southern District, the eggs and the yolk almost vibrant when placed beside the meats, and several cups filled with fizzy drinks he’d never had the luxury to try.

Magic absently considered taking a few of the meat slices to save for later, pouring over the selection like a child left unattended at a banquet—he’d heard stories of these kinds of events happening in the capital, of splendor and waste, but he’d always assumed it to be nothing more than a tall tale. That certainly showings of this much food was only as much a myth as the bird he prayed to at night.

He knew now that he’d been sorely mistaken.

Alaric, seeing the look on his face, laughed and Magic felt himself shrink, bracing for the scorn of being unable to indulge in something he shouldn’t have. But the reprimand never came; Alaric waved his arms as if to showcase the display and said, “Take your pick. Your friend over here’s already started.”

His sister gave him a look, one that screamed to do as he was told, mistaking his shock and moment of confusion for rudeness and Magic felt the impulsive urge to shove her to the side. But seeing as the food was being offered to him with no strings attached, he snapped out of his trance and took several pieces to fill his plate leaving no space uncovered before retreating into the couch. Bjorn gave a small bleat at the removal of pressure from his neck.

Mira cleared her throat. “Some house you have,” she said, motioning towards the animals. “Most houses back home can’t accommodate a single horse, let alone two.”

“Custom made, this house,” Alaric said, pulling up a stool to sit on, the walking stick limply against his knee. “I have a reputation as a goat breeder. The rest of them are out back and far too reckless for me to keep in the house. But the mixture you’ve done me the favor of delivering will help with that.”

Magic forced the food down his throat, discomfort lingering there for a second before he could bring himself to speak. “What does that have anything to do with the goats?”

“Bjorn, Jeralt, up,” said Alaric, moving the table and motioning to the goats who did as they were commanded. “Take a look at our guests, would you?”

Before Magic could process anything, Bjorn had leaned forward, close enough for the heat of the animal's huffs to settle on his skin. He could only assume that Jeralt had done the same to Mira; she yelped and the clatter of silverware was the only indication that she moved.

He watched in stunned silence, shielding his plate as the goat’s eyes darted in the direction of the food, a bleat rumbling in his throat. But Bjorn didn’t move towards the food, he just kept nestling his head in Magic’s lap. The goat made a deep, guttural sound that rumbled against Magic’s lap and he wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to be looking at. Bjorn looked like a normal goat. Horns. Fur. Rectangle pupils. Hooves. A snout that was almost like a sheep, but not quite.

Then, Mira gasped and said, “Something is wrong with Jeralt’s eyes.”

It didn’t register at first. Magic moved his plate of food aside, silently praying that the animal’s cute face wasn’t a distraction to take away his meal, and tipped up Bjorn’s face, cupping the goat’s chin to lift it up.

That was when he noticed the floaters.

They were tiny little things, nothing more than the furthest dotting of stars, sprinkling Bjorn’s pale blue irises. They shimmered the same color as the mixture Alaric had taken from the package when they arrived, a swirl of deep blues and royal purples that reminded Magic a lot of the swirling mist of the Maidenwoods. The only difference was that he felt far safer staring into this than the fog of the haunted forest.

Alaric grinned. “Aren’t they gorgeous? These goats have been my pride and joy, my wonderful successes. I loan them out to my grandchildren when they need them and they usually brings the goats back to me or lets them go by themselves through the tunnels.”

“Wouldn’t they get lost?” Mira asked, petting the bridge of Jeralt’s nose. For being a grumpy old animal, the goat huffed and tilted his head towards her as if asking her silently to continue petting him.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Nonsense. They’re quite smart, these two. Smart and very perceptive to the changes around them. When Louisa called me saying that they couldn’t figure out how to get Bjorn through the tunnels without aggravating his many riders, I was worried my next flock wouldn’t thrive as these two did with the serum one whole district away.”

“What’s the serum for?” Magic asked, scratching beneath Bjorn’s chin.

“Enhances their natural abilities. That’s what you see in their eyes: leftover bits of cipher from the miryala serum.”

Magic paused, pressing his palm flat against the goat’s chin. Cipher. That term was new. But that other name—miryala—sounded familiar. He remembered reading about it somewhere, a passing mention of it in a book or something. He was sure of that much. But for the life of him, Magic didn’t recall hearing about “cipher” anywhere, not even from Daphne before they hitchhiked out of Droidell and went north.

Mira glanced at him once and, as if she could read his thoughts, voiced his concerns. “What are those? We aren’t from here, so you’ll have to excuse our … ignorance. I guess.”

“Cipher is the energy running in the bones of every Sighted human,” Alaric said, leaning forward. “It’s the energy that binds us to the Spectacles, but more importantly, it marks us as children of the Birth Giver. The Spectacle that resides here: Soma.”

“Have you seen Soma before?” Magic asked.

“No, sadly. But I have seen Celez Vesza before. In fact, it was she who helped me make these serums for the goats.” Alaric brought a leg to rest over his knee and cursed something foul under his breath before sighing deeply and continuing. “Cipher has its effect on all living things. In animals, ii heightens their senses, gives them more awareness. In humans, it allows us to see, hear, perhaps meld, with the Spectacles. But we were never meant to have this ability. It’s why the Vultures call us ‘unnatural’ humans. The Star Children. Celetiza.”

Mira visibly shuddered. Magic gave her a small, reassuring glance as Jeralt rested his head against her legs, positioning his horns for her hold onto. He knew Alaric was referring to the Cardinals—Daphne had referred to them that way, too.

“The mistake,” Alaric went on, “came with the miryala flower, said to be Soma’s first attempt at creating life. Thrilled as she was with her creation, she planted them everywhere, urged them to rise from the ground beneath her hooves. What Soma didn’t realize at the time was that her pride and joy radiated celestial energy, mutating human genes and allowing us to see. Her title of ‘Birth Giver’ is twofold: not only can she heal and return the recently deceased back to life, but it was Soma who gave the very first Scepters and half-sights life. We owe her much for that.”

“So what did you do with the miryala flower to enhance the goats?” Mira asked.

“Me? Nothing. I asked Celez Vesza about manipulating the flower to see its effects on other living things. She said she would ask her companion to take a look at it. Bright man he is; it took three weeks for me to get the first serum. I asked my grandsons who were living in the Central District at the time to bring it to my house and, while these two were kids, they had their one injection and it lasted them years. Judging by their eyes, I’d say they’re still kicking with the miryala serum.”

Magic looked between Bjorn and Jeralt, noting the differences in appearance. There was no way these two were the same age. Bjorn, with his soft, plush coiled fur and shiny horns, looked young next to Jeralt, whose fur was thin and raggedy by comparison.

Beside him, Mira was running her fingers gently through Jeralt’s fur, unknotting clumps as she lowered her head, focusing solely on the animal resting its chin on her. She looked entranced. And, if Magic didn’t know any better, she was probably thinking about what this could do for her supposed “ability” that was determined to keep itself hidden.

If she even had it.

They’d still gotten nowhere close to figuring out whether or not Mira had Sight or had the capacity for it. Only that her gray eye caused more problems than it did solve them.

Alaric took hold of his walking stick, tapping it gently on the floor. “You don’t seem very pleased by this information. I promise it is far better than it sounds.”

“If it was,” Mira mumbled, “I wouldn’t be running for my life for something I don’t know if I have.” Her voice was quiet, a small bit of defiance and based on the small tilt of her head, the set in her shoulders as she straightened up against the back of the rocking chair, Magic figured she’d meant it that way. A little bit of scorn for Alaric’s troubles. Everything was always a challenge for his sister and sometimes he wished she’d simply let things be than get defensive or spiteful. “What does this do for me aside from make my life hellish and difficult?”

The older man paused, taking in the words as if he were basking in them like a lizard might do in the sun. There was a glint in his pale eye, the kind that always came before a bit of mischief.

In the heavy silence that followed, Alaric raised a hand and wiggled his fingers. Tiny, blue sparks jumped between them and formed a stream of faded cyan around his fingers like a pale blue ribbon twirling in the wind. Even from his spot on the sofa, Magic could see the sparkling light entwined within the translucent wave that Alaric maneuvered around the house. It was like watching a night sky tangle around itself closer to the earth, one step closer to the stars.

It was then that Magic recognized the man for what he was: a half-sight.

Magic reached a hand out to graze the showing of stars, but Alaric pulled it away. “I wouldn’t,” warned the man, flexing his palm to scatter the display. “You can hurt yourself that way.”

“Can you all do that?” Mira asked. The spite in her tone had faded for something like awe, but Magic had trained himself to read his sister’s words better than that. It wasn’t just the fascination at the idea of being able to control stars, but it was fear. Of what, he wasn’t sure—Magic would’ve considered it a nice little party trick, something that you could use to distract a band of kids or show off at a family gathering.

“With enough training and focus,” Alaric replied, “yes. Most Sighted people are trained here to do exactly that. It’s a good bit of defense against the birds.” Then, his bi-colored gaze passed over Magic and his sister, looking between them multiple times before finally landing on Mira. “Do you have Sight, girl?” he asked.

Mira shook her head. “I don’t know.” The tiny voice of hers returned. “That’s what my brother and I are here to find out. The only one who we know can give us the answers we need is Jovie. And I just want to be told otherwise so that I can get on with my life. I don’t want to deal with this.”

“Hm. What do you think, Jeralt?”

The goat huffed, tail wagging side to side and, taking the animal’s cue as a form of confirmation, Magic watched Alaric rise shakily to his feet, grab his walking stick, and approach his sister, pausing only when he was a foot or two away from Mira. In turn, she lifted only her eyes to look at him, her jaw tight, eyes shifting back and forth as if she were trying to figure out how to fight her way out of this problem.

All of that fight went out of her when Alaric placed the walking stick’s handle under her chin and tilted her head up. Magic tried to move and get closer, but Bjorn placed a traitorous hoof on his foot. “What is it about this that troubles you?” asked the half-sight. “The stars? Or the birds?”

Mira stayed silent and swallowed hard. Jeralt knocked a hoof into her shin, making her wince. “Both,” she finally said.

The man made a long humming noise, head tilted as if he were trying to find a better angle to look at Mira from. Magic tried to nudge Bjorn into moving just so that he could be a better form of support for his sister, but the animal only huffed and nudged his horns against Magic’s stomach. The pointed edges of the coiled keratin poked against him and Magic stopped trying. The last thing he wanted was for Bjorn to stab him in the gut.

“My Sight isn’t as good as most other peoples,” Alaric admitted. “So I can’t really see anything with you. Age will do that to the senses, but I do believe there’s something.”

“You think?”

“Probably. Now, I would suggest using the serum to test the Cardinals’ theory, but it is far worse to force something that isn’t there than to force something that is.

“They’re very fickle things, stars,” the man went on, taking the walking stick away from Mira’s chin, though she still kept her head up to look at him with that defiant fire in her eyes. “But, learn to speak their language and you may find that they’re more helpful than you think. You’re certain that the birds want your eye?”

“Yes,” Mira said, her hold on Jeralt’s horns tightening enough to make her knuckles white.

“Then if Celez Vesza and her companion need additional proof, tell them Alaric sent you.”

Magic attempted to push Bjorn back a second time. Now the goat obliged, taking his hoof off of Magic’s foot and moving away so that he could grab his temporarily forgotten plate of food and move to the side of the sofa closest to his sister. She offered him her own plate along with a placating look in her eyes that said she wasn’t going to ask for this food back. “You barely know us, though.”

Alaric grinned at that. “True. But I know a weary soul when I see one. I don’t need the stars to tell me that. And besides, us celetiz stick together. Whether you have it or not, I would be happy to speak on your behalf.”