Starborn Legacy (A Starborn Series prequel)

Chapter two

"He's just worried about you," her cousin grunted. "And you being here right now probably isn't going to help."

Phoebe frowned as she carefully eased a log into the wood stove. She knew he was right, and she hated it. According to her father and everyone in the commune who followed him, her cousin was a shameful blight whose existence spat in the face of the Stars. When he was first brought to live with them, Phoebe was forbidden to speak to him. But she'd been six at the time, and with very few children her age living in the commune, Phoebe couldn't help herself. At first, she simply spied on her older cousin, following him around like a shadow and watching for any sign of what made him so terrible. Soon enough, watching from afar became curious conversations and childhood games until, to her father's dismay, Phoebe came to think of her cousin as her best friend. She didn't understand how she was supposed to hate someone she knew to be good and kind, and she definitely didn't understand how being around him was supposed to make her less worthy to the Stars they worshiped.

And so began a subtle battle of wills between daughter and father. Despite her father's wishes, Phoebe refused to shun her cousin the way everyone else did. In response, her father would command her to perform back-aching Renewal rituals and other demanding acts of piety whenever he felt she needed to be put back in her place, as if a strict regime of discipline and punishment might somehow save her from herself.

Her latest crime had been so innocuous: her cousin had been sent into the deep woods to forage, and Phoebe decided to join him. They would spend the day hunting the deep woods for mushrooms and herbs, and be back for dinner and evening prayer.

But they'd lost track of the hours, which was easy enough to do in that part of the forest where the dense tree cover blocked the sun's journey across the sky. By the time they'd stumbled back to the commune, stifling laughter as they crept into the storehouse with their hauls, evening prayer was already over and Phoebe's father was furious.

"You give him way too much credit," Phoebe said, slamming the wood stove's grate with a touch more gusto than was necessary. She snatched the small metal kettle from the stove top as she stood, waving it around as she turned. "He acts like your being a Wish is contagious and I'll be corrupted just by—"

The words caught in Phoebe's throat when her eyes landed on her cousin. In her shock, her hands slacked their grip and the kettle fell to the floor with an alarming clang.

"Connor!" she cried as she rushed over to his bedside. "Oh my Stars, your face!"

"Is it that bad?" he asked. His fingertips gingerly touched an angry bruise that shadowed his left eye and cheekbone. Dried blood stuck to a split in his swollen bottom lip. "Because it feels pretty bad."

Phoebe sat beside him on the edge of the mattress and surveyed the damage to her cousin's face. In a lot of ways, Phoebe and Connor looked more like siblings than cousins. They had the same wheat-colored hair and rosy complexion, though Connor was built like a pitbull, barrel-chested and brawny, while Phoebe often regarded herself as a log with legs.

They both had green eyes, too. But in truth, Connor's eyes were more like the stunning gold of the astromantic druids who often visited the commune than the mossy shade of green that ran deep through the Rowan family. Unlike the rest of the family, the color of Connor's eyes was the same brilliant green of a fresh young sprout bursting from the earth at the first hint of spring; so vibrant and unnatural that they almost seemed to glow. Even as he peered out between his swollen lids, Connor's injured eye was disarmingly bright.

"Of course it's bad, Connor," Phoebe said. "Did my dad do this to you?"

"Well, technically, no. He didn't lay a hand on me."