City of Starlight: Keeper of the Keys book 1, page 1
City of Starlight
Copyright © 2021 Trisha Lynn
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, or other methods, without the prior written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
ISBN: 9798783719776 (Paperback)
Any references to historical events, real people, or places are used fictitiously. Names, characters, and places are products of the author’s imagination.
Front cover image by JVArts
Printed by Amazon in the United States of America.
First printing edition 2021.
For anyone who was picked last for anything, for anyone that was bullied, for anyone that has felt like they weren’t enough, for anyone with birth defects and disabilities—
This one is for you.
I see you.
You are loved. You are enough. You are amazing.
We need to lift each other not tear each other down.
We need to spread love, not hate.
Life is so fleeting, embrace it. Let others embrace their life. Let them be weird, let them be beautiful, let them be. Embrace your weirdness, your beauty, your uniqueness.
PS: For anyone that has bullied another, I hope a Fire Drake eats you.
1
Hope you like cat hair
My great-aunt Millie had been quiet, reclusive, and a bit strange. Honestly, she and I had been more alike than I wanted to admit. I set the saucer of milk down. I felt the loss of Aunt Millie in that quiet place in my soul where she and I shared space.
I slowly pushed the plate under the bed. Sighing, I rested my chin on my arm. Aunt Millie had passed two weeks ago. With everything left to my mom, we had to go through her things and sell the house. I’m sure that sounds insensitive, but it’s reality. It sucked. A lot.
Finally, I heard rustling and saw a set of luminescent eyes as the cat moved into the light. After staring me down another second, he came to the plate. “I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Aunt Millie had eight cats. This one was my last to wrangle. My parents gave me the task to secure the cats because they thought I had a “gift” with animals. Which wasn’t true. I was simply a quiet, patient individual—unlike most. The other cats had been older and not as frightened. We needed the vet to check them over then I had to find them new homes.
The lapping of the cat’s tongue was all I heard in the spare room. It was rarely quiet at my house, so this was nice. I could imagine I was just visiting Aunt Millie. This room was sparse and smelled like old books, sunlight, and cat fur. I loved it. I had loved everything about serene Aunt Millie and her quaint home. It seemed surreal she was gone. In five days, we would be back to our lives like nothing was gone.
I felt silky fur as the cat brushed against my hand. “See, you’re okay, “ I crooned and scratched his neck. He rubbed against me, and a moment later I was able to dip my right hand beneath him and pull him out from under the bed.
I sat up on my knees cuddling the cat to my chest before leaning back to look at him. He was a dusky silver with light stripes and white on his chest. His large eyes were stunning green-blue. He was lean, barely out of kittenhood, and beautiful.
“Let’s go get you some food.”
I pulled him back to my chest and headed out of the room. Once in the hall, I looked up and realized there was a pull-down ladder for an attic. My parent’s voices drifted up the stairs. I didn’t even realize there was an attic. I should have, considering the age of the house.
Curiosity won out.
The cat looked at me, then the staircase like he was interested, too. Curiosity killed the cat.
Not funny, Kaidyn!
I shifted the cat in my arms and pulled the string. The stairs came down noiselessly. I couldn’t see Aunt Millie being able to make it up this narrow, flimsy ladder, so it was strange they came down so easily.
I set the cat on the ladder. I was adept at doing things with one hand but holding a cat and going up ladders might be stretching it for me. I hoped he wouldn’t run off and ruin my work of wrangling him.
On the stairs he was at eye level with me, those uncanny eyes bright and a tingle of sensation swept through me as if I should understand something he was telling me. He flicked his tail and jumped up the stairs into the attic, lost in the darkness.
“Wait for me,” I mumbled as I gripped the slim rail and hauled myself up. Where the ladder was in the middle of the room was dark, but the rest of the attic was bright. Sunlight filtered in through three small windows.
The cat was sitting in front of a chest. Trunk? I wasn’t sure about the terminology, but it looked like something straight out of a pirate ship. It had a curved top, the brackets were a dull silver, and there was a lock on the top and one on the front, which I had never seen before. Otherwise, the attic was sparse, like the rest of the house.
“Alright, kitty, let’s get out of here. Mom will be thrilled it’s so bare up here.”
I went to grab the cat, but he skirted around the trunk and hopped up on a chair that was directly behind it. With my hands on my hips, I sighed.
“Well, you look comfy.”
He mewed in response. I’d spent two hours gaining this cat’s trust, and he laid there looking so demure. I laughed. There was a connection between us now.
I scratched the cat between the ears. He gave a soft purr in pleasure. Revisiting the urge to touch the treasure chest, my fingers hovered over the top lock. Weird tingling erupted on my fingertips, as an audible click of locks echoed. I jerked my hand back. The tingling stopped. I put my hand back and my fingers tingled again. What the heck?
Swallowing, I flipped the latch, and the trunk lid swung open with ease. I shifted my eyes to the cat, who dipped his head to look inside. Shrugging, I did the same.
A burgundy swath of fabric covered the contents. It looked silken, and I reached out tentatively. It was coarser and thicker than it looked. I noticed a symbol was stitched in gold thread—a dagger, point down, with two keys crossed over it. Interesting.
I lifted it despite my better judgment and was surprised to find it had a hood. It was some sort of robe or cloak. It was beautiful, like something a priestess would wear.
Beyond intrigued, I sat back. Had Millie been into cosplay in her younger years? Or was this something...else? I dropped it next to the trunk. I shouldn’t be going through these things, they weren’t mine. Another swath of fabric inside the trunk caught my attention. Slowly, I unfolded it. What the heck?
It was a sword. No, it was too small... A dagger? A unique, old-looking dagger with a silver blade, gleaming and deadly. The handle was braided. The cross guard, if that’s even what it’s called in daggers—came to a swirling golden flourish and I noted the blade had a key engraving on it.
Cloak and dagger. What unusual things for my aunt to possess! Aunt Millie had just gotten a lot more interesting, but what the heck did an old lady need with a dagger?
I inched closer and reached for the hilt. It seemed to hum in anticipation and my fingers tingled.
What. The. Heck. Was. Up. With. The. Tingling!
The sensation grew as my fingers hovered over the blade. My fingers touched the key engraving and a burning sensation zipped across my left hand. My deformed hand since birth. My parents had known it wasn’t fully formed in ultrasounds, but I was whole and healthy otherwise. It was unclear why I had the abnormality—why my three other fingers never formed, but it didn’t hinder me much. I have my thumb and pointer finger, but the rest is a stump of mottled flesh.
The back of my neck burned as if ten hornets stung me at once. I jerked back with a yelp. It ebbed from pain to an energized zing, but it was still terrifying.
I looked around for any culprit to the attack, as I rubbed the back of my neck. There was no welt yet. Slowly the sensation calmed. The cat was watching me with interest.
“Did you see bees?” I looked around again but saw and heard nothing. “Did we disturb a nest or something?”
The cat flicked his ear. I felt like that was feline for a shrug. I sighed. The attic looked unscathed by my drama. Dust particles danced through the air. I turned back to the dagger. It still looked deadly and mysteriously beautiful. As I drew closer, it hummed again.
I quickly tossed the fabric back over it and haphazardly tied the cord, avoiding touching the thing again. It had slid to the side from my jostling, and underneath peaked out a paper. I twisted my head to inspect it, nervous to touch anything at this point. This whole trunk was freaking me out.
The paper was thick, like... parchment. Something from a time long ago. To replicate such a thing would take a lot of effort. Curious, I pulled. It was a... map. A treasure map? Was this some sort of pirate ship treasure chest prop in a play? Had Aunt Millie been into that stuff? I knew so little about her. She’d been so distant. I couldn’t imagine her in a play. She could have been a Broadway singer, for all I knew of her, but it just seemed unlikely. Since the paper didn’t seem to hum or tingle, I dislodged it from the fabric that held the dagger and laid it atop the weapon.
I didn’t recognize the map’s landmass. Unsurprising, since geography wasn’t my strong suit. The name Evirness was written across the top. I noticed in the corner was a symbol, the same one I’d seen on the cloak. A dagger pointing down, with two keys crossing over it in an x shape. It had to be connected to the cloak. My eyes swept down the page snagging on a few names. Silvercrest. Hawksedge. Sky harbor. Intriguing. Each place was lovingly written in a beautiful script and things were drawn next to the names—bridges, rivers, farmland, forests. A drawing even depicted castle parapets with the name Castle Vanstarr.
I ran a finger over the word Evirness, and my finger tingled and erupted in sensation. The back of my neck burned, along with the back of my left hand, just like with the dagger. I jerked away with a colorful curse, but the pain already ebbed. My fingers scratched at my neck, but I still felt nothing.
Was there some kind of chemical on this stuff?
Oh, no! Something to make it look aged. I’d never even considered that. I stood up abruptly and looked down at my fingers.
Suddenly, the map flashed bright, and the lines erupted in a golden light. The light flashed across the lines and my eyes could barely track the movement. My mouth hung open, my hand was at my chest, and my heart thundered.
What the—
“Kaidyn? Kaid, are you up there?”
My heart leaped, and my head snapped around as my mother yelled from the base of the attic ladder.
“Ah, yeah... Uh.” I had to catch my breath, or she’d know something was wrong. Steadier, I said, “Be down in a sec.”
“You got the cat?”
I scanned the cat, who looked unfazed by what had just happened. Perhaps this was a common occurrence in this household. Had my aunt been a witch or something? I tried to dismiss that crazy idea, but I honestly couldn’t. It was possible.
The cat. Mom. Right. “Uh, yes. Yup. Got him.”
“Great, hon. Try to hurry. We’re all hungry and the vet closes in an hour.”
“Okay,” I yelled, as my eyes still tracked the golden light as it traced the lines of the map over and over. I stared another moment—caught in the beauty of the gilded lines. I snapped out of my trance and shut the lid, trying to make as little contact as possible. I swooped up the cat, who made a distressed mew but settled in my arms. The trunk made an ominous click of locks and I hightailed it down the stairs.
“Oh wow, she’s a pretty one.”
“He,” I said, without thinking.
“Oh,” my mom said with a smile. “It won’t take long to find him a home.”
The thought hurt my heart. I’d bonded with the silver tabby over the last few hours. I didn’t want our friendship to end, but I knew better than to ask to take a cat on the eight-hour road trip home. Plus, we had Zena, our shepherd mix. Her foster home had said she was good with cats, but we’d had her for five years and had never tested that theory.
My mom gestured to a crate set up with a blanket. “In you go, little guy.”
I rubbed the cat’s chin, then cradled him to my chest another moment. Finally, I whispered, “It’ll be okay, I promise. The vet is just going to make sure you’re healthy. We’ll get you tomorrow.”
I slowly put him in the cage. Those stunning eyes tracked me. He didn’t seem upset, or even confused, as if he knew it was all going to be fine. I wish I shared his confidence.
“Pizza?” My mom asked, not sensing my distress.
“Did someone say pizza?”
My brother walked in. Kial was my best friend—or had been when we were younger. He was everything I wasn’t. We were still friends, but like all things, our relationship had changed as we got older.
“You find it, honey?” My dad asked as he walked in.
My mom shook her head as I nodded. Mom and I were both honey to him, and we often got confused.
He let out a chuckle and gestured to me. “The cat?”
“Yeah.”
He looked at my mom, and she sighed. “No.”
“Ah, well, Millie was an odd soul. I bet she hid it somewhere crazy.”
He put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. Their intense love for each other gave me promise for what I could someday have.
I caught Kial looking at me. I gave him a small smile. He was an intuitive and kind brother. He’d been my friend when few others would play with me because of my abnormal hand.
I snapped out of my reverie when mom gestured to the door. Oh right, I was going with her to get the pizza, and my dad and brother were taking the silver cat to the vet. I glanced at the cat carrier. The little silver cat felt like a part of me now, and I didn’t want to say goodbye. I bonded easily with animals. They weren’t judgmental like people, but this seemed…deeper.
Mom called dibs on the sleek red Camaro we’d rented, and I gave Kial a smirk as he walked with our dad to the Jeep. He stuck his tongue out at me, and I laughed as I slithered into the seat. I tried not to think about the cat as I admired the rental car.
I struggled to tune into my mom. Where’d that chest come from? Why was my reaction to it so crazy?
I had never experienced anything so peculiar.
I let out a sigh. Mom glanced at me with a smile. “Was wrangling cats tiring?”
I laughed. “A bit.”
“How was the attic? Filled with crap? “
“Surprisingly, no. Not at all. There is this trunk up the—"
“Well, thank goodness for that. Aunt Millie didn’t have a lot of stuff. Books and oddities, but not much else. Her garage was bare, except that old car your brother is obsessing about.”
I hadn’t seen the old car. I hadn’t even looked in the garage. I’d have to ask my brother about it later.
2
Silas
The smell of pizza hit me when I left the bathroom. I’d checked my neck in the mirror, but I was unmarked from whatever had happened in the attic. I stepped into our room. Girls were sharing one room and boys another. It was a silly thing we did in hotels. I didn't mind sleeping with my mom. She was a noiseless sleeper. Shockingly, since she was a loud, excitable individual.
“Mom, so that trunk in the—”
"Aha!"
The exclamation startled me. My mom was sitting cross-legged on the bed, papers strewn around her.
"Her recipes." I just stared and she looked up. "Oh hey, sweetheart. I found Aunt Millie’s will."
"I thought—"
She laughed at my blank expression. "Millie left me the house but had said months ago that she was leaving a few things to particular people in her own will—not a notified one. But she never told me where she’d left it. Before I tossed anything, I wanted to find it." She waved the paper.
I faked a smile as I picked up a brush to finish brushing my hair. I watched my mom as she read. Her eyes were very expressive; narrowed, widened, rolled. I honestly didn't care if I’d been left anything, but it amused me to see my mom looking like that.
After she was finished reading, she let out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, Aunt Millie didn't disappoint. I'm not sure why I thought this would be a simple pack up a house and sell sort of thing. Ha!" Her eyes met mine. "Want to hear what she left you?"
My heart thumped. I had a bad feeling about this. "Sure."
"To my quiet little great-niece, Kaidy." Millie had always called me Kaidy, like my dad. "I leave all my books. Do with them as you wish, but just remember that a girl who reads lives a thousand lives. She can be anything and is as brave as she dares to be. Just make sure you open each book because never judge one by its cover."
The message was a lovely sentiment and didn’t surprise me. It was an echo of something she’d said to me before. Books had always been an outlet for me, a way to live as a brave heroine, a princess, a dragon slayer, or a dragon rider—depending on the tale. When I slumped into a depressive state, a happy story helped me through. Something even counseling had never done.
My love of books came from Aunt Millie. She and I would sit together and read for hours. Only once, I had been foolish enough to ask her a private question. Why she’d never had children. I’ll never forget how Millie’s soft voice said, "I loved deeply once, but that man was off-limits to me. I never loved again."
After that, she and I had come to an understanding. I could read any of her books, ask her any questions I wished about the tales, but no personal questions.
