30 Days of Demonfire

Starfire

"Welcome, daughter," my mother says cheerily as I step off the ship onto the landing dock outside the palace belonging to my mother and Phy'zzon that overlooks that capital city, Tamarus. She flies toward me and unapologetically wraps her arms around me as tight as possible and she coos, "My Starshine."

"Ah… Hi, mom," I mumble, and I don't know whether I should speak in English or in Tamaranean. My mom spoke first in Tamaranean and then in English, so I go the lazy route and choose English.

Behind my mom is a small troupe of people. Phy'zzon is a huge guy with a serious Viking beard, and he can be pretty scary, but he's a softie at heart. He's nice to me, anyway.

People are staring at me. I'm unusually short. My skin is the wrong color. I'm wearing strange clothes.

"I must admit," my mother says, oblivious to the clammy, nervous feeling squiggling around in my stomach, "I was very surprised at the abruptness with which you requested admittance."

"Yeah. Me too," I say under my breath, and my mother takes me by the chin and observes my face.

"You have developed into a beautiful young woman," she compliments me, and I have to squeeze my eyes shut to avoid looking at the people behind my mother waiting for her to give them a command. "Bludhaven has been treating you well?"

"Gotham," I correct her gently. "We live in Gotham now."

Her face clouds and her smile slackens a little. "Oh, yes, forgive me." She observes my clothes. Even though it's winter back home, I dressed in summer clothes. Showing up in jeans and a sweater isn't sensible, first of all, because Tamaran is a tropical planet. But there's also a problem with culture clash because Tamaraneans show more skin so they can absorb solar energy. Modesty is offensive.

Mom's gaze drops to the silver chain around my neck and she takes it in her hand. I took the pendant off but I wanted to keep something from Earth and I figured the chain Damian gave me for Christmas a month ago would be inconspicuous enough.

"Are you wearing platinum?" she asks approvingly.

"What? It's just a regular chain—"

"Oh, it is very high quality. Did you obtain this yourself?"

"It was a gift," I answer stiffly, and she drops the chin against my skin again.

"From a suitor?" Her eyes are narrowed and she's sanding stiffly.

"No," I answer quickly. Too quickly—she's raising an eyebrow at me doubtfully. "No, mom," I tell her calmly. Technically it's true. Actually, even if we're not being technical, it's true. I'm not lying.

"I see," she says. And then she plucks at the hem of my skirt. "I have a change of clothing for you waiting in your room."

It feels weird for her to call a place in this huge palace mine. I'm almost never here, and I think that makes my mom way sadder than she lets on. My mom leads me through the halls of the palace, waving away the rest of her troupe and Phy'zzon.

"Your starbolts are giving you trouble," my mother says when we get to my room.

"Not my starbolts," I tell her as I pick up the teeny tiny purple top that's been laid out next to a very tiny skirt on my circular bed. "Eyebeams."

"You believe you can use them?" she asks, moving things around on my vanity so I'll have a clear view of the mirror when I get changed.

We speculated that I wouldn't be able to use them as a result of my half-human blood. But I feel them. "Sometimes the heat scratches at the back of my eyes. I thought it was tears once or twice. But I actually shot them once. Completely by accident."

"What were you doing at the time?"

"Training," I answer. I don't mention that Damian was there because I don't plan on mentioning Damian at all.

"I see," she says.

"What powers them?" I ask, abandoning the tiny purple outfit.

I'm not supposed to ask. All Tamaraneans are supposed to learn how to use their powers before they begin attending school as children. As far as I know, there's never been a problem. I'm not the first half-Tamaranean, but I'm the first half-Tamaranean princess who is gifted with starbolts. Something must have gotten messed up. Tamaranean things don't come so easily to me.

I figured out how to fly, how to use my starbolts, and how to tap into my strength all on my own. I don't know why these stupid eyebeams are messing me up so much.

My mother doesn't answer me. She won't probably, but she does look conflicted about it.

That's annoying, but I keep trying to drag something out of her. "It's Dad, isn't it? For you, I mean."

"Yes," she says solemnly.

That doesn't really help.

"Put on the clothes, daughter," my mother says in Tamaranean. "There is much to do."

I change obediently, and my mother has to help me with the neck plate that's a traditional part of all Tamaranean clothing. The gauntlets are not much different than the ones on my usual Nightstar suit, except that they have gems on the wrists and the flare out at the elbows.

"Beautiful," she says after I get the whole thing on, and I get a huge wave of guilt for not coming here more often. "Now," she says, whirling toward the door, "since you are having trouble with your powers, I have arranged a partner for you. One your own age who is skilled in combat and knowledgeable in terms of books."

I wasn't prepared for that. But I guess my mother has queen duties or whatever and she doesn't have time to train me full time. I was sort of hoping Phy'zzon might help, but I guess not.

She extends her hand toward the door, and before she touches it, she says, "I would like to introduce you to prince Marras, son of the late Karras, heir to Kalapatt."

Uh oh. I was so not prepared for this. "Mom," I hiss in English, but it's too late.

The door opens at a touch and it slides into the wall, revealing a tall young man with a curly mess of chocolaty brown hair and bright green eyes. He bows low, tapping his chest with a balled fist, and in English he says, "Greetings, princess." Then he takes my hand and presses his lips to my fingers. I don't know if that's a Tamaranean sign of respect or if my mother instructed him to do that because she knows that it's an Earth gesture.

I was not prepared for any of this.