Grinding my teeth, I picked up my blanket. The wood around me suddenly seemed so vast, the trees taller and closer together, their branches jagged. A rustle behind me made me jump, but it was only a shrew.
My hands shook as I packed my bags. I couldn’t control Sun. I couldn’t control Ristriel or anyone or anything around me. Only myself. I knew which way Ristriel had been leading me. I would simply have to continue in that direction until I found help.
Unless Ristriel hadn’t been taking me to Nediah at all. Perhaps he had led me in the direction he needed to go, using me as a shield for those who would capture him.
I escaped, he’d said. From what, a prison for godlings? What awful things might he have done to wind up there?
I shuddered, remembering the bandits. At least Ristriel had kept that part of his word. He hadn’t harmed me.
Stay calm, Ceris. This far from the road, the chance of running into bandits was slim. I could be loud as I walked in case I’d reached bear country, and then find a good tree to rest in at night as a protection from wolves . . . but they hunted during the day, too. I would have to always have a good tree in sight.
I wished very badly I had nicked a knife from Shila’s kitchen before leaving. There was my starlight, I supposed, but I wasn’t entirely sure how to ignite it, let alone wield it.
I started walking, wending my way through a forest that gradually grew thicker, keeping an eye and ear out for predators, constantly planning where to run, climb, or hide, just in case. I relaxed somewhat after an uneventful hour of travel. I started checking the sky, praying for chimney smoke, and searched the ground for a hunters’ trail. Perhaps fortune would smile on me and there’d be a village nearby.
A little deeper in, I thought I spied an old chimney ruin in the forest, which might have meant a village was nearby. Diverting from my path, I picked my way over the uneven forest floor until I reached it, then paused, gaping. This was no chimney, but an eroded stone pillar standing as straight as the trees around it. Coming closer, I noticed another, shorter pillar toppled nearby, covered with years of debris. Triangulated to those two was a third pillar, its base upright but the rest of it broken into several pieces. I walked over to it, running my hand across one of the pieces. It had the same texture as my family’s gravestones.
But this was no grave marker. I’d never seen a moon circle before, but I understood that this was one. An abandoned one, left to decay long ago, perhaps even before my time. If there was once power here, it had long since dissipated.
I left the wayward worship circle behind and continued to pick my way, alone, through the woods.
After the second hour passed, I began to sing to myself again, under my breath. I hadn’t realized how accustomed I’d grown to Ristriel’s presence in so short a time. Even when we didn’t converse, I liked having someone beside me. One who let me think when I needed to think, one who didn’t judge or worship me. I passed an herb and thought to point it out to him, only to be reminded that I was alone, and my anger kindled anew. Picking the plant in silence, I tucked it away into my bag and let the heat of betrayal fuel my pace. Soon enough I’d be craving even Father Aedan’s presence.
My energy waned by the third hour, and I slowed, only then remembering I should break my fast with the last of my bread. My thoughts drifted back to Sun as I chewed. My heartbeat grew heavier as I recalled His simple and straightforward request.
He wanted me as a lover.
His offer would have been utterly scandalous, were I the Ceris I once was, and were He a mortal man. Even I would have found it scandalous. But now I was only surprised and . . . thoughtful. I had seen and heard things most humans would only dream of. I had partaken in fairy stories and lived to tell them, not that I had anyone to tell them to. I felt like I’d already lived an eccentric lifetime and was halfway through the second.
If I told Him yes, I would return to the palace, to the friends I had made during my pregnancy. My bed wouldn’t be empty at night. Yet the idea of Sun being fond of me . . . I supposed He had seemed to like me well enough, despite my forwardness, after our meal together halfway through my pregnancy. He might have been intrigued by me when I faced Him again, before He sent me home. Part of me desperately wanted to read His thoughts, peel back the flames of His hair and know His every secret concerning me. Another part of me wanted to stay far, far away.
I did not, and still do not, blame Sun for the pain of being a star mother. I had consented to all of it. I had known the sacrifice, as far as a na?ve mortal could understand such a thing. And I loved our child—Surril—even though she was far away and bodiless, a star in a sea of so many. As Sun would say, our union was the way of the universe. It was no more His fault than it was mine.