I allowed myself to wonder, briefly, if giving myself to him would hurt as it had with Saiyon, or if I would hurt him, because of my starlight.
But then Ristriel stepped back from me, his hands running down my arms until they grasped my fingers. “The war continues,” he murmured, soft as a moth’s wings. He looked back at the tree, sorrow limning his features. I couldn’t see what he saw in the darkness, but as we departed, opposite the way Yar and Shu had gone, I thought I smelled the faintest wisp of rot.
After that day, Ristriel changed. He was lighter, happier. He asked me to share stories of my life, my family, my pranks, and I gladly did, finding joy in remembering the life I had left behind. He, in turn, talked about the places he’d seen, using names I couldn’t pronounce and architecture that sounded impossible until he shifted into a semblance of it, allowing me to glimpse the mysteries on the other side of the Earth Mother. It started a game with us, where I would name a creature and he’d shift into it, making me laugh, especially when he exaggerated size or color. He truly had seen all the world, for there was not a single beast, even mythical, that he did not know, but he showed me many I had never heard of. Saiyon had opened the heavens for me, but Ristriel showed me the magic of my own world.
Near the end of the day, I asked him, “Ris, what is your true form? Your original shape?”
He paused, his shape stuck on a funny creature called a “giraffe.” “I don’t know. I don’t remember. But . . . I like this one.”
He shifted again into a man. The man I had come to identify him as. It felt like a true form to me, for though mankind comes in every shape, size, and color, Ristriel was always consistent in his interpretation. Always the same face, the same hair, the same build. Always beautiful, and never a stranger.
“I like it, too.” I wanted to take his hand, but the Sun still shone upon us, so I settled on wishing for it instead.
CHAPTER 16
Ristriel was right.
In our three days of walking, the wood thinned and opened, and the fourth morning we topped a hill and looked out over a wide expanse. A large lake shimmered in the distance, and beyond that the spikes of a faraway mountain range, but before all of it, nestled in grassy hills, was the first true city I’d ever seen.
Nediah.
A thick stone wall surrounded it, but from our vantage point, I could see its houses and shops, clustered close together like sleeping mice. The city arched up, encapsulating one of the hills, and a great cathedral sat at its highest point, its golden spire shining in the morning light. I squinted—there was something else on that spire, but I was too far away to see what.
“That is it,” Ristriel murmured. “Your new home.”
“It might be. If the Parroses live there, and if they accept me.” I kneaded a knuckle into my stomach. It was tight and uneasy, which made the thought of breakfast unappealing.
“They would be fools not to.”
I smiled at him, warmed by the words. “Come with me, Ristriel. Walk with me.”
He nodded, and we descended the hill together. When we reached the next, I noticed the cemetery.
It was outside the city, marked off by a four-foot fence studded with spikes to keep out wild animals. It was large and green, and the smell of honeysuckle wafted from it.
Changing direction, I moved toward the fence. There were a few people within. I came to the fence and followed it around until I found the gate. As soon as I entered, a man who looked to be in his late forties approached me. I had expected Ristriel to flit away, to hide in my hair or my pocket, but he stayed by my side. The day was warm, the sky spotted with clouds, and his colors made him appear ordinary.
“I’m the keeper here,” the older man said. “What are you seeking?”
“Parros family.”
He nodded as though the request were perfectly normal, which gave me hope. Gesturing for us to follow, he walked toward a small building I’d thought was a sepulcher, but turned out to be a utility shed and office all in one. He flipped through the pages of a tome on a crooked table.
“G-14.” He pointed south. “Look for the pegs in the ground.”
I glanced to Ristriel, hope rising in my throat. I walked south, noticing metal pegs in the ground stamped with letters and numbers. I found row G easily, and lot fourteen was near the other end of the fence. Some of the graves were like the ones in Endwever, weathered and illegible. Some were only months old.
“Parros,” I said, running my hand over the closest one. Yosef Parros, passed two years ago at the age of fifty-one. “The surname is here, all right. I just need to find them.”