We emerged at the top of the hill-like city, the setting Sun bright, its golden rays washing over Nediah, and Ristriel’s touch evaporated. We had come out near the cathedral. I paused simply to gape at it, for it was the largest church I’d ever beheld, easily seven times the size of the one in Endwever. Its gray stone turned white the farther up it went, where the Sun had bleached it, and its golden spire was enormous—at least two stories, but it was hard to judge from the ground. I wondered how anyone had managed to get it up there. Fastened to the spire was a golden Sun, rays like waving daggers, without a face. It had to be the size of a house.
If there was anywhere that would help me, this was it.
I crossed the road toward the heavy double doors at the front. I was approaching the steps leading up to them when Ristriel spoke. “Ceris.”
His hand was out, like he wanted to touch me. The Sun’s rays were so bright here I could see through him, despite his best efforts. I quickly surveyed our surroundings. A few people milled about, but thus far, none had noticed him.
I gestured for him to come up the stairs, into the shade, but he shook his head. “I will wait for you out here. I dare not step into His house.”
“He isn’t here.” I pointed to the sky.
But the godling’s resolve didn’t waver. “I dare not risk it. Neither for myself, nor for you.”
Pressing my lips together, I forced myself to nod. I had never been timid, even as a child, but in this massive place, I desperately wanted Ristriel by my side. “I’ll be swift.”
Ristriel managed a weak smile, then stepped away. Somewhere in the bright bands of evening Sun, he shifted, and a midnight butterfly swept around the cathedral’s far corner.
Steeling myself, I entered the cathedral, pulling back on the right door with all my weight to open it. The hinges were well oiled; no creaking announced my presence.
The cathedral was enormous, but otherwise quite similar to the others I’d visited. The aisles were wide, the floors made of granite, or perhaps marble, with long yellow carpets trailing their center. The nave was lined with enormous arches, the crest of each carved with a Sun. These Suns were simple, without faces, and had only six spokes. Suns and stars were carved into the columns as well, and at the columns’ bases, the image of a dark circle pierced with a sword. I wondered if that represented the moon.
A hymn rang through the halls. As I walked, I noticed a large children’s choir rehearsing. Perhaps one of them was a Parros, but I dared not interrupt their song. I saw no caretaker or priest, so I let myself wander, circling around the aisles, taking my time gazing at portraits and sculptures in the transept.
It was there I saw something that made my breath catch. A copper bust, turned turquoise, in a crystal case atop a podium, barred off by both a wooden railing and a velvet cord. It was a depiction of a woman, and a star was carved upon her brow.
I knew her immediately, before even reading her dedication.
Star mother.
I quickly read the engraved plate beneath her likeness. Her name was Agradaise, chosen by the Sun nearly five hundred years before I was. Chosen from Nediah.
And she was buried here as well.
Shivers coursed up my arms and down my legs. I whirled around, looking at the cathedral through new eyes, its aisles and arches suddenly like a maze I was trapped in. I retraced my steps as the choir started another song. Near the apse, I found a cleverly hidden passageway that led down into the cathedral’s basement.
Into the crypt.
I descended the stairs, the air growing significantly colder. Below, everything was solid, common stone. Large shelves had been carved into the wall, some holding coffins, others bearing exposed bones.
Agradaise was not hard to find. Her tomb was above the floor, in a fine coffin made from magnificent marble limned with gold. How far the people had gone to mine it, I couldn’t guess. It was raised on a stone dais, surrounded by the same golden cords protecting her likeness upstairs, though these were braided together to make them thicker. Like my statue in Endwever, the edges of the coffin were worn and smooth from the passing of thousands, if not millions, of hands. She had lain down here for twelve hundred years, after all.
“Agradaise,” I whispered, hoping I pronounced her name right. I would not think of lifting the lid—I would find a skeleton there, perhaps laid with a crown and glass roses. But I did lift my hand to the smooth marble edge of her casket. If I said her name to Saiyon, would He remember anything about her? How many star mothers had passed between her time and mine?
Running my fingers across the cool stone, I whispered, “Agradaise, I wish I had known you.”