And there were so, so many more of them than just the Parroses, for names had changed over and over again in marriage. In truth, it was lucky the name Parros had brought me here at all. As though I had wished upon a star, and it had come true.
“Here.” Quelline pointed at, but did not touch, the delicate blue thread listing my name. In the light of a dozen candles, it looked green. A white star was stitched above it. My parents’ names were not there, but my sisters’ names appeared next to mine. The tree descended from Idlysi, not Pasha, and branched off again and again, some of the branches ending abruptly, others shifting off the tapestry, making me wonder if there was another cloth containing their family, or if they’d simply been forgotten to favor other families.
There were so many names, but one recurred throughout every generation: Ceris. Ruthgar even had a sister in a nearby village whose middle name was Ceris. Idlysi’s first daughter was Ceris, and her daughter was Ceris, and another of Idlysi’s granddaughters was Anna Ceris. There were boys named Cerist to make it masculine, and middle names strewn in throughout the tree, occasionally abbreviated to C. where space grew thin.
I read every single one of them until the end. Tapping my nail delicately near the bottom, I asked, “And these people are all still alive?”
“I think so.” Ruthgar rubbed his chin. “My cousins”—he pointed out three names—“are in Nediah. They . . . They would be incredulous to know of you.”
“I might not believe it,” Argon grunted, “if the rumor of a star mother returning hadn’t already come by. Only a week ago.”
Quelline shook her head. “But her face, Papa.” She returned to the book and pulled out an old sketchbook, its pages yellowed, and sheepishly set it before me. “They’re not the originals. We don’t have those, but they’re very good copies. Our ancestor Erick Trent made them, but I don’t know which one.” She pointed out the name in two different places on the genealogy, one naming Idlysi’s great-great-grandson, the other naming a man too far removed for me to guess an accurate relation. Carefully she opened the book, and sketches of my statue from the cathedral looked back at me. Every angle had been sketched: below and to the right, to the left, even just pictures of my feet. Quelline turned another page and blushed at the faded watercolor there. It depicted my face accurately, but I had golden-ginger hair and deep-brown eyes. My eyes were gray, my hair a simple mousy brown, streaked silver like an old woman’s.
“I certainly look more regal, here,” I joked.
Quelline smiled. “Not at all.” She stared at me until she caught herself, and flushed. “I’m sorry, I just . . . It’s strange, seeing your face move. Stories of you are told every spring solstice. You’re . . . You’re a fairy tale.”
“The one that lived,” Argon chimed in, sticking a lit pipe into his mouth. “How did you do it?”
I spied movement from the corner of my eye, but when I turned toward the window, all I could see was darkness on the other side of its pane. I wondered if Ristriel was watching, or if he had left for the night.
Or forever.
My chest grew so tight at the prospect I missed a breath. My stomach soured. My fingers chilled.
Ristriel had kept his end of the bargain. He had brought me to Nediah, and to my distant family, safely. He had done his duty, perhaps alleviated his guilty conscience. He had no reason to stay.
I will be your companion as long as you wish.
Suddenly a cup of water was being pressed into my hand. Quelline smiled warmly at me. “I’m sorry, you must have had a long journey. We should eat.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine.” I took a sip, cool water struggling to flow down my tangled insides. “As for surviving”—I glanced out the window again—“I’m not sure.”
They accepted my lie easily. “It’s because she’s strong,” Yanla croaked, then coughed. Her health was less than pristine. “Because she’s a Parros!”
Quelline laughed. “She’s a Wenden, Mama.” She glanced at the genealogy. “That name was lost a while ago.”
I nodded, solemn. “That’s what happens when you have a family of all daughters.”
Argon said, “Let’s summon the others!” The cousins, he meant.
“Tomorrow.” Ruthgar stretched his back. “We’re all pressing against her and breathing on her. Give her a second to settle down. She still needs to eat. We all do.”