What better place to hide a creature of the moon than at the Sun’s own house?
The cellar was chilly, partitioned by stone walls, and small. There were some food stores—wines and jams, mostly—and a pallet of blankets thrown together by Quelline. A basket of food and water sat beside them, as well as a lit oil lamp.
“Bless you,” I whispered as I helped lower Ristriel onto the pallet. He had been nothing but man-shaped ink before, but now his color was coming back, making him look a little more human.
“Is he . . . ?” Quelline asked.
I touched Ristriel’s face. He wasn’t responsive, but he breathed, and at that point, that was all that mattered. He’d worried Saiyon would sense him here, but his energy was so dwindled, I wasn’t concerned. Besides that, we weren’t in the dedicated cathedral, only beneath it.
“I’ll make sure we weren’t followed.” Ruthgar hunched over like an old man. Quelline, her lips pinched together, rested a hand on his shoulder.
Looking from one to the other, I said, “I am indebted to both of you.”
Quelline smiled. “I’ll check on you soon.”
The two departed, making sure to secure the door behind them.
I let out a long breath, reaching for the water to calm my burning throat. Ristriel did not need food and water, but I lifted the bottle to his lips anyway, and to my surprise and relief, he drank some. I tried to make him comfortable the best way I knew how. I smoothed hair from his face. Listened to his breathing, slow and even, its rasp gradually lifting.
Safe beneath the cathedral, tucked away from the war, sleep weighed me down like lead. I turned down the oil lamp, afraid a passerby might notice its light around the door, and laid my head down on Ristriel’s shoulder, watching his chest rise and fall.
I noticed, as I drifted into slumber, that he had a heartbeat, too.
Worry clawed within me at dawn, when Sunlight seeped into the cellar. Whatever had happened during the night, Saiyon’s kingdom still rose, eventually. I wasn’t sure without a timepiece, but the night had felt too long. As if Saiyon had lost a little time as well.
It was not the hours of the day that worried me, but Ristriel. He was a being I had never before seen sleep, yet he remained unconscious on the cellar floor, even when I tried to rouse him. I whispered his name, shook his shoulder. Ran my fingers through his hair. He looked peaceful, at least. I did not know enough about celestial beings to determine his wellness. Part of the problem was that I didn’t truly know what Ristriel was. When the moon and the Earth Mother came together by chance, what did they create?
But he still breathed, so I merely had to hope for the best. Perhaps Sunlight or moonlight would help him, as it had after Yar and Shu caught up to us in the forest. But unless he took a turn for the worse, I didn’t want to risk bringing him outside. Not where the people of Nediah and the gods of the heavens could see him.
The food Quelline had left for us had spoiled overnight, reminding me of Ristriel’s confession. Of the time he had stolen, which leaked out of him like butter in an overworked pastry. Pushing the food aside, I tried once more to rouse him, even singing Surril’s lullaby to him. I ran my palm over his chest, my thumb over his lips.
“I forgive you,” I whispered, hoping the words might incite some sort of reaction. They didn’t. “I forgive you, so wake up. Please? You did it. I’m safe. We all are. Just don’t leave.”
I had so many more questions for him. So many things I still needed to say.
After ensuring Ristriel was comfortable, I braided my hair and moved toward the door. I needed to update Quelline and the others, ask their advice, find something new to eat. The light outside was so bright my eyes watered and I sneezed. I pressed the door closed tightly behind me, grateful the cathedral was surrounded by cobblestones that wouldn’t show any tracks. Not that the people of Nediah would be looking for their savior—if they even knew he existed—but I would not let Ristriel be caught because of a small mistake on my part.
I barely knew the city, but I managed to find my way back to Quelline’s home. Knocking softly on the door before opening it, I found Argon alone in the front room, sitting by the embers of an old fire, a bowl of porridge in his hands. When he saw me, he went back to the table and ladled me a bowl of the cold oatmeal, which I accepted gratefully. I sat near him, leaning toward the embers.
“He’s fine, for now.” I stirred the oatmeal.
“They’re all asleep upstairs. Told them I’d keep watch,” Argon explained between bites. Gesturing to the bowl, he said, “Yesterday’s breakfast, but better than nothing.”