Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(29)

But Ristriel simply answered, “They will not bother us. I will keep my promise, Ceris.”

It struck me that he had called me by my name rather than “Star Mother.” I had not yet asked him to. I hadn’t even told him my name, but he would have heard it when I announced myself to the godlings chasing him.

“Will I be safe if your pursuers return?”

He nodded. “But they will not return. Not tonight. They will not sense me if I am close to you.”

I shook Earth from the bottom of my skirt. “How close?”

The ghostly horse glanced at me. “We should continue on.”

Agreeing, and accepting that this was yet another answer I would not receive, I stood and followed him. I would have to bandage my feet before setting out in the morning, because my shoes were chafing. Spending so long in a not-palace had softened my calluses.

I wondered if the godling truly knew the Earth Mother well enough to find a particular glade, but sure enough, we found one, and I took out a small blanket given to me by Telda and spread it over the wild weeds. The spring was new enough that the night would be chilly, so I sought to build a campfire before darkness descended. Ristriel did not help me; he couldn’t pick up sticks or build them up, but he did point out some to me.

Fortunately, I had a flint among my supplies, and I managed to get a fire going. I rummaged through my sack for the rest of Telda’s bread, knowing it would spoil fastest and should be eaten first. I offered some to Ristriel, who shook his head.

Night swallowed the wood whole and completely. As I chewed my bread, I lay back on the blanket, looking for my star. I watched the sky for nearly an hour before she popped up over the tops of the trees. I smiled.

The blanket shifted as the dog-sized horse stepped onto it. I glanced over, shocked to see a very solid animal beside me. His coat glimmered like the sky above, shimmering violet where the firelight touched fur.

“You’re solid,” I murmured. I had an impulse to touch him, to test my words, but decided better of it. Ristriel seemed a mellow-minded being, but I didn’t want to test his temper.

He smiled ever so faintly—at least, as much as a horse could. “Not for long. Not if we stay in this glade.”

I sat up. “Why? Is it . . . enchanted?”

The horse gave me a wry look. “No. Only open to the sky.” He tilted his muzzle upward. I tried to see what he saw, but there was nothing special in the heavens tonight except for my star, who twinkled merrily among her siblings. I wondered if she’d seen my tapestry.

The first-quarter moon peeked over the tops of the trees, and I caught a shift of colors from the corner of my eye. I looked to see Ristriel ethereal once more. Everywhere but his tail, which was situated close enough to the trees’ shadow that the moonlight didn’t touch it.

He sensed my question before I asked. “Moonlight and Sunlight.” He peered up at the moon, and the longing in his face was evident, despite its lack of human features. “In truth, they are one and the same.”

I tilted my head. “How so?”

“She stole it from Him.” He gazed at the moon the way a poor man might gaze at a loaf of bread. “Long ago, when she was still young and first came into her greed, she entered Sun’s domain, posing as a loyal servant. Once she earned His trust, she snuck into His room while He rested and stole a portion of His light for herself.”

I thought of Sun and realized I had never seen Him sleep. Did He? Had He stopped sleeping after the light was stolen from Him? “Was He angry?”

“Of course. She was only strong enough to take a portion, which is why she does not glow as brilliantly as He does. That is why her light does not have as great of an effect on me.”

He shifted his tail, which was out of direct moonlight. Unlike the rest of him, it was solid. And yet, during the day, if even a tendril of Sunlight touched him, his entire being became as ethereal as a ghost.

I gazed up at her. “I wonder why.”

“I think”—his voice was soft—“that she wanted to be seen. She was born in the realm of shadow, watching the world, and the world didn’t notice her.”

I thought of Endwever. “Sometimes it’s better not to be seen.”

“But it is lonely,” he countered, and his next words sounded far away. “It is very lonely.”

I considered this. Before becoming star mother, I had wanted to be seen. Unlike my sisters, I’d always loved attention and sought it out. I wondered how my childhood might have been had I been invisible to those around me.

I watched him watch the sky, his expression eerily human, and my thoughts turned another direction. “You look at the moon the same way I look at the stars.”

He glanced at me. “You were looking for yours.”

I nodded and pointed, sure he would not be able to determine which of the thousands of dots of light I referred to. “She is there.”

“What is her name?”

I paused. “I told my attendants I wanted to name her Phinnie. I might as well have told them I wanted to bathe in mud.” I laughed, but my humor died like a wilting rose. “I . . . I never asked what name Sun chose. I’m not even sure whether stars have names.” Would I see Him again, and have the opportunity?

“All life has a name, even if it is an unkind one,” he whispered.

I wondered if that meant he didn’t like “Phinnie,” either.