Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(31)

Thinking of his pursuers, I reiterated one of my earlier questions. “How close do you have to be for my starlight to conceal you?”

I could tell my prodding made him uncomfortable, but if we were to travel together, I wanted to know what I had gotten myself into. Several seconds passed before he answered, “Very close. Like before. If it isn’t shining.”

I flashed back to the bandits’ terrifying attack, and the pearlescent glow of my skin. “What if it is shining?”

He paused before answering. “You will attract attention.”

I might not have been a well-traveled or well-studied person at that time, but I could tell he was hiding something from me. Purposefully slowing my steps, I let two extra paces stretch between us.

Ristriel led me to a narrow river, and we followed it for a time, blue dragonflies darting across our path. The day was a warm one, and I fanned myself as the Sun grew high. His light was almost at its peak when I found a large boulder alongside the water and sat upon it, kicking off my shoes and searching through my bag for a bit of cheese.

The dark horse stopped and looked over his shoulder, flicking his tail as though he could feel the flies on his skin. “Why are you stopping?”

“For lunch.”

He glanced at the sky. “Already?”

I found a wedge of cheese and pulled it triumphantly from my bag. “I may be the mother of a star, but I am still mortal. We walked far yesterday.”

He turned around, his large body oddly graceful. “You are not entirely mortal.”

“You are not the first to say so.”

“You will be long-lived, like the godlings. The starlight will make it so.”

I lowered my treat, contemplative.

“I’ve offended you.”

“No.” I dug the toe of my shoe into the moist Earth. “No, you haven’t. Just given me something to think about.”

“Your years?”

I nodded. “There have been . . . several changes, since I became what I am. I hadn’t really considered what I’d do, oh, next century. Here I am, trying to find my sibling’s descendants, but even if I succeed, I suppose I’ll have to watch them die, and their children die, and their children’s children die.” I considered Sun’s reaction to my question about past star mothers. Did He feel this same heaviness in His chest when He thought of them?

My thoughts turned toward the paradisiacal hereafter Sun had spoken of at our dinner together. What was it like? No bandits, no wolves, no blisters, surely. All those I loved around me, instead of buried in the ground, far away. I was grateful to have lived where others had passed, but was not life in the hereafter still life? My spirit would still be thriving. My way would be easier than it was now. Had I perished and passed on, I wouldn’t have felt so . . . lost.

Ristriel lowered his head. “It can be a lonely existence.”

The admission did nothing to bolster me. My existence had already become lonely. How much worse would it get if I lived for centuries yet?

I studied him, noting subtle things about him that were not entirely equine—the curve of his ears, the spark in his eyes, the shape of his hooves. “Ristriel, how old are you?”

His ear twitched. “I am very old.”

“As old as the Sun?”

He snorted. “Not as old as that.”

I hesitated with my next question, but my thoughts were heavy. “Are you . . . lonely?”

He glanced at me, his eyes deep and never ending. They reminded me of the night sky.

He did not answer, and sorrow planted itself in my heart. I took a bite of cheese, then slid the rest into my pocket and stood, needing to guide my mind elsewhere. “If you’re going to hide yourself in the mortal realm, you’ll need to start acting more like a mortal.”

He tilted his head, obviously taken off guard. “Petulant and toilsome?”

I turned to rebuke him, but there was mirth in his expression, and I realized he’d meant to tease. It was the first moment he’d been anything but withdrawn and elusive. I smiled. “Many of us are, yes. But you can’t, oh, run through trees and the like. Not if you don’t want to draw attention.”

He nodded. “Your kind have always been very superstitious.”

“When you are short-lived, it is safer to be.” I raised a finger. “So, lesson number one, be more superstitious.”

He snorted again. “Fear the uncanny and the unexplained without searching for enlightenment.”

“You’re a fast learner.” I peered up and down the river, half expecting a farmer to come by with a pail, or a godling to jump from the water, but saw no signs of intelligent life. “And perhaps don’t call us petulant. You can’t treat mortals like they’re peasants.”

“But you are peasants.”

“I—” I paused. “Not all of us are.”

Touching his muzzle to the ground, Ristriel acquiesced.

“And if you’re hiding, perhaps you should be something smaller. Or more commonplace, like, I don’t know, a goat.”

He tilted his head. “Horses are much more esteemed than goats.”

“They are also more noticeable.”

He pawed the Earth, leaving no print, then changed into a goat, long horns growing from his head. But he still looked like the shadow of a distant galaxy, swirls of dark and violet in his coat. No one would believe he was normal livestock, even if he were solid.