Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(39)

He nodded.

I tilted my head. “What brings you joy, Ristriel?”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I am still learning that as well. But you have given me something to think about.”

“Have I?” Pulling my eyes away, I picked up my bags, securing them crosswise over my shoulders. As I turned back to him, I said, “Will you start moving firewood to—”

Not two inches from my nose stood a massive black-and-violet scarecrow.

I shrieked and jumped, the weight of my bags pulling me rump first to the soft meadow.

“Hmm,” the scarecrow hummed before melting back into Ristriel. “I could see the draw of that.”

Hand to my racing heart, I laughed. “When did I tell you about Farmer May?”

He regarded me. “Farmer May?” He reached a hand out as though to help me, but the Sun made him as tangible as the fog, so he dropped it.

I gaped at him a moment. I hadn’t told him about Farmer May, had I? The last prank I had pulled with Idlysi before becoming a star mother. Ristriel had chosen a scarecrow all on his own.

It was such a small and silly thing, really, but I felt it like a plucked string right between my breasts. Pulling myself to my feet, I agreed with him. “Perhaps we aren’t so different.”

He seemed confused by my statement, though in truth he had been the first to suggest it. I did not explain—I didn’t know how well I could—so we continued our trek, sometimes in silence, sometimes with easy conversation.

The field gave way to another, and then another, the forest opening up like a great maw. The Earth began to rise and fall in soft hills, upon which grew the emerald stubs of wheat and other plants. I spied a farmhouse off in the distance and suggested we journey there. We reached it midevening, and the tenants agreed to let me shelter in the stable overnight in exchange for a few coppers. I wondered if I’d gotten them wet at the pond for them to tarnish so, but a copper was a copper. They seemed a little suspicious of me until Ristriel approached from behind. The Sun had just dipped below the gable of the house, rendering him solid, and he looked perfectly human. I introduced him as my husband, and Ristriel smoothly explained we were from a village I’d never heard of to the north, passing through to a town I’d never heard of to the south. They believed the story and offered us a few spare blankets. Ristriel waited until they returned inside before walking to the barn, as Sunlight streaked the path. Like he had said, mortals were a superstitious lot. It was better to play it safe.

I stayed outside when the darkness descended, swift and sure, but the sky was clogged with clouds, and there was not a star to be seen. My chest tightened at the lack of light, but I reminded myself I needed to wait only another day to see her. So I sang a lullaby to Surril, one of the songs I had repeated often during my pregnancy, slipping her name in wherever it could fit.

When I returned to the stable, Ristriel had lit a lantern and hung it from the ceiling. There were two unwalled stalls available, filled with dry hay leftover from winter stores. Two horses and an ox watched me as I passed, the latter mewing softly under its breath. I dropped down onto a bale and loosened my hair, which had gone wavy since I’d braided it wet.

“You have a lovely voice.” Ristriel watched the light on the ceiling as though it were the moon’s, like he yearned for something he could not reach. He looked remarkably human.

I flushed at the compliment. “Th-Thank you. My sister Idlysi was always the talented one in my family.” I could carry a tune, but her voice was angelic.

“I have heard many mortals sing,” Ristriel went on, finally pulling his eyes from the light, “in different tones, styles, languages. The way you sing is simple and genuine. It’s . . . calming.”

No one had ever described my voice in such a way. “Thank you.”

A thought struck me, and I rummaged through my bag for my thread, needle, and canvas, scooting closer to the light to hold up my limited supply. I chose a deep-purple thread, looped it through my needle’s eye, and leaned back to get to work.

Embroidery had always helped me relax before bed. It was a rewarding task that let my thoughts work out on their own, unless I was doing a particularly difficult design. I hadn’t had a pull to work a needle since finishing the tapestry for my star, but I felt that itch now. Pushing the first stitch through the small canvas relieved it. The work felt firm and solid, like Ristriel was at that moment. It felt right. It was him I wanted to create, as best as I could in such a limited space. Ristriel had many forms, but it seemed right to stitch him as a man, for he was intelligent as one and, truthfully, it was the form of his I liked most.

I had just finished his outline when Ristriel stiffened and stood, heading toward the edge of the stable to peer out into the darkness. I set my work aside and followed him. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away, so I touched his shoulder. He flinched before glancing back at me and relaxing under the faint pressure of my fingers. It raised sad questions in me, but he distracted me by answering the only one I’d spoken. “I sensed them.”

“Godlings?”

He nodded. “Moving away. We are safe. They were not very close to begin with.” He paused. “They’re being followed, by hers.”

“Hers?”

“Moon.”

I wondered what that meant. Were the moon’s godlings spying on the Sun’s? Did they mean to attack? But Ristriel did not appear worried, so I forced my concerns to shrink.