Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(63)

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.”

Quelline passed her husband a wry smile. “You just want to keep the glory to yourself.”

“Can she sit by me?” little Ceris asked, jumping beside Quelline. “Please?”

Quelline grinned. “Of course, my dear. It would only be proper, to sit by your namesake.”

The genealogy was put away, the chairs filled, and stories shared late into the night. I was happy, but my gaze kept wandering to the window, looking for a midnight jay.

We talked a long time. Ruthgar worked in construction, half of his wages coming from a landowner in the city who hired him to do repairs on various houses and shops. He and Quelline had met at church as adolescents. Quelline’s family lived on the north side of the city; her parents were deceased, so she’d lived with her aunt, uncle, and cousins in her youth.

Ruthgar, Argon, and Yanla did their best to describe grandparents and great-grandparents from memory while Quelline put on dinner. I tried to help her, but everyone insisted I rest and talk, and so I did, telling them about becoming a star mother. The story had been passed down over the centuries, but the details had warped and changed.

“No, I was not married, but I was betrothed,” I said, correcting Argon’s telling. “The two strongest contenders were Anya and Gretcha . . .”

Nostalgia filled me, making me feel top light and bottom heavy. For me, the events I related had happened only a year ago. For them, it was, as Quelline put it, a fairy story.

The whole tale spilled out of me, including the part Ristriel had played, all the while trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut as I relayed his part in my coming here, leaving out a few incriminating details.

“I’ll show you my daughter before we go to bed,” I promised once I’d finished. “She is lovely.”

“And the horse man?” little Ceris asked, a smudge of creamed corn on her chin. “Where is he?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but I wasn’t sure what to say. Just outside, though that may not have been true. He went home, but Ristriel didn’t have a home to go to.