Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(7)

Softening, I moved to him and took his hand. “You will see my legend in the night sky, Papa.”

The point of his throat bobbed. “But must it be you?”

“The first volunteer has claim.” The priest turned to Gretcha, Anya, and their mothers. “You may return home unburdened.”

All four women’s eyes shone like Sunlit brooks. Gretcha’s mother fled, daughter in tow, as though I would change my mind if she was not swift. Anya’s mother bowed to me, and Anya mouthed, Thank you, before departing.

I hoped she would visit Caen first and foremost.

“You must go to the cathedral.” The priest spoke reverently, and I couldn’t help but feel he would have used the same tone at my wedding as he bound Caen’s hands to mine, my body draped in a dress I now would never wear. Fear and pain stabbed my midsection, and I bit my tongue to keep them trapped there.

I would have to leave immediately, or I would never fulfill my promise. After the way Anya had looked at me . . . breaking my promise was something I could not do.

“You must enter through the front doors, despite the heat,” he continued. “You must bear it and walk, unshod, to the altar in the eye.”

For years I’d dreamed of being Caen’s wife. Of keeping a house for him, of lying with him, of bearing his children. I’d dreamed of waking up to his face every morning and falling asleep to his hands every night.

As the priest spoke, those images became more and more brittle, until they began to crumble to dust at my feet. If I woke up to Caen’s face, there would be no smile on his lips. If I lay with him, there would be no lust in his hands. For him, there had only ever been Anya.

Why should three hearts break, when it was needed of only one?

“You must kneel at it and offer a prayer to the Sun. Offer yourself. If you are accepted, He will take you up.”

I held my tears until I left the tent. Now that I’d set my fate in motion, I felt a strong pull toward the cathedral. But my sisters and my mother stood in my path, leaning against one another, holding hands, connected in a way that was both foreign and heartwarming to me. Already I was bringing us together, and I hadn’t even reached the cathedral.

Walking toward them, I embraced Pasha first, then my mother, leaving a kiss on her cheek. When I reached Idlysi, she threw her arms around me so fiercely she squeezed the air from my lungs. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I love you, Ceris. I will never forget you.”

I couldn’t remember the last time someone had told me they loved me. “I love you, too,” I croaked before moving away. The pull toward the cathedral intensified, overwhelming the sweet feeling that had begun to build in my breast. I felt His eyes on me now. I felt His impatience and His readiness as a heavy wool coat.

The others watched me as well. Streaming from homes, the council tent . . .

But I kept my focus on the cathedral and its wings of fire, burning as brightly as the Sun.

The air sweltered as I moved closer, unbearably hot as I approached the doors. Sweat puddled in my hair and the small of my back. I licked my lips and tasted salt. My hands shook as I lifted fingers to the door.

The handle burned me.

I bit down on a shriek and jerked my hand away, cradling it to my breast. Had the Sun rejected me, then?

Don’t look back, I warned myself. Let them be happy.

I grabbed the handle with both hands and wrenched the door open, the searing breath of a god enveloping me.

I don’t remember stepping forward, only the thud of the door closing behind me. The scorching onslaught of air made me stagger and fall, my hands and knees burning against the stone floor. The ends of my hair curled, and I breathed hard through my mouth as heat stole the moisture from my tongue, nose, and eyes. I felt I could not stand, but the stone blistered, and I had to.

Hurriedly, I removed my shoes and trekked farther inside. The air rippled as water. I felt faint as I passed through it, my hands and the soles of my feet throbbing.

There was no door to block me from the eye—the round lily garden at the center of the cathedral. Only an archway. The garden was burned away to nothing, the grass disintegrated, the flowers charcoal staining my feet. My sweat-drenched clothes stuck to me as a second skin. My pulse thudded beneath my skull. My body grew hollow and rough. I forgot my anguish, distracted by the scorching of my body. Of the marble pillars that glowed with heat ten paces away, standing like sentinels to the lily garden.

I dragged my legs, each heavy as a newly fallen tree. I fell into the ash, the grit sticking to my eyes, no tears left to wash it away. The skin on my lips split and dried as I crawled forward, regret burning up like tares after harvest.

I tried to pray, but my thoughts were on fire.

Take me, oh Sun. Make me star mother. I bow to Thy will.

I collapsed, skin charring and flaking away. I reached one burning hand to the altar. Touched it.

The light blinded me, and I was undone.





CHAPTER 3


And then everything was different.

There was no roaring fire, no blistering heat, no pain. I opened my eyes to a room that was not quite a room, with walls that seemed to stretch out forever on all sides and a bright, empty expanse above me. An enclosure that was there but not quite there. A place like a tapestry, its stitches not yet pulled tight. But it was calm, and the light was tinted a soft, rosy pink.

A luminous section loomed before me on one of those forever walls, like a window into the heart of heaven, and before it stood a man, perfected as though by the hands of a master sculptor, who put me in mind of a bonfire and a lion. He stood by the outpouring of light, or maybe was the outpouring of light, or both. He is so difficult to describe, and even now my language does not have words to do Him justice. But He was there, and He gazed into the brightness as one might gaze into a garden, peaceful and still.