Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(12)

Did He care for me?

He hadn’t given Himself the opportunity, and it seemed He didn’t want to.

I understood then why Elta and Fosii had hesitated to speak to me. They feared befriending me.

I touched the warm spot in my belly and smiled. I felt a kinship with the child inside of me, though it was little more to me than a sensation.

“It’s only three more months, anyway,” I offered, setting down the string.

Fosii rose from her chair and, somehow, managed to start me a bath.

Whenever I grew restless or my fingers ached from too much embroidery, I would wander the Sun’s palace. It was not unlike a cathedral, albeit far, far larger than the one in Endwever. The eternal architecture seemed to recognize the limits of my mind and attempt to adapt itself into something I could conceptualize. Windows—those bright spots of light—would simply appear when I got close to one of the not-walls, and I could peer out into the heavens, to the fantastic swirls of color and endless stars beyond.

Watching the stars, I would put a hand on my belly and wonder at the godling growing inside. All stars were godlings, or the third tier of celestial being. It was said godlings lived all over Earth, but they rarely revealed themselves to mortals. On the next tier there were demigods, like the moon. Demigods were immortal, although not nearly as powerful as gods. If mortals were mice, then godlings were dogs, and demigods were bears. But gods were storms, in a class of their own, with seemingly endless power and reach. Earth Mother was a god, too, but She was said to be sleeping, weary of the bickering of the sky, which was why She allowed so many to live upon Her. Only the demigod Tereth, who lived in the great ocean, could whisper to Her in Her dreams, for they loved each other, and thus were joined together, land and water.

I never saw the Sun in the hallways or through the windows.

Only noticed how His presence illuminated the walls, or His absence darkened them.

I spent more time embroidering than I ever did back home. I had threads and strings of every shade, needles of twenty sizes, and long swaths of canvas taken straight from the hands of mankind. I worked with the fervor and glee of a lonely woman desperate for something to occupy herself.

The first image I stitched was Sun.

I tried my best to capture Him by this rudimentary means, using the brightest threads, whites and yellows, to capture His majesty, for He is where this new story started. Although His image was burned into my mind, it was almost impossible to re-create, and I unpicked my handiwork many times before it reached my satisfaction.

“This is your father.” I found myself speaking to my belly, which rolled hot in response. “You are the child of a great king. Never forget it.”

From there I created the dark sky, its swirling masses and stars of every color. “These are your siblings,” I sang as I worked, calluses slowly returning to my fingertips. At first I sang songs from home, but soon I developed new lyrics and lullabies, songs more appropriate for a star. “You will always belong. Never forget it.”

And then I stitched myself, mortal and delicate, long tawny hair down my back in a braid, gray eyes, mischievous smile. “I am your mother. And I love you. Never forget it.”

My needle stilled as the confession sank in. I was wholly aware that the being growing inside me was not human. Was not like me in any way. And yet it was still my child, my offspring. I was a star mother, not a star host, or a star vessel.

Setting my growing tapestry down, I rubbed both hands over my ever-swelling belly. “Never forget me,” I whispered to it, and wept despite myself, remembering that I would not live to see this star in the sky, that I had given up any real chance of motherhood for the sake of Endwever, for Anya and Gretcha, for Caen.

I wished the uncanny windows of this place would let me see him, smiling in his cottage, hand clasped in Anya’s. Praying for me at night, his heart ever thankful. For it would be. I’d made a study of Caen these last years, and I knew he would always love me for making his desires real. Anya would be in his home and in his bed, but I would grace his dreams until his dying breath.

But I could not see him, for despite all my exploring, I still never found a window that looked toward Earth. As though they respected the slumbering Earth Mother too much to interrupt her privacy. Or they feared that I would miss my home so direly that I would jump and fall through the heavens just to return to it, taking my star with me.

At times, they might not have been wrong.

And so I continued my tapestry, hoping, somehow, my star would be able to see it from its place in the sky long after I was gone, and know me.





CHAPTER 5

I was practicing my calligraphy months later when Elta came into my room, wringing her small hands. “He will see you tonight, Ceris.”

In this place, one never need ask who “He” was.

“Has it been twenty weeks already?” I asked, my fingers naturally grazing the bump in my abdomen. The time had passed so slowly up to that point, and yet in that moment, looking back on it, I could not see where it had all gone. The life inside me pulsed hot, as though eager to meet its father.

Elta rushed to the not-wall and moved her hands around in complicated patterns until she pulled a crystalline cape free from seemingly nothing. It trailed along the floors like the skirt of a wedding dress, and a pang of sorrow erupted in my chest as I thought of the one I had made by hand, only to leave it behind. Had my sister made a match? Would she wear it now? Knowing her, she’d want one of her own. Perhaps my mother would sell it.