Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(22)

“Is this a family home?” I whispered to Father Aedan. “Or did the previous owners move on?”

“The Ellis family has been here longer than mine has, certainly,”

the father replied. Caen’s last name had been Allyr. Perhaps the name had evolved over time? I wondered at it, suddenly eager to check the graves for a possible change of name by marriage.

I took in the doorway as I passed through it, the fireplace, the kitchen, and the backrooms, trying to imagine myself the woman of the household. I found it very difficult to do so.

Jon sat in a rocking chair near the dying fire, his hair thin and white, his face narrow except for his cheekbones. It took a bit of explaining, and a bit of remembering, before he could answer our questions, but his eyes lit up, and he tapped his index finger on the chair’s armrest.

“I remember. Parros . . . He was in metal trade. Blacksmith.

Married that skinny girl and moved on for an apprenticeship, wasn’t

it?” He nodded. “Headed to . . . Nediah.”

Nediah. I clung to the familiar name. Nediah was a city northwest of Endwever. The merchants who traveled by Endwever were always either coming from or going to Nediah. It was said they had a library and their roads were all cobbled with stone.

“Do you remember how long ago?” I asked.

Jon shrugged. “I was but a lad. Younger than you.” He waved at me.

Some fifty years, then. But that was not too long ago. Two or three generations. The young man who’d left might no longer be alive, but his family would be.

“Then I must go to Nediah,” I said.

A restrained sob broke from Shila’s throat. “Oh, say you won’t, Ceris. We have need for you here.”

I gaped at her. “What need?”

She didn’t answer. Father Aedan put a hand on her shoulder, his gaze finding me. “You are a symbol of hope for us. For the people. You have been for . . . centuries.”

“I am merely a survivor,” I insisted. “I am no god.”

“But you’ve been touched by one,” Shila whispered.

My cheeks warmed. “That means nothing.” But my hand flew to my belly, as though I could feel the warm pulse of my star there.

However, my womb remained cold, and a hollowness gaped within me when I remembered that fact.

As we offered our thanks and stepped back into the spring air, I said, “Everything I had . . . it’s long gone now.” I glanced in the direction of my old home. “I don’t have anything for the journey.”

Shila and Father Aedan exchanged a glance. Sweetly, Shila took my arm and wrapped it through hers. “Don’t worry, Ceris. We’ll see to it you have everything you need.”

Shila kept her promise. She and the rest of Endwever provided me with everything I could possibly need. But not what I wanted.

I had hoped for a bag in which to carry supplies. A few morsels for the road—if memory served me right, the next closest town, Terasta, was a full day’s journey away, and I could possibly restock there. I had no shoes, nothing in the modern fashion, and no money.

I was willing to work for those things, but Shila and Father Aedan would hear nothing of it. They gave me a warm room in their home.

One of the local women insisted I take her best dress, and Shila worked on another for me while also finding me a pair of shoes that were just a hair too big. The villagers provided me three meals a day, offered me fine bath oils and prettily carved hair combs. It was all so very gracious.

But the more I spoke of going to Nediah to search for my sister’s descendants, the more the villagers closed in around me.

They wanted me to stay, badly, and it became increasingly hard to be alone. I felt guilty for wanting to leave, until someone nailed my window shut one night. That was when I understood: no one in Endwever was going to let me leave. Despite all the charity offered to me, I was a prisoner. Even Sun’s palace hadn’t stripped me of freedom.

Father Aedan coerced me to the cathedral every day so that I could be seen, touched, even prayed to, which alarmed me to the point that I refused to leave the house unless the prayers stopped.

So the villagers sang to me instead.

She came amidst the tempered fire

The bride that was to be

And offered up her tender heart

Between the oaken trees

Hers was a gift of peace and honor

Given to the town

Children, at night, when you look up Her child is looking down

The scriptures had promised I would be immortalized in song, but I’d never imagined I’d be able to hear the song. It was a lovely, haunting melody that played in my dreams at night.

My eighth day in Endwever, I watched my stone likeness as I stood in the apse of the cathedral during a service. The song, like a lullaby, echoed all around me. And I realized I was no different than the statue that had been carved in my honor. Unmoving, unchanging, and completely subject to the whims of those around me.

I had sacrificed myself for the good of those whom I loved. And, admittedly, for somewhat selfish reasons. My departure had been spun into songs and stories, stretched and emboldened over generations, idolized to the point where I was placed above the Sun.

It felt wrong.

I hated it.

The only thing I wanted was family and a place to belong, and if such a thing existed for me, it was across the country in the city of Nediah. But I would never have it if I could not leave the place of my birth. I glanced at the amber stripe of the holy ring on my finger. The Sun could find me as long as it was activated, but when would He find me? He had mentioned trouble with the moon before I left. How long would those celestial politics take to resolve?