Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(30)

I thought of Sun and realized I had never seen Him sleep. Did He? Had He stopped sleeping after the light was stolen from Him?

“Was He angry?”

“Of course. She was only strong enough to take a portion, which is why she does not glow as brilliantly as He does. That is why her light does not have as great of an effect on me.”

He shifted his tail, which was out of direct moonlight. Unlike the rest of him, it was solid. And yet, during the day, if even a tendril of Sunlight touched him, his entire being became as ethereal as a ghost.

I gazed up at her. “I wonder why.”

“I think”—his voice was soft—“that she wanted to be seen. She was born in the realm of shadow, watching the world, and the world didn’t notice her.”

I thought of Endwever. “Sometimes it’s better not to be seen.”

“But it is lonely,” he countered, and his next words sounded far away. “It is very lonely.”

I considered this. Before becoming star mother, I had wanted to be seen. Unlike my sisters, I’d always loved attention and sought it out. I wondered how my childhood might have been had I been invisible to those around me.

I watched him watch the sky, his expression eerily human, and my thoughts turned another direction. “You look at the moon the same way I look at the stars.”

He glanced at me. “You were looking for yours.”

I nodded and pointed, sure he would not be able to determine which of the thousands of dots of light I referred to. “She is there.”

“What is her name?”

I paused. “I told my attendants I wanted to name her Phinnie. I might as well have told them I wanted to bathe in mud.” I laughed, but my humor died like a wilting rose. “I . . . I never asked what name Sun chose. I’m not even sure whether stars have names.” Would I see Him again, and have the opportunity?

“All life has a name, even if it is an unkind one,” he whispered.

I wondered if that meant he didn’t like “Phinnie,” either.

We were quiet awhile, watching the moon slowly climb the night sky. I added a few sticks to the fire. Ristriel moved to the shadows, leaving the blanket to me, becoming solid once more.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to share my blanket with him; I’d known him for only a matter of hours, and he was a godling on the run from . . . something. Instead, I asked, “Are you cold?”

Ristriel didn’t reply.

Reaching into my bag, I grabbed a piece of bread and offered it to him. He gave it a longing look but then shook his head once more.

“Are you hungry?” I pressed.

“I do not need to eat.”

“But you still can.” I recalled the lavish feast I’d had with Sun.

He was a full god, and even He could eat.

He hesitated, then reached a hoof into the moonlight. It shifted into the shape of a hand, which he then pulled back so it would turn solid. I gaped at the human-shaped hand jutting from the leg of the miniature horse. Trying to behave as though that were a normal thing, I leaned into the shadows to give him the bread. He looked at it with a sort of wonder only a toddler might have, then nibbled away, his expression thoughtful.

When he finished, I asked, “How did you know I was a star mother?” For every godling I came across, on Earth and in Sun’s palace, somehow knew me immediately. I had figured it was some sort of godly sense they had.

“Because of your starlight,” he said. “And because of your scars.”

I started. “S-Scars?”

He nodded. Then saw my face, and shrunk. “I’ve upset you.”

“I . . .” I didn’t know how to answer. I pulled up my sleeves, examining my arms in the firelight. “I . . . I don’t have any scars.”

Stretch marks, certainly, but those were tucked away beneath my clothes.

“They’re not on your body but your spirit,” he explained, watching me, gauging my reaction.

I glanced over myself as though I would be able to see the marks. “Why do I have scars?”

He took a moment to answer, and I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “If you thrust your hand into that fire, would it not hurt you?”

I glanced to the flames.

“You are a mortal woman who lay with the Sun and carried a star. Of course you have scars.”

It dawned on me then, the pitiful looks I got from Elta and Fosii and the others within the Palace of the Sun, even after my star was born. They could see the mutilation that I could not. I hugged myself, wondering what I looked like to them.

“Do not be ashamed, Ceris.” Ristriel spoke gently. “They are marks of your journey and your sacrifice.”

I supposed he was correct, but it was strange, knowing I was so marked beneath my skin.

“Look at the moon.”

I did. It hovered overhead, pocked in a way that almost formed a face. I had once likened demigods to bears, but the moon was a bear who could swallow cities whole if she so desired. The stories

said that many godlings found refuge in her kingdom when they were cast out from Sun’s. And so the moon was the most powerful demigod of all. At least in all the lore I knew.

“She, too, is scarred. But she is beautiful.”

I lowered my arms. “She is.”

Ristriel stepped onto the blanket, turning half-ethereal. “She was once much larger than she is now, but the war has whittled her down.”