Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(35)

His features hardened, making them even more radiant. “Time is constant, but it affects celestial beings . . . differently.” I could tell there was a tome of information behind the statement, but one He did not wish to share. “That is how we are long-lived. The chords of our songs play differently than yours.”

I shook my head, trying to grasp His meaning. “But then I would have been seven hundred years in the heavens.”

“You are not quite mortal,” He repeated, and yet He sounded doubtful.

Regardless of my mortal or nonmortal state, one thing was certain. “I’ve been displaced.”

All the god had to say was So it seems.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. “Sun, can You return me to my time?”

He didn’t even consider it, only shook His head. “Time is constant, Ceris. I cannot travel it, even with My power. It is against the law.”

I was ready to weep. “What law?”

“Eternal laws.” He held up a finger. “Time cannot be altered.”

Another finger. “A god’s reign cannot be inherited.” A third finger.

“Death cannot be reversed.” And His little finger. “A mortal cannot be forced to do a god’s will. Only convinced.”

Like the star mothers. He had given me a chance to change my mind.

I hugged myself and glanced at the forest behind me. Even a god could not fix what had happened, and yet I didn’t understand why it had happened. Had I slept so long before opening my eyes to the glass roses on my chest? But if that were the case, I would have been sent back. Elta . . . she was still there in the room with me. As though she hadn’t left. As though I hadn’t been displaced in time until Sun sent me home.

Nediah sprung to mind. If Sun could not take me back to my time, surely He could pick me up and place me in that city. But then I thought of Ristriel, of his oath to me. He had pledged to guide me to Nediah, to protect me, if I would protect him in return. While I had not sworn with words, I was part of that oath, and abandoning him now sang of wrongness. I knew keenly what it was like to be alone, to be afraid, and I couldn’t go back on my word to force him to suffer the same fate. We would part at Nediah, yes, but such was expected for both of us.

My hesitation must have concerned Sun. “Consider Me. I cannot stay any longer, so I ask that you consider Me.”

I managed to nod. He began to brighten, readying to leave, but I stopped Him with, “Wait.” The hope on His face almost silenced me, but I had questions and didn’t want to lose the opportunity to ask them. “How are Elta and Fosii?”

If He was disappointed I wasn’t running into His arms, He didn’t show it. He thought a moment, perhaps trying to remember whom I spoke of. “Your attendants? They are well enough.”

“Enough?”

“Whispers of war unsettle most.” A flame licked His shoulder.

“And, Sun”—I stepped closer to Him, and His fire shrunk, as though He was trying to make it more comfortable for me. I smiled at the simple gesture—“our daughter . . . what did You name her?”

His eyes softened. “She is called Surril.”

“Surril,” I repeated, the name godly and perfect. “Surril.”

He moved toward me, the heat stronger but not unbearable, and tucked a knuckle beneath my chin. It heated me down to my toes, as though I had submerged into a steaming bath just on the brink of being too hot. “Consider Me,” He repeated. “I will return.”

Retreating, Sun flashed so brightly I had to turn away. When I looked back, He was gone, and the dawn had broken, illuminating the pond and crowning the trees. To my surprise and delight, all of the threads and needles Elta had given me in Sun’s palace rested on the Earth where Sun had just hovered, along with an empty canvas. I

knelt and picked up the bundles, whispering my thanks to the dawn before tilting my head back to the blue heavens.

“Surril,” I whispered, and smiled. “Dearest Surril, I miss you.”

And though I could not see the stars, in the back of my mind, I heard the faintest tinkling of laughter, like a child taking her first steps, and my heart was full.

When I returned to camp, Ristriel was nowhere to be seen. I searched in the woods for him, then retraced my way to the pond and back. Not even a pawprint gave him away.

“Ristriel?” I asked, quieter than my normal volume. I didn’t think shouting his name in these unfamiliar parts wise, in case those godlings came looking for him again. I hadn’t the faintest idea what they might do to a mortal, or mostly mortal, who got between them and their quarry, but neither did I care to test them.

I escaped. That was what he had said, when I asked about his pursuers. Escaped from what? Surely this softhearted godling was no great criminal.

Unease stirred. What if he had been captured in my absence?

But the pond was not far from the camp. Surely I would have heard it. Or there would be some sign of a struggle.

But what else could have become of him? He could not have gone hunting again, not in the day.

I searched the nearby woods once more, but found not even a broken twig.

As I wandered back to the still-empty camp, the chill I’d accumulated from the pond rushed into my bones.

I had just been in the presence of the Sun God Himself, and I had not asked Him for help because I felt indebted to a stranger who had made an oath to me. And now Sun was gone, and so was my guide.