Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(40)

“You have a lovely voice.” Ristriel watched the light on the ceiling as though it were the moon’s, like he yearned for something he could not reach. He looked remarkably human.

I flushed at the compliment. “Th-Thank you. My sister Idlysi was always the talented one in my family.” I could carry a tune, but her voice was angelic.

“I have heard many mortals sing,” Ristriel went on, finally pulling his eyes from the light, “in different tones, styles, languages. The way you sing is simple and genuine. It’s . . . calming.”

No one had ever described my voice in such a way. “Thank you.”

A thought struck me, and I rummaged through my bag for my thread, needle, and canvas, scooting closer to the light to hold up my limited supply. I chose a deep-purple thread, looped it through my needle’s eye, and leaned back to get to work.

Embroidery had always helped me relax before bed. It was a rewarding task that let my thoughts work out on their own, unless I was doing a particularly difficult design. I hadn’t had a pull to work a needle since finishing the tapestry for my star, but I felt that itch now.

Pushing the first stitch through the small canvas relieved it. The work felt firm and solid, like Ristriel was at that moment. It felt right. It was him I wanted to create, as best as I could in such a limited space.

Ristriel had many forms, but it seemed right to stitch him as a man, for he was intelligent as one and, truthfully, it was the form of his I liked most.

I had just finished his outline when Ristriel stiffened and stood, heading toward the edge of the stable to peer out into the darkness. I set my work aside and followed him. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away, so I touched his shoulder. He flinched before glancing back at me and relaxing under the faint pressure of my fingers. It raised sad questions in me, but he distracted me by answering the only one I’d spoken. “I sensed them.”

“Godlings?”

He nodded. “Moving away. We are safe. They were not very close to begin with.” He paused. “They’re being followed, by hers.”

“Hers?”

“Moon.”

I wondered what that meant. Were the moon’s godlings spying on the Sun’s? Did they mean to attack? But Ristriel did not appear worried, so I forced my concerns to shrink.

“You have far-reaching senses,” I said.

“I was very far away, so I had to.”



Lifting my hand from his shoulder, I pulled at my pocket, offering to hide him, but he shook his head. He really did believe we were safe, then.

“Where, Ristriel?” I asked. “Where were you, before I met you?”

He offered me a weak smile. “It is better that you don’t know. It is a place I have risked much to forget.” He ran his palm over a splintering wooden post. “I should go outside. They’ll have a harder time finding me if I’m incorporeal. And if I’m moving.”

I could understand how becoming a ghost would make him harder to find, but I failed to see how pacing outside the barn would be beneficial. If anything, he should hide. “Why moving?”

His fingers curled inward, away from the post. I could see him struggling to find an acceptable answer. “It is the way of things.”

I scoffed. That was the sort of answer Sun would give. Hooking my thumb into the pocket of my dress, I asked, “Can I not hide you?”

He dipped his head, but his features were uncertain. “I do not want them to find you again. It will raise suspicion.”

And he’d promised I wouldn’t come to harm, though I still didn’t think Yar and Shu would harm me. Then again, when it came to things celestial, Ristriel would know better than I.

Further prying would have to wait until morning. “I’m going to rest, then.”

As far as I knew, Ristriel did not return to the barn until Sunrise.

We left before the farmers rose, making our way northwest. We moved farther and farther from the forest, until I couldn’t see the shading of its trees any longer. After a day of traveling, the hills began to mellow, giving us flatter ground dotted with smatterings of trees not quite large enough to be considered a wood. We slept out of doors, and I sang my song to Surril while Ristriel, malleable in the moonlight, shifted into a wolf and curled up at my feet, listening. That night and the next, I worked a little on my new tapestry by firelight, my stitches so small in my attempts to capture the intricate play of darkness and light that was my godling guide that my needle threatened to tear my canvas, which I’d had to trim twice, because it had started yellowing on the edges. It was not handling the shift from heaven to Earth as well as I had.

“Why do you create that way?” the wolf asked late the second night. I had thought he was slumbering, but of course Ristriel did not need sleep the way I did. Fatigue weighed down my eyelids, but I’d wanted to finish some violet highlights before turning in for the night.

My hand paused, and I looked at my tapestry. “It’s art.”

The wolf tilted his head almost like he was offended by my obvious answer. “Why thread? Why not sculpture, paint, storytelling?”

I smiled. “This is much easier to carry.”

“Storytelling is not heavy.”

Chuckling, I pushed another stitch through the tapestry. “It is if you write it all down.” I paused at my next stitch. “Can you create, Ristriel?”