Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(47)

I did, and he ran.

Ristriel moved faster than a mortal man could, though not quite as swiftly as he had when fighting off those godlings. Godlings who, I was sure, fought for the day. I wonder how Sun would have taken it, had they killed the woman He’d propositioned. I wondered, too, if He had tried to find me again during the week Ristriel and I had skipped.

Or if He’d tried to come when I’d turned the ring to black, and Ristriel had taken me from Earth entirely.

Would he stop Ristriel’s pursuers if I asked, or was that, too, bound by some complex law?

Ristriel dashed in a roundabout way until a cloud passed over the moon. Under the cover of darkness, he soared in a straight line, and I had to close my eyes against the wind that repelled us. We came upon a wood, and he angled toward it, perhaps to avoid his captors, or to gain cover from the moon, or both. I held tightly to him, legs and arms, focused on staying as calm as I could manage, for surely Ristriel would be forced to break his promise and drop me were my starlight to rise.

But what sort of creature could not withstand starlight? Was it not what powered the universe itself? Was it not so important that mortal women died for it? Was it not good?

Did that make Ristriel . . . ?

I gritted my teeth and pushed my forehead into his neck. There was nothing I could do about it now, short of let go. And had he not just taken me to see Surril, despite the harm that came to him?

The clambering of our otherworldly pursuers grew louder, and Ristriel zipped east and west so suddenly I nearly lost my grip, but he never once loosened his hold on me. Gradually, the sound of the chase lessened, though Ristriel ran on even after it had faded, running for his freedom wherever the shadows would let him.

When we finally stopped in a place utterly unrecognizable, he set me down gently and fell to his knees, breathing hard. Even godlings cannot exert themselves forever. Our pace had been so punishing my breath was labored, too, and I had not been the one sprinting.

I rested against a young tree, watching a cloud pass over the stars. A cool breeze smelled of rain, but we remained dry, for now.

I had not quite caught my breath, but I had to know. “How do you live, if starlight hurts you?”

Lifting his head, Ristriel looked up through wind-tossed hair. “I was not made by the stars.”

“But the stars power the universe.”

He shook his head and stood shakily. “Are you powered by the stars, Ceris?”

I opened my mouth, paused. “No. I get my strength from what grows in the Earth.”

Leaning against a tree, weary, Ristriel said, “Stars power the great things of the universe, and great things power other things. It is a never-ending cycle.”

I stepped closer to him. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “I will be.”

Guilt soured my mouth, but if he was talking, I needed to get as many answers as possible. “But you are a godling.”

A soft smile touched his lips. “Where there is light, there is shadow. I get my strength from the darkness cast when the starlight shines. It has always been that way.”

I studied his face. I was sure he did not need sleep, just as Sun didn’t, but his eyes drooped and his neck hunched. I touched his face, cool as rain, and moved hair from his eyes.

“You pass,” I murmured.

Ristriel tilted his head. “Pass?”



“Your next lesson for passing as a mortal.” Pulling away, I touched my chin, tracing the unseen mark Surril’s lips had left there.

“It is a rule unspoken but always heeded among the good. Always care for those weaker than you. You pass.”

He shook his head. “I am the one putting you in danger.”

“No, Ristriel. You are the one taking care of me.”

To my relief, he didn’t argue further.

Despite uneasy sleep, I was more than eager to start out with Ristriel at dawn. Our chase had put us off course, but not terribly so. In fact, with luck, we’d be in another town by nightfall. With that thought in mind, I did my best to keep a good pace. If given the choice, I would always choose a bed over camping on the ground.

We’d not gone far when Ristriel flashed into his dark colors and dived into my pocket. He’d said nothing, but I knew there had to be a godling nearby. I searched the trees as I walked—they were strange ones, much thicker around than those back home, almost like they’d grown so weary of being tall they’d melted into themselves. Their trunks reminded me of spent candles, their branches of spider legs.

They had no leaves yet, only green buds still growing.

I’m sure the lurking godling noticed me—I tended to be noticeable then—but it never presented itself or called me Star Mother. After several miles of walking, Ristriel curled out of my pocket and became a hart at my side, flicking his ears to listen just as the real animal would.

“I suppose my next lesson in being godly is to hide whenever the opportunity arises.” I slipped rabbit jerky from my bag and took a bite.

The hart blinked at me. “It’s safer that way,” he spoke without moving his mouth.

“But it’s not just you. Whatever godling we passed was hidden.

In fact, I’d never seen one down here until, well . . .” I gestured to myself, to the scars still invisible to my eyes. “A godling in a lake spoke to me before I met you, but I’m sure it wouldn’t have done so were I not the mother of a star.”