Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(50)

Sure enough, a few hours later, the forest opened onto a town just a little larger than Endwever, which also nested in the heart of the forest. Many of the houses were similar, and its cathedral to the Sun was nearly identical as well, its torch unlit. People milled about, cutting wood or hanging laundry, bathing children by their porches.

Against my hair, Ristriel whispered, “I will search the forests. I’ll be close.” A shiver wound its way down my spine, and the butterfly flitted away, every beat of its wings silent as falling snow.

The first people who saw me were a mother and her two boys.

Spying a stranger clearly worried her, because she guided them away with her hands. I didn’t take offense—strangers hadn’t been a common occurrence in Endwever, either, though we were close to the trade route.

An older woman planting in her garden noticed me and came over, wiping her hands on her apron. “And who might you be, miss?

Not traveling alone, I hope?”

“Oh, no. My husband is in the forest.” I’d last referred to Ristriel as my brother, but this woman was hardly going to trade stories with someone from our last stop. “I think he might be skinning something.”

She laughed. “Leave it to a man to let a woman wander somewhere by herself. You have a place to stay? You’re here for family?”

The mention of family sent a sharp chill through my stomach.

“Nediah, for family.”

She nodded. “You’ve got about five days to go, then. I’m Marda.” She extended her hand to me, and I clasped it.

“I’m Ceris.” I was always glad to meet friendly folk, but her countenance grew stern the moment I shared my name.

“That’s an old name.” She hesitated, as though trying to remember something. “What’s your surname?”

I considered giving a false name, but I didn’t want to lie to her. I didn’t want to mask who I was. If I did, it would be like letting the zealots keep my identity for themselves.

“Wenden,” I answered.

“From Endwever.”

Rumors about me had clearly traveled faster than I had, but it was too late to redirect the conversation. “Yes.”

Her hand grew slack, and I released it. “You’re the star mother,”

she whispered, eyes round.

Smiling, I touched her shoulder. “I am, but please don’t speak of it.”

She nodded as though someone had tied a string to her forehead and forced her to. “I-I won’t. Married already?”

I blanched. But surely she didn’t know how long I’d been back.

“Recently.”

She took up both my hands in her own. “It is a blessing to have you here, Ceris. I won’t speak of it if you don’t wish me to, but do visit Father Meely. He was so excited when word came that a star mother had returned, alive.”

Thoughts of Father Aedan made me hesitate, and yet these priests had dedicated most of their lives to the gods. It felt almost cruel to take away what could be a mark of faith for them. That, and I had Ristriel; no one would ever lock me away, so long as he was nearby.

“Of course.” I glanced to the cathedral. “Marda, when did word come?”

“Only yesterday. Some pilgrims traveling to, oh, I think it was Nediah.” She smiled warmly at me. “Mentioned the miracle of a living star mother. They were on horseback, maybe four of them, and a guard.”

I wondered if these pilgrims were from Endwever, or if others had taken up a charge in my name. “Thank you.”

She released me, and I made my way to the cathedral. I hadn’t intended to make myself known, but at least it would guarantee we had a place to sleep tonight. People tended to be gracious when they feared the gods might be watching.

The cathedral’s interior was similar to the one back home, although its sculptures and decorations were more ornate and abstract than those I’d grown up with. A gold-leaf Sun greeted me in the narthex, its face jolly and spokes wavy. I smiled to myself, wondering what Sun would think of such an interpretation.

Wondering if He ever saw these visages of Himself, and if He appreciated them. Maybe they made Him feel strange the way my statue had made me feel.

I heard a man humming to himself and followed the sound, moving slowly so I could take in the décor. The windows here were not colored, but a fascinating mobile hung in the north aisle, depicting the heavens with geometric renditions of Sun, moon, Earth, and stars. One wall boasted a remarkable old tapestry that spanned a good twenty feet, detailing some obscure battle I’d never heard of.

I walked around the atrium, finding a man who had to be Father Meely sitting at a small desk in the apse, copying text from one book into another, his handwriting tight and neat, the side of his hand stained with black ink.

I did not want to startle him and have him miss a stroke, so I let my shoes fall a little heavier as I approached. He glanced up and saw me, then adjusted the crooked spectacles on his nose. “Is that you, Alna?”

“My name is Ceris Wenden.”

“Oh, I see.” He set down his pen and stood. “My eyes aren’t what they used to be unless something is right in front of . . . Did you say Ceris Wenden?”

I nodded, but not sure if he could see it, I added, “Yes.”

He froze. “Of Endwever?”

“I am the star mother the pilgrims spoke of.”