Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(80)

Mortality spread over him like a rampant disease. His violet glow diminished, his starlight chains snapped, and his lungs struggled to work, for a mortal could not exist within Oblivion.

Cursing, Saiyon grabbed him and pushed him onto the Earth Mother, into the midst of a night-fallen forest, and Ristriel lived.

When Saiyon returned to me, He already knew what choice I would make. He’d always known.

It broke my heart anew when He asked me anyway.

“Saiyon.” His name was a cleaver rending me in two. All in all, I had spent 351 years in His palace. For three hundred of them, I had held Him, loved Him, and cherished Him. But my path had been set

before I ever left the Earth Mother, and no amount of time could heal the scars Ristriel had carved into my heart.

My true love was waiting for me.

I touched Saiyon’s face. With so much starlight in my veins, He felt as warm as another human, even through the flames that licked His golden skin. Blinking back tears, I kissed His lips, His nose, His forehead. He embraced me, flames living and dying in endless cycles. Saiyon was not capable of weeping, which was for the better.

Had he wept, I might not have had the strength to leave Him.

“Remember the star mothers,” I chided Him. “Remember their names and their stories. Tell them of the hereafter and leave them their choice. Tell them of me.

“You will find her,” I promised. “You will find the one who will endure Your strength, who will climb the heavens and break Oblivion on Your behalf. And she will stay here, and guard Your stars and Your heart, and You will never be alone. But I cannot be that person for You.”

He held me tighter, almost to the point of pain.

“I will sing for You.” I stroked His fiery hair. “I will sing for You as I did for him, every dawn and set, so that You will remember I love You, too. I will sing for You as long as I have a voice, for we both know I am not eternal.”

I sang my first song for Him then, and note by note He let me go, His goodbyes unspoken.

I descended back to the fields and forests of my birth, wearing the new ring He had made me.

This one, I did not take off.

In the light of the third-quarter moon, I found my feet again on solid Earth, surrounded by real trees, beneath a sky full of stars that couldn’t show their true colors. My clothes, once spun of light and not-fabric, were simple and homespun, mortal. It took me a moment to recognize them as the ones I’d been wearing when I last touched the Earth Mother. How out of fashion they would be now, nearly four centuries later. My hair, entirely silver with starlight, hung over my shoulders. I swept it away, searching my surroundings. The forest was dense and thick, heavy with shadows. Once, it would have terrified me. Not so much time had passed that I had forgotten hiding from wolves or running from bandits. But there was no fear in me now, only sorrow, and anticipation, and a need that had not been quenched since I was far more mortal than I was now.

I had forgotten what a deep spring forest smelled like, and I breathed it in, admiring the way my skin pebbled in the cool air. But I was not here to admire the Earth Mother’s gardens, nor to reflect on the existence I had once known. I was here for him.

It took mere thought to ignite my starlight, which lit the grove to nearly white, startling a roosting bird and silencing the first crickets of the season. Tree leaves, new and green, took on a gemlike quality. A curious breeze rustled through tender branches.

I was home.

“Ris?” I called, starlight dimming to a faint glow, just bright enough to guide me. “Ris?” I wandered between trees, careful where the forest floor dipped and roots rose. A twig snagged my hair; dogwood brushed my skirt. With every step, my trepidation grew. I did not suspect Saiyon of foul play, but He had returned me to the Earth Mother seven hundred years late before, without realizing it.

What if Ristriel was on the other side of the world? What if I never found him?

I moved quicker, leaping through the brush, calling out his name. No. We would not be alone. We had both given up too much to never find each other again.

A song broke through the trees, faint, hushed. I paused, listening to its familiar, haunting tune. I knew that song. I had sung it to the skies twice a day for 350 years. My breath caught at its beauty. So long . . . it had been so long since I heard his voice.

Surril twinkled above me, lending her encouragement.

I moved as swiftly as the dense forest would allow, following that song. My skin prickled into tight gooseflesh; my heart beat hard and fast. My eyes searched every shadow, yearning to find his face.

The melody grew louder. I was close, so close— I found him alone at the bank of a brook, in a narrow grove open to the stars. Moonlight drifted over him, but he remained whole, his demigod luster gone. That was the first moment I knew he was mortal, though he did not tell me the story of how until later.

He stopped singing mid verse and spun toward me, wide-eyed as a new fawn. As though this time I was the ghost.

We stayed like that, staring, incredulous, remembering the sight of one another. It was tense and reverent, shattered only when Ristriel mouthed, “Ceris.”

Starlight beaming, I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck. He held me tightly, lifting me off the ground, burying his face in my hair. He still smelled of winter nights and midnight, but his skin had lost its coolness. I clung to him, disbelieving, sobbing.

“I heard you.” His tears traced my neck. “I heard you sing.”