Star Mother (Star Mother #1)(6)

“The dress will fit Idlysi well,” I murmured.



Mother glanced at me, one eyebrow raised.

I met her eyes, then Pasha’s. Leveling my shoulders, I said, “Father will come home. I will be the star mother.”

More than one plate hit the floor.

I left the house before anyone could argue with me. Truthfully, I wanted them to argue. I wanted some sort of proof that I mattered, that I was too loved for them to let me give myself up without a fight.

The men had debated this long; they could debate a little longer and find someone else to answer the Sun’s call.

But I also feared there would be only silence, or worse, congratulations, and so I left, allowing myself to be a coward then so I would not be a coward later.

Night had fallen, but it seemed to be early evening from the way the godly torch continued to burn, drowning out even the light of the stars. I walked away from it, nearly ran, for fear was creeping back into me little by little, and I worried that I would change my mind and forever suffer for what might have been.

But I did not go to the council meeting, nor the cathedral. I went to Caen’s house.

I came around the side, planning to climb up the woodpile and knock on his window, but he was already out there, stripped to his shirtsleeves, quartering wood with a ferocity that revealed his own inner turmoil. Todrick was with him and spied me first, reaching over to swat Caen’s ankle. He stilled his axe, glancing first to his brother, then to me.

“Ceris.” He lowered the axe. I wonder what my expression must have been, for he dropped it and walked out to meet me. “What’s wrong?”

Todrick silently excused himself and disappeared into the house.

I was short of breath, and not just from the excursion. I strained to keep my muscles from trembling, for even through my terror, I was aware that the only time I’d felt at peace in the last two days was after I had made my decision and spoken it aloud. If the Sun had heard it, I would be a fool to rescind the declaration. “I just wanted to see you one last time.”

His brow, dotted with perspiration, drew low. “What do you mean?”

I gripped his elbows and stood on my toes, kissing him on the lips. It was a quick and modest kiss, but I had never kissed Caen before, and it startled him. “I wanted to tell you I love you,” I admitted, my pulse racing with the confession, however obvious it must have been. “And I want you to be happy.”

He stammered, “C-Ceris, what . . .”

“Remember that,” I pressed. I was losing my courage, and even on the south side of the village, I could feel the heat of the torch pushing into my shoulders. Reminding me of my promise.

“Remember me.”

I let go of him and turned. He caught my wrist, confusion aging his face. Trying my best to smile, I gently pulled his fingers off one by one.

“Don’t follow me,” I pleaded.

I ran with all my strength. Or rather, I outran my doubts, my concerns, my fears. I ran clear to the tent erected at the village center, where the night air felt like midsummer day. Where our men still debated between the names of Gretcha and Anya.

My anxiety drove me to burst past the heavy flap of the tent door, drawing the eyes of everyone in the space. I was not the only woman present. Both Gretcha and Anya were there, along with their mothers and our wisewoman, whose nose had warts and whose hands were knobby with age.

Almost immediately, the blacksmith tried to turn me out. “You are not needed here.”

And I countered, “I will be star mother.”

The hush that bloomed around the statement was deafening.

Gretcha looked at me with shock. Anya, with relief.

My father, his face long, asked, “Ceris? What did you say?”

Coming around the blacksmith, I met first my father’s eyes, then the eyes of our priest. “I will be the star mother. I volunteer. There have been no others.” It was a guess, but if the council still convened, then neither Anya nor Gretcha had accepted the duty.

And since neither spoke against me, I suspected they, like Idlysi, were too terrified to say yes, and too afraid to say no.

Silence fell for nearly a full minute, until the priest repeated, “You volunteer, Ceris Wenden?”

“You’re to be married soon.” My father’s voice scratched, as if he spoke through a throat half-closed.

I glanced at Anya, her eyes wide with fear and hope. “I suspect Caen will be wed before winter.” I managed a small smile, and Anya clutched at her breast, her eyes glimmering with tears. Not willing to let my own emotions surface, I shifted my attention to the priest. “But I must be star mother. I will bring honor to Endwever and my family. I will have my name remembered and my face among the stars. I will dwell in paradise with my loved ones. I will sacrifice so that the others may not be persuaded.” I swallowed, hoping my words sounded prideful and not desperate.

The priest shook his head. “You understand that a mortal body cannot survive the power of a star.”

“I have been faithful all my life.” I clenched and unclenched my hands in the folds of my skirt, where the others might not see them.

“I know what I give, and what will be taken. How much longer will the Sun wait for us to decide?”

Others whispered to one another, and I realized I was not the only one afraid. Our people had kept the Sun, the greatest god of the sky, waiting three days already.