Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
THE CITY OF STARS WAS AN APT NAME, THIA THOUGHT, AS THEY made their way between buildings.
Mavrel returned to her shoulder, his weight a comfort as they chased Lythia’s purposeful strides.
Moonlight winked off the towering dew spirals, and the glowing buds that floated between could easily have been mistaken for a galaxy, though one they were swimming in, instead of passing under.
The ground itself was the softest grass Thia had ever touched, somehow as cushiony as a blanket and yet only a few inches long.
Losrohir watched them as they passed, strange green stares peering through translucent walls with guarded or intrigued expressions.
While Thia couldn’t deny the beauty of the place, she wondered how they could stand the lack of invisibility, when there was no room to which you could escape, no door you could close to truly be alone, when anyone could see right through the walls.
Lythia’s voice sounded in Thia’s mind, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Those who are never alone are never lonely. The voice turned wry. Do not fear. We know humans do not share our sentiments in this regard.
Thia looked up at her, but the Losrohiri woman’s back was turned. As eerie as it was, she supposed it was good the woman could read minds, because at least she’d know they were being honest.
As they walked, many of the Losrohir who had greeted them in the woods dispersed, until it was only Lythia and two others.
She led them into a glittering spire to their left, and Thia reminded herself not to doubt the dew as they ascended a staircase.
The world beyond was visible, but slightly blurred, like they were looking through water.
Glowing buds floated beside them, and Thia reached out to touch one, only for it to swoop away before she could make contact.
They reached the top, and Lythia turned left, the final two Losrohir departing.
She bid them farewell with a wave of her hand, then turned right into a large chamber.
There was a crystalline table at the center, and hanging vines covered the ceiling, strung with the same glowing flowers.
A Losrohiri man sat in a similarly sparkling chair on the far side, his skin the gray-brown of an ash tree, patterned with the same bright veins as the others.
In stark contrast, his hair was pure silver, tumbling down his back to the top of his white trousers.
His torso was bare and painted with gold swirls that glittered when he moved, emphasizing the broad shoulders and strong frame that gave him an appearance of youth, despite the deep lines that framed his glowing irises.
Gold paint marked his cheeks as well, and his head bore a circle of silver flowers to match Lythia’s.
They reminded Thia of dryads, or druids perhaps, with the swirls of ink and obvious power. Something as ancient and wild as the earth.
The Losrohiri man rose as they approached, exchanging such a long look with Lythia that Thia presumed they were speaking mind-to-mind.
Then he spread his arms in welcome. “I am Myrdaeth,” he said. “Luminae of Losrohiria.”
Oskaren led them again, offering the same greeting she’d given Lythia, hand from shoulder to hip. “Myrdaeth-?l, it is an honor to meet the esteemed Luminae. Legend says you have ruled for over a century with wisdom and light.”
Myrdaeth’s eyes twinkled. Or maybe that was just their strange silver-green glow in the flickering flower light. “There is no need to recite my own history to me, human,” he said. “And we Losrohir do less of your ruling and a good deal more communing.”
Oskaren bowed again. If Thia hadn’t been watching, she would have missed the slight clench of the girl’s fists that gave away her nerves. “There is much with which I am unfamiliar here. Forgive me.”
Placated, Myrdaeth smiled. “Come. Sit.” He returned to his seat, indicating for them to do the same. There were only five chairs, and Thia watched, mesmerized, as he waved his hand, singing a low note, and another sprung up from the floor.
Lythia sat first, then Oskaren, then the rest of them.
Thia sank into hers, expecting it to be hard, but it seemed to curve around her frame, providing the perfect blend of stability and comfort.
She stroked a finger down the arm, marveling at the cool, smooth texture, as firm as glass but somehow softer.
Myrdaeth turned his sharp attention on Thia, only to raise a brow at her feathered companion. “This is not an ordinary bird.”
Mavrel fluffed his feathers, and Thia ran a soothing finger down his back. “No.”
Myrdaeth watched the falcon for so long that Thia could have sworn they were communing also.
She wanted to ask what they were saying, if anything, but the Luminae’s concentration was so great, so intrigued, that she didn’t know what might happen if she broke it.
Then he said, “Keep him close, Thia Sanbrooke.” His face softened a touch.
“Now tell me, Storm Crow. Why have you come?”
Thia didn’t see the point of lying, when he would likely know what she was thinking. She ducked her chin under the weight of his inspection. “I am trying to get home. King Caradoc said if I brought him a witch’s head, he would help me.”
To her surprise, he waved her off. “I did not ask where you are going. I asked why you have come.”
Bemused, Thia turned to Oskaren for help.
When the girl appeared just as perplexed, Thia turned to Lythia, but the Losrohiri woman’s face was impassive.
She didn’t know how to answer. Why had she come to Eldris?
It was an accident. Why had she come to Losrohiria?
It was the fastest way to the witch’s lair.
Why had she come to the City of Stars? Lythia hadn’t exactly given her a choice, had she?
Maybe it wasn’t why she’d come, or what he was asking, but she did have a question. “Can you send me home?” She assumed the answer would be no, or someone would have mentioned it while cautioning her against seeking the king. But she had to try.
“I cannot,” he responded. “We are of this realm, and as such our power is contained by it.”
Thia thumbed the edge of the table, nodding in acknowledgement.
The Luminae inspected her for what felt like an eternity. “You will help to heal this land, Storm Crow. But you do not yet love it.”
“Considering all the ways it’s tried to kill me, that’s hardly a surprise.” She turned red to the tips of her ears, remembering to whom she spoke.
But Myrdaeth smiled. “Your honesty is pure.” He sat back. “It is fortuitous you have arrived this night, our Festival of Impartation. We would welcome you to join us.” At this, he examined each member of the group.
Thia didn’t know if they could refuse. She didn’t know if they were prisoners or guests. But she felt the weight of the king’s deadline on her chest.
She felt Myrdaeth’s attention return to her, but she stared fixedly on a sparkle in the center of the dewy table.
“Tell me,” Myrdaeth said. “How do you plan to get to the Isle of Bones? You have no ship.”
Thia looked to Oskaren. When she’d said they were going to the sea, Thia hadn’t realized she’d meant across it.
“I thought we could build a raft.”
Myrdaeth frowned. “With whose trees, I wonder.” Oskaren had the good sense to appear ashamed, but Myrdaeth only rubbed a hand over his chin.
“We will gift you a ship, and you may take the River of Dreams to the coast.” He raised a brow to Thia.
“I trust that should satisfy your fear of running out of time.”
She blushed.
Oskaren inclined her head. “We thank you for your magnanimous generosity.”
“Why me?” Thia blurted. “I’m just a girl. I’m not even from here. You—you have an entire city. The king is just one man.” The words were an avalanche she was powerless to stop. “Why don’t you do something?”
Silence met her words. When she dared raise her head, Thran and Dess looked petrified, and even Oskaren seemed a bit shocked. Mavrel flitted his wings uneasily, his feathers brushing Thia’s neck.
When Myrdaeth finally spoke, his voice was low and cold.
“We were here long before the coming of humans,” he said.
“And we shall be here long after. We know truths you cannot fathom; we have watched the threads of time longer than you have lived. Do not sit in judgement, Storm Crow, of what you know so little. You presume yourself the One, when you are but one of many. We will not act until the Descendant of Lore is found, for only she can set things right.”
Thia ducked her head, properly chastened. “I’m sorry.” But one word stuck in her mind. She.
“Don’t be,” he responded. “I know you speak from fear.” She might have been embarrassed to have that particular truth announced to the table, but he wasn’t wrong.
“Take heart, Thia Sanbrooke,” he continued.
“No matter your intentions, your journey will not end on the Isle of Bones. The Song of the Ghost Queen has only just begun.”
A shiver pebbled Thia’s skin. She didn’t know if that was a comfort.
Somewhere in the distance, a horn sounded, and Myrdaeth stood before she could respond. “It is time.”
“For what?” Thia asked.
Lythia’s smile was genuine. “We dance.”