Chapter Forty-Nine
D raven and I lay under a starlit sky in a verdant field of lush grass.
His arm is bent, tucked behind his head, and I lay nestled against his side, resting on his bicep in his large shirt—my clothes hanging on a tree branch to dry, wet from the cave’s ground.
“That one,” he says, pointing to a constellation in the sky with his free hand, “is Morwenna’s Dance.”
I smile as the memory of Gray’s story resurfaces in my mind. “I know that one.”
“Impressive,” Draven coos. “How about…” He searches the sky. “That one.” He points up at a collection of glistening stars forming the shape of a lyre.
I squint, thinking. It feels familiar, but ultimately, I don’t recognize it. So, I shake my head.
“That one is known is Astralis’s Lament,” he tells me.
“Lament? What happened to the god of the stars to make him mourn?”
Draven glances at me, a tiny curve in his brow. “Do you not know the story of Astralis and Sitara?”
My face pinches together as I think. Gods, it feels so familiar. But I chalk the gnawing feeling up to a forgotten lesson given to me by Sterling.
“Can one still know something if it's simply forgotten?”
Draven laughs. “Depends on the scholar you ask,” he answers, looking back to the sky. “Would you like me to tell you the story?”
I bite down on my lip and nod.
“Different kingdoms have different versions. But my mother’s favorite to tell was always the Rivarian version.”
The corner of my lip tugs up. “We are the kingdom loved by the gods.”
Draven hums. “And I’m sure there is a reason for that.”
I pause. “Draven?”
“Yes?”
“Your mother…what was her name?”
A passing silence. And then—
“Lealla,” he murmurs so tenderly, I realize a heart can break from something soft equally as much as from something rough.
“Lealla,” I echo, thinking about how beautiful a name it is. “I wish I could have met her.”
“Perhaps someday you will,” he offers. “My mother believed we are all descended from fallen stars, and when our time on this plane ends, we return home to them—our souls shining in the mortal sky as a reminder of our time here.”
“Do you believe that?”
From the corner of my eye, I catch the twitch of his lips.
“I believe I’ve heard far sillier and much less beautiful theories about where we come from and where we go after.
” He turns his chin to look at me, his expression soft.
“So, I’m not opposed to the idea that the very essence inside of me originates from a fallen star.
Perhaps in a way, it’s poetic, even. To some capacity, aren’t we all fallen stars, anyway? ” He brushes his thumb across my cheek.
I turn into his hand and kiss his calloused palm. “I didn’t know you were such a skilled philosopher,” I joke softly.
He laughs, pressing his lips to my temple. “I am many things. Including an excellent storyteller, so if you’re ready…”
I bite down on my grin and nod. “I’m ready.”
Draven gazes at me through crinkled eyes, then begins.
“In the months leading up to the Great Clamatè War, it is said the gods were divided.
Merikh, god of death and war and father to the Canamae, was rumored to be plotting something—which made the Canamae restless.
Astralis, being not only the god of the stars but also the god of justice, could frequently be seen—if one chose to watch the horizon close enough—soaring over the ocean as he scanned the skies to ensure their protection.
“But one day, someone discovered a form of magic capable of killing even a god. They imbued that magic into an arrow, shot it through the sky, and pierced Astralis with it. It is said Astralis attempted to call down the stars to save himself, but the arrow had already weakened him, and he could no longer control them. It is also said the stars that slipped from his grasp that day became the seeds that took root in this world, gifting wielders with light magic.”
Draven stills, taking a few breaths before continuing on. And I am latched onto every softly-spoken word, already hooked.
He actually is an excellent storyteller. Who knew?
“A woman found Astralis washed up on shore.
Thinking he was merely a lost fisherman caught in a storm, the woman, Sitara, took him into her home, where she used her renowned wits to nurse him back to health.
And every night as Astralis lay in a haze, barely clinging to his immortality, Sitara sang to him while playing her lyre.
This went on for many months, even after the war had started.
For without Astralis protecting the skies, much had changed.
“Astralis slowly began regaining his strength. Yet Sitara remained by his side, taking care of him, still entirely unaware of his identity.” Draven pauses.
“Some say it was Sitara’s rumored beauty that made Astralis fall in love; others believe it was her music—her voice—that truly captivated him.
But the great poets say they were simply two souls meant to find each other.
And once a soul has found its match, it is as binding as the unbreakable oath. ”
That gnawing feeling returns to my chest, like I’m forgetting something.
What is it about this story that sounds so familiar?
“Their love enraged the gods. But it also enraged another—someone who loved Sitara dearly. He watched in the shadows as Astralis admitted to his identity. Watched as Astralis then strung constellations in the sky and bled color into light for her, crafting the famous colored stars. Watched as Astralis dyed the sky with a sacred spectrum—creating the Great River of Light. And he watched as Astralis gifted her the impossible—the power of the very stars themselves. A power she decided must be used to end the raging war.”
As Draven pauses, my mind is spinning.
It’s the name…where have I heard her name before?
“But perhaps of all the ways mortals and gods are intertwined, it is their desire to be loved that brings them most closely together; and it is that very desire that tore Sitara and Astralis apart.
For the ones who harbored unrequited love formed a pact, vowing to separate them.
Astralis was tricked, and he was forced to watch Sitara be taken from his protection, stripped from his love, and cursed to never find him again—not even in the afterlife.
“Astralis created a lyre with the stars in hopes that, one day, Sitara may see it, wherever she is, and return to him—remember him. And in the meantime, Astralis continues searching—both in the realms of the gods and mortals alike—praying he may stumble upon her. For it is said his immortal heart died—stilled from beating ever again—the moment Sitara was stolen from him. And only hearing her sing once more, playing her lyre, will restore it.”
Draven looks down at me. “And that,” he murmurs slowly, “is the story of Astralis and Sitara.”
“Beautiful,” I comment, still trying to figure out where I’ve heard the name. “But depressing.”
Draven chuckles under his breath, arching a brow. “The constellation does have the word ‘lament’ in it.”
“Fair point,” I concede. I steal a glance at him, smiling. “A philosopher and a storyteller,” I muse. “Aren’t you quite the catch?”
Draven laughs, the sound beautiful. “Perhaps you can write about my talents in that journal of yours.” His smile turns sharp. “ All my talents.”
But I freeze, unable to even comment on Draven’s taunt .
Holy shit. Holy. Shit .
I sit up abruptly.
Draven follows suit, lifting himself from the ground, watching me through lowered brows. “Lyra?” he asks. “What is it?”
I glance at him, an indent wedged between my eyebrows. “I have to go. I…tonight was…” I take a breath and meet his eyes. “Tonight was amazing,” I murmur more steadily. “Thank you.”
He tilts his head, studying me closely. “And if I asked where you’re running off to, I don’t suppose you would tell me?”
My lips curve up right before I kiss him goodbye.
“Didn’t think so,” he mutters under his breath.
I rise from the ground, shove my feet into my combat boots, steal a final glance at Draven, and then I take off in a sprint.
I hear a fragment of Draven’s final sentence. “Lyra, you forgot your—”
I am too far gone to hear the rest.
I throw my chamber door open, gulping down air.
And I’ve never been so thankful for Draven making me run all those miles as I am right now, feeling winded from my sprint here, but not destroyed.
Luckily, Marcella isn’t in the room, providing me with full privacy to read Casimir’s journal.
I lay flat on the ground and reach for the small sack beneath my bed, tugging it out into the light and retrieving the journal from it.
In a frenzy to see if I’m right, I leave the sack and sit atop my bed, folding my legs and setting the journal flat in my lap.
I thumb through the pages to find where I last left off.
And then I begin to read.
I came back from the battlefield a bloodied wreck.
It seems an infection found me at some point through the ongoing chaos of war, and today, it made its presence known in my body.
In my delusional state, I saw a woman with hair like ash, sparkling.
She hummed to me and played an instrument by my bedside.
As a fever threatened to clip the strings of my existence, I thought the woman an angel, sent to guide me somewhere to the realms of the afterlife.
Frankly, I was ready to depart. Ready to lift my anchor and float away.
But the fever broke, and I came through the fogs of death. It was then I learned that Sitara had been the one at my bedside.
Yes, Sitara. Loved by all and renowned for her beauty.
Magaius’ and my closest companion. Featuring eyes that ignite your skin like the living blue fire they resemble.
Her hair that is a stunning color of ash, both bright and peculiar at once.
Her tiny nose that wrinkles when she laughs, and full lips that form the most breathtaking smile.