Chapter 5 Falling Stars
Falling Stars
Aurora couldn’t sleep. She replayed the past twenty-four hours over and over in her mind, and in the quiet of her cottage, with the occasional pops and hisses from the fire, she could almost convince herself none of it had happened.
That none of it was real.
But if it had been only a dream, a terribly vivid dream, then Aurora would have been a wife by now, in her home with Farren, getting used to the sounds and smells of a new place.
There would have been remnants of flowers in her long brown hair and a gold band on her ring finger and nerves in her stomach about sharing a bed with a man.
A safe love. The thought normally made her feel happy and calm, but in that moment she felt overwhelmingly sad that she wasn’t willing to fight for Farren. She mourned the loss of their almost-life, carried it close to her chest so that she could fuel her anger with it.
After another hour of staring at the ceiling, Aurora sat up, frustrated.
The fire cast a faint orange glow over the room that made shadows dance along the walls of the loft, and Aurora looked over at Elsie, asleep in the small bed beside her.
Her breathing was labored, a faint hiss punctuating the top of every inhale, and Aurora wished she had made the Starmaker heal Elsie before he had left that day.
He would be back soon, though, and Elsie would live. That was all that mattered.
Aurora was quiet as she crawled out of bed and slipped down the ladder. She waited at the bottom of the steps for any sounds from her brother or Mama, but the house was still. She tiptoed around, gathering heavy blankets and matches before finally pushing out the door.
“Sister?”
Aurora jumped and squinted into the darkness. “Aspen? What are you doing out here?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he said. He walked closer, and Aurora could see that his arms were full of firewood. “It is my night to feed the fire.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Aurora said. “I thought I might stargaze for a while to ease my worry.”
“I’m sorry for what you’re going through,” Aspen said, and Aurora believed him. Aspen was careful when he spoke, and he didn’t say things he did not mean. He had always been that way, and Aurora had come to rely on him for advice and wisdom.
“Thank you.”
Aspen passed by her and stepped into the house without another word, and Aurora looked over at the forest behind their home.
She couldn’t see them in the darkness, but she knew rows of candy stripe phlox bordered the trees, a warning system that alerted the villagers when the Frost was creeping out beyond the cover of the woods.
The flowers followed the entire forest edge, visible from every part of the village, vibrant blooms with petals of rich pink, the edges striped in white.
They were beautiful, but on the day that Elsie had fallen ill, the ones behind their home had withered to a dull gray.
They were vibrant once again, though, and Aurora knew she would be safe here.
She trudged through the snow to the stone fire pit that Evander had made when they were children.
The stones were nearly black after years of use, and there was almost always enough ash and charred wood to get the fire going again without much trouble.
There was a worn wooden pergola offering just enough cover that the pit and chairs remained free of snow, and Aurora grabbed her matches, producing a small fire in minutes that spat into the night.
She pulled out a chair just enough to see the stars, sat down, and looked up.
The sky was clear. Aurora had always loved stories about the stars, and she had often braved the cold as a young girl to watch for the ones that fell.
She’d thought that if she did it night after night, one would eventually fall directly beside her, and perhaps she could keep it, a special treasure just for her.
Or maybe she would help hang it back in the sky, if that was what the star wanted—she didn’t know how to hang a star, but she had been willing to try.
Aurora no longer believed that she might get to hold a star one day, but she still watched for the ones that shot across the sky. Her neck began to ache as she kept her gaze trained above her, and when a star began to fall, leaving a wake of glitter in the dark, her eyes welled up.
She jumped when she heard a sound and pulled her focus from the sky, blinking away her tears.
“I haven’t been out here much since Evander married,” Aspen said, pulling out a chair and draping himself in a blanket.
“It’s a good night for it.” Aurora kept her voice casual to match her brother’s tone, but she was deeply moved that he had come back out to be with her. He was covered from head to toe in his warmest clothing, and his breaths sent white puffs into the night.
“Even better now, I would think,” Aspen said, handing her a thermos of leftover cider from their trip to the market. Aurora eagerly took a sip, letting it warm her the whole way through.
“What is your reaction to everything that’s happening?” Aurora asked. She didn’t want Aspen to feel as though they couldn’t speak of it, and she truly wanted to know. Perhaps talking with him would make her feel as though she wasn’t carrying it all on her own.
“I think it is extraordinary,” Aspen said with complete sincerity. “The Starmaker Rising…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “It is hard for me to comprehend.”
“And for me.”
Aspen looked at her then. “I know it feels like you don’t have a choice in the matter, and I cannot fault you for that, as I would feel the same.
But the truth is that there is always a choice, and you do not have to—rather, you should not—do this his way.
” He paused before continuing. “The Sun chose you for a reason, Aurora, and you owe it to yourself and to all of Reverie to take the entirety of who you are into your new role. You get to decide what your life as Starmaker will look like—no one else.”
Aurora was stunned by his words, unable to speak for fear of losing herself to her emotions. She took a shaky breath. “Thank you for saying that. It was somehow exactly what I needed to hear.”
“I’m glad,” Aspen said, reaching over and squeezing her hand.
The door to the house closed, and Aurora looked up to see Elsie walking toward them, huddled in her blankets. Aurora stood, rushing over to her sister.
“You should not be out here,” Aurora said, holding out her arm to take Elsie back inside. But her sister simply walked past her.
“The phlox was pink today, and I believe I am to be fully healed in a few hours’ time,” Elsie said, and Aurora almost laughed at how obstinate she was.
How brave. Aurora had taken care of Elsie ever since Papa died, but she wasn’t a child anymore, and it was probably time to stop treating her like one.
“Her logic is sound,” Aspen said, getting up and pulling out a chair for Elsie.
“I suppose it is,” Aurora agreed. She joined them and handed the thermos to Elsie. Just then, the door flew open once more, and Mama came out with the cake she had made for the wedding sitting unceremoniously on a large wooden carving board.
“Did you truly believe I would let you leave without helping us get through this cake?” Mama asked, setting the board on a small table in front of Aurora.
She smoothed a hand over Aurora’s hair before sitting down, then passed around forks as she told a story from Aurora’s childhood.
It was then that Aurora knew her mother would be okay, that she would be there for Aspen and Elsie in a way she had not been able to in the past.
It was the reassurance Aurora needed, and she felt some of the tension leave her body, knowing her family was here and safe and okay. More than okay.
All at once, they went for the cake, stabbing their forks through the layers, not trying to keep its beauty intact.
It was such a ridiculous thing, the four of them sitting outside in the frigid night, each of them in so many clothes they could hardly move, passing around cider and eating forkfuls of cake in the earliest hours of the morning.
The wood cracked and smoke rose into the night and they talked and told stories and laughed, all of them together, and Aurora let Aspen’s words from earlier carve themselves onto her heart.
These people were the deepest parts of herself, and she would carry them with her to the castle, hold them close as she learned her magic, and weave the threads of her past into the tapestry of her future.