Chapter 6 Poor Assumptions
Poor Assumptions
Aurora stayed out for as long as she could, until her toes and cheeks tingled with too much cold, and then she followed her family back inside.
It had been a beautiful night, a send-off she never could have pictured for herself, never could have planned, and she would treasure it for the rest of her life.
But the dawn was fast approaching, and there was nothing to do but pack her trunk and prepare for the journey to the tallest peak, where the Starmaker’s ice-covered castle sat high above Reverie.
She moved around the cottage slowly, trying to memorize every detail of what it felt like to live in this home that the light couldn’t reach.
She ran her fingers over the worn wooden table and slipped out of her socks to feel the rug beneath her feet.
She smelled the faint woodsmoke clinging to the couch and chairs and listened to the ladder creak as she went up.
Aurora had been sad about leaving when she’d thought she was marrying Farren, and the sorrow that accompanied her now that she was going to the castle left an enormous pit in her gut.
But while she was mournful, she was not afraid. The Starmaker believed she was important; it did not make sense for him to harm her. And so, when she could not put it off any longer, she opened her trunk and began packing it with steady hands.
“Let me help you,” Elsie said, following Aurora up to the loft.
“I don’t have much to take.” Aurora could feel her sister’s eyes on her, a question burning on her tongue. “What is it?” she asked, looking up from her folding.
“Do you really believe you are to pull the sunlight?” Elsie said the words quietly, as if they were sacred.
Aurora supposed that made sense—up until yesterday, she too had viewed the Starmaker’s role as wonderful and life-giving, because it was both of those things.
But that was when she had believed the duty belonged to someone else, and now that the responsibility might be hers to carry, it didn’t feel wonderful. It felt impossibly heavy.
“I don’t know,” Aurora said, sitting down beside her sister. “I saw the way my blood began to glow when I touched him, and I felt the heat inside of me. I wish I hadn’t.”
“Don’t say that,” Elsie said, taking her sister’s hand. “Don’t ever regret who you are.”
Aurora shook her head. “It will be hard not to regret the thing that is taking me from you, but I’ll try my best.” She pulled her sister close and gave her a hug before packing the rest of her belongings.
“Take this,” Elsie said, pulling the quilt they had sewn together when they were children off of the bed. “Something to make the castle feel like home.”
Aurora wanted to tell her it wasn’t necessary and that she was sure there would be plenty of quilts, but she really did want to take it with her. It would smell of Elsie and of home, of Aspen’s mint tea leaves and Mama’s rose-hip oil.
“Thank you.” She folded the quilt and gently put it on top of her things, then latched the trunk shut.
When she got downstairs, the rest of her family was waiting for her, and Aurora was surprised to see Evander. “What are you doing here?” she exclaimed, rushing into his arms.
He hugged her tightly. “Aspen sent word to me yesterday.” He pulled away and looked at her with what she could only describe as delight. “The Starmaker,” he said, shaking his head. “I wanted to see you off.”
“I’m so glad you came.” She hugged him once more, not wanting to let go. She didn’t see Evander nearly as often as she wanted, and she hadn’t realized how much she had missed him until he was squeezing her close. “Where is Samuel?”
“He wanted to be here, but the roof developed a leak overnight. He’s trying to fix it before it causes too much damage.”
“Tell him I love him.”
“He knows,” Evander said. “And I will.”
Aurora didn’t know what else to say, so she turned to the rest of her family.
They didn’t look worried, nor were they happy.
There was a heaviness in the air, a hopeful sorrow.
Aurora had thought she wanted her family to be outraged for her, to fight for the life she had to give up, but this felt more appropriate, somehow. Easier.
“And so the Starmaker cast the light of the Sun over Reverie, an impossible magic born of an impossible love.” It was her mother who spoke the words, the last line of a story her father used to tell by the fire after supper.
The same story Aurora had told Elsie many times.
It made a painful lump form in her throat, and she swallowed hard.
She hugged them all, holding on tight, whispering, “I love you,” and hearing it in return.
She took a deep breath.
Then there was a single knock on the door.
Aspen moved to answer, but Aurora stopped him. “Let me,” she said.
She walked to the door, slowly exhaled, and opened it.
The Starmaker stood before her in all white, draped in layers of warm, luxurious fabrics.
Intricate embroidery adorned his cloak, silver threads forming lines that fanned out from the collar, and though the hem touched the ground, it remained pristine.
His golden eyes were points of brightness in the otherwise dark morning, and Aurora’s cheeks flamed as she realized she was staring.
She remembered how irritable he had been the day before, the way he had shown her neither patience nor compassion when telling her of her fate, and she wondered at how a man so unpleasant could be so beautiful.
“I’m ready,” she said, moving her eyes from his face and turning to her family once more.
Her brothers had managed to get her trunk down the ladder, and when she moved to grab it, the Starmaker cut in instead. “Allow me.”
He picked up the trunk with ease and walked it out to the most beautiful sleigh Aurora had ever seen.
The wood was dyed a dark navy that matched the night sky, and the trim was a brilliant gold that was somehow bright even in the darkness.
Two lanterns hung on either side of the sleigh, and the seats were finished in white velvet with a large fur blanket draped over the cushions.
The Starmaker secured the trunk to the back, then met Aurora at the door.
“Please come here,” he said, looking inside the house at Elsie.
Elsie moved forward without hesitation, and the Starmaker held out his hands to her.
She took them, and Aurora watched for any signs of her blood beginning to glow; if Elsie reacted the same way Aurora had to his touch, then she would know for sure that it was a mere effect of the Starmaker and not an indication of magic.
Elsie continued to hold his hands, but there was no change in her veins, and though Aurora tried desperately to see even the slightest gleam, she could perceive no illumination beneath Elsie’s skin.
The Starmaker closed his eyes and muttered words that Aurora could not understand, and then all at once, Elsie gasped. Aurora ran to her, shoving the Starmaker out of the way and holding on to her sister. “What happened? Are you all right?”
Elsie slowly opened her eyes and blinked. “I am well,” she said, an awed tone to her voice. “Sister, I am well.”
Aurora searched Elsie’s face, and she could not deny the color that had returned to her cheeks or the clarity in her blue eyes. Elsie felt warm since the first time she’d been touched by the Frost, and Aurora knew that the Starmaker had kept his word.
“Thank you,” she said, turning back to the Starmaker. She wanted to feel angry, to lash out at him for upending her life, but in that moment all she felt was deep, unwavering gratitude.
He nodded. “We must go.”
Aurora gave Elsie one more hug and looked back at the rest of her family. Then she put on her green cloak and searched for her gloves before remembering she had lost one in the woods. She tucked her bare hands beneath the heavy wool of her cloak, feeling vulnerable.
“Wait,” Aspen said. Aurora turned, but her brother was not looking at her. He was looking at the Starmaker.
“In this home, we have a deep respect for the Starmaker.” Aspen paused. “But our love for Aurora is deeper.”
Mama nodded in agreement, as did Elsie and Evander.
They stood together in a line, watching the Starmaker, ensuring that he knew they would still look out for her.
Still protect her. Still come to her aid whenever she needed them.
Aurora knew what it meant for Aspen to say those words—his reverence for the Starmaker was fundamental to who he was, down to his very core—and it left her breathless.
Aurora didn’t trust herself to speak again. Instead, she found her brother’s gaze and silently mouthed thank you.
“I understand,” the Starmaker said, looking at each one of Aurora’s family members in turn.
Then they left.
Aurora walked outside to the sleigh, and four large snow deer stood at the front, patiently waiting to take them wherever the Starmaker asked.
Aurora recognized the first deer in line as the stag she had seen in the woods.
She hesitantly ran her hand down his nose and whispered, “I’m sorry.
” Then she walked to the side of the sleigh and put her foot on the step.
A hand reached out to help her, and she took it, looking down at it before moving her eyes to the Starmaker’s face. He stood at her side, his touch like fire, the same as it had been the day before, and she knew her skin was turning golden.
“Do not fool yourself,” she said to him. “You are no gentleman. You may carry my trunk and offer your hand as I step into your sleigh, but you are still the man who is forcing me into a life I do not want.”
She let go and sat down on the soft bench, and for a moment, the Starmaker stayed where he was, his hand still frozen in midair as if her words had stunned him. Then he slowly walked around to the other side and sat beside her without a word.