Chapter 7 Rest #2
She wasn’t sure how long she stayed in the bath, but it remained steaming hot the entire time, and Aurora marveled at how much magic must be in the land the castle was built on, seeping up through the stone, enchanting the palace the whole way through.
She knew the stories, knew that the bodies of the dead and buried Starmakers sustained the land and filled it with magic, but she was still surprised by the many ways in which that magic could manifest.
When Aurora finally pulled herself out of the tub, she dried off and found a long plush robe hanging from a crystal hook on the wall.
She wrapped it around herself and poked her head out of the bathroom to ensure that she was still alone.
The bedroom was empty, but there was a dress laid out on her bed with a handwritten note sitting on top:
Dinner is at seven p.m. Don’t be late.
Aurora read the note multiple times, scowling at the message. Then she tossed it aside and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted from her sleepless night and harrowing journey. She closed her eyes and fell asleep at once.
When she woke, the room was dark. The light outside was gone, and Aurora stretched, her arm sliding across the note.
She held it up and read it again, wanting to throw the paper into the fire and stay in her room; if the Starmaker couldn’t be polite with his requests, Aurora had no intention of granting them.
But her stomach grumbled as she considered what to do, and in the end, hunger won out.
She slipped into the dress provided for her, an evening gown of green silk with gathered fabric at the bust and an empire waist with shimmering crystals circling her ribs, and she shook her head as she looked in the mirror.
It was by far the fanciest article of clothing she’d ever worn, and it felt like such a waste to squander it on dinner.
Still, she admired the way the silk moved with her, and she smoothed her fingers over the skirt that felt more like water than fabric.
She ran a comb through her thick brown hair and pulled it back into a braid, and just as she turned away from the mirror, there was a knock.
Aurora took her time answering, breathing deeply as she watched the fire, calming herself before she saw the Starmaker again. When she finally opened the door, it was Ina who waited for her.
“I’ll show you to dinner, Miss Finch,” Ina said with a smile.
“Please call me Aurora,” she said, following Ina down the hall.
“Very well, though soon you will be called Starmaker.”
The words made a lump form in Aurora’s throat, and her hands began to sweat.
Ina had warned her that it would be a difficult life, but all she had seen so far was a luxurious castle with unimaginable comforts and a kind staff.
The waiting was terrible, and she wanted to learn about her magic and what made this life such a hard one.
Nerves were sprouting in her gut and spreading through her body, and she took several deep breaths as she walked down the staircase and past the foyer into a most impressive dining room.
A large crystal chandelier dangled from the high ceiling, where there was a hyperrealistic mural of pink roses soaring through a sea of stars.
A long stone table with gold marbling was in the center of the room, surrounded by sixteen plush chairs upholstered in a rich blue velvet that shone beautifully in the light.
It was now dark out, but there were hundreds of candles burning in the room, dripping wax onto various surfaces.
And just like the hallway upstairs, the room was filled with fresh flowers.
“You’re late,” the Starmaker said from where he sat at the head of the table, a scowl on his face.
“My apologies for not having memorized the layout of this enormous palace yet,” Aurora said, as she gave him a look to match his own.
“It was my fault, Your Radiance,” Ina said.
“Now, that is clearly a lie. You have never been late a day in your life.” The Starmaker’s tone changed as he spoke to Ina. It was almost amiable, and his mouth pulled up at the corner when he looked at her.
Aurora thought it rather insulting that the Starmaker was seemingly capable of politeness and simply chose to withhold it from her.
She shook her head and was about to sit down when she noticed a tuft of white on the chair beside him.
She looked closer—it was the rabbit from earlier, propped up comfortably on a pillow with a tiny bowl before it.
It was such an absurd image that she almost laughed.
“This is Constance,” the Starmaker said, following Aurora’s gaze. “She… comes with the castle.”
Aurora found the introduction an odd one, but she simply nodded and walked to the opposite end of the table, where a staff member had pulled out a chair for her.
Aurora sat down, and the Starmaker said nothing more as the staff brought out bowls of fragrant soup that made her mouth water.
She tried not to seem too eager and carefully took a small spoonful, notes of apple and celery hitting her tongue.
“Thank you,” she said to the man who had brought her soup, and he nodded but said nothing.
Aurora went back to eating, but the loneliness that enveloped her was sharp and intense.
Here she was in a room with several people, and yet no one spoke to her.
“Excuse me for asking, but is it like this at every meal?”
The Starmaker looked up at her. “Like what?”
“Silent and uninviting.”
“I am used to dining alone,” the Starmaker said. “And I do not speak when I have nothing to say.”
“In that case, I would like to take my dinner in my room.” Aurora shoved back from the table, and the staff looked from her to the Starmaker and back again, but she held her head high and did not cower when the Starmaker stood and walked toward her.
“There will come a day when you will be the only one sitting here, Miss Finch, and you will think of how you’d give anything to look across the table and see another person.”
“Then am I to assume that this dinner is for you?”
“No,” the Starmaker said. “I am quite content with solitude. This dinner, and all the ones that come after it, are for you.” He watched her for a moment longer, then turned on his heel and walked back to his side of the table, where he sat down and took a sip of wine.
Aurora followed the Starmaker back to his seat, ignoring the wide-eyed gaze of the rabbit.
“Why don’t you give me some helpful information instead of sweeping ambiguities?
All I’ve heard since I arrived here is how difficult life will be for me, yet no one has given me any specific examples of what to expect. ”
The Starmaker blotted his mouth with his napkin, then slowly stood back up. He was mere inches from Aurora, and she could feel his gaze as it moved over her face, sending heat down her body. His gold eyes reflected the candlelight, and his white hair fell forward as he leaned closer.
“You will stop aging as soon as you come into your magic,” he said, “and there will come a time not long from now when every person you’ve ever known, ever cared for, will be dead.
You will spend your days illuminating a village that will know you only by your role, and you will bury your household staff and all your animals many times over as your life stretches out into infinity.
You will force yourself to speak solely to remember the sound of your own voice, and one day you will have to reach into the farthest corners of your memory to recall what your name was before it was Starmaker.
And finally, when someone else is born with the magic of the Sun, you will pass along all of your knowledge to them, and then you will die alone, only to be buried in the land so that your magic is not wasted.
” The Starmaker took a breath, his eyes never leaving Aurora’s.
“There will be no rest for you. Not even in death.”
A heavy silence fell between them. Aurora’s heart was beating fast, and her eyes had begun to burn as the Starmaker spoke. She wanted to reply, to say something that indicated she could handle what he’d described, but all she could hear were the words there will be no rest for you.
“Is that what you wanted, Miss Finch?” the Starmaker finally asked.
Aurora could hear the derision in his voice, could feel the staff watching her.
Her skin grew hot, and she could no longer keep the stinging in her eyes at bay.
Her vision blurred as tears began to fall down her cheeks, and Aurora picked up her skirts and left the room without a word.