Chapter 10 An Amusing Plight
An Amusing Plight
When Aurora woke the next morning, having slept only a few hours, she was still full of regret.
She should never have gone into the room, not only because it was such a clear violation of the Starmaker’s wishes but also because the image of it had branded itself on her mind and she couldn’t undo it.
Something about it made a deep mourning stir inside her, an unexpected vision of loneliness and despair.
She knew she should care more about having snooped in the first place, but she was most regretful of the torment that room would undoubtedly cause her any time she thought of it.
Aurora sat up in bed, bracing for the chill that usually settled in overnight, but there was no need.
Her room was still warm, and there was a healthy fire crackling away in the hearth.
She didn’t relish the thought of someone coming into her room overnight to tend to the fire, but almost as soon as she thought it, she remembered it was magic that was sustaining the flames.
Other than the light from the fire, the room was dark and quiet.
Aurora could not look over to the other side of the bed and see her sister, but it was a comfort knowing that Elsie had been healed.
She would of course insist upon seeing Elsie soon, but for now, she was content knowing her sister was healthy and safe.
And she hoped that with each new day, she would find other things to be content with.
Aurora pulled the quilt they had sewn together all the way up to her chin, inhaling deeply.
There was a knock at the door, and Ina entered a moment later.
Aurora’s face flushed as she remembered their interaction just hours ago, and she wanted to apologize all over again, but before she could speak, Ina gave a slight nod of understanding.
“Good morning,” she said, lighting some candles and going over to the wardrobe.
“Today is a fresh start, is it not?” Her eyes were kind and her smile gentle, and they eased some of Aurora’s guilt.
“It is,” Aurora said. “Thank you.”
Ina turned to look at Aurora with total sincerity in her eyes. “There is nothing to thank me for, miss.”
“Then might I ask you a favor instead?”
“Of course.”
Aurora slipped out of bed. “I’m homesick and begging you to use my name.”
Ina offered Aurora a sympathetic smile. “My apologies, Aurora.”
“Thank you.” Aurora walked to where Ina stood and pulled a thick wool dress from the wardrobe.
It was a beautiful shade of blue, light and crisp just like the glacial lakes beyond Reverie, and Aurora let her fingers run over the fabric.
Ina pulled out heavy stockings and a petticoat as well as boots lined in fur.
“These ought to keep you warm enough, but once you get comfortable with your magic, you won’t need such heavy dresses. The sunlight in your blood will keep you warm.”
“How long have you been here?” Aurora asked as she dressed, first pulling on the stockings, then the petticoat. She had previously believed that a fabric could not be both warm and soft, but it seemed she had been wrong.
“My whole life,” Ina said. “My mother cared for the castle, as did my grandparents and their parents. One day, if I am blessed with children, I hope they will stay here, too.”
“Where is your mother now?”
“She is back in the village with my father. He wanted to spend his remaining years in the house he grew up in, and my mother wanted to spend hers with him.” Ina smiled to herself.
“Is it hard? Getting older while the Starmaker stays the same?”
“It is what I’ve always known,” Ina said, grabbing the ties of Aurora’s underskirts and pulling them tight.
“The hardest thing will be watching the Starmaker die; I had hoped it wouldn’t happen during my lifetime.
” Ina spoke the words as if she was talking to herself, then seemed to remember that Aurora was standing right in front of her.
“Forgive me, I did not mean to imply that I’m dispirited by your arrival. ”
“That would make two of us if you are,” Aurora said, turning to smile at Ina. “And I could sure use the company.”
Ina laughed softly. “Thank you.”
“Hopefully you will not have to say goodbye to him for many years,” Aurora said, noticing the way Ina’s gaze fell after she spoke the words.
“I hope not.”
Aurora assumed it would be rather simple, that the Starmaker would begin to age as his magic diminished, dying many years later as an old man.
She didn’t relish the idea of marrying someone who would age while she stayed the same, but given that their union was solely for the benefit of a glare line, she figured she would hardly think of herself as married at all.
Ina held up the wool dress, and Aurora raised her arms above her head, wriggling into it.
She was amazed at how well it fit her, the sleeves stopping at just the right point on her wrists, the bodice snug but not tight.
“How is it that all of this clothing fits me without anyone ever taking my measurements?”
“The Sun herself chose you,” Ina said, walking back to the wardrobe and pulling out the most beautiful cloak Aurora had ever beheld.
It was velvet the color of Mama’s baking sugar with soft white fur lining the hems, and the entire thing was embroidered with stars in silver thread.
“As you will soon learn, this castle holds more magic than any of us can comprehend. When the Starmaker told us he’d found you, we came to this room to set it up and found the wardrobe already full. ”
“I see,” was all Aurora could say. She did not like feeling as if her life was not her own, as if her fate had been determined by someone other than herself. How could she possibly love the Sun if she was given no choice in the matter?
When Aurora was done dressing, Ina led her down to the dining room, where the Starmaker was seated.
Constance was in the chair beside his, and she looked at Aurora with lingering judgment.
The Starmaker did not look at her at all.
Aurora sat down at the opposite end of the table, shoving aside the morning paper, not wanting to see the column in Eternal Reverie that should have been hers.
“You know, it’s customary to greet your guest when they enter a room,” Aurora said as a member of the staff set a hot bowl of porridge before her, topped with ripe berries far larger than any she’d ever had at home.
“You are not my guest,” the Starmaker said, taking a sip of tea before finally looking up at her. “You live here now, and there are things you’ll learn as a resident of this house, the first being that I do not particularly enjoy mornings.”
Aurora almost laughed. “But you wake at five every day.”
“Yes,” the Starmaker said. “A truly tragic consequence of my role.” He looked back down at his meal, and Aurora did the same, though the exchange had eased some of the tension she’d been carrying.
Everything about the Starmaker was resplendent, but the fact that he didn’t like waking early was mundane, a trait befitting a man and not an immortal.
Aurora set her spoon down harder than she meant to. “I apologize, but have you really failed to get used to your routine in the hundreds of years you’ve been doing it?”
The Starmaker slowly looked up. He gave a sideways glance to his staff and shook his head, sighing.
“I have,” he said.
Aurora couldn’t help herself—she laughed long and loud, throwing her head back and closing her eyes.
It was perhaps the best thing she’d heard since she’d arrived at the palace.
She didn’t care that no one laughed with her, that the staff looked at her in horror, or that the Starmaker’s scowl grew deeper the longer she went on.
“For clarity’s sake,” she said, trying to compose herself, “you—the Starmaker, the person responsible for bringing daylight to Reverie—are saying you’re not a morning person?” Another wave of laughter rolled through her, and she caught one of the staff members struggling to keep a straight face.
“I’m glad my plight amuses you so,” the Starmaker said, his tone flat and dry and wholly devoid of amusement.
“Oh, I’m delighted by it,” Aurora replied, picking up her spoon once more and digging into her breakfast. The Starmaker had felt so untouchable before, almost as if he were a god and she was just a girl lost in his presence.
But in that moment, he was simply an exhausted man who wanted to sleep in and cared little for jokes at his expense. It made him real.
Aurora looked down at her porridge. She could feel the staff’s eyes on her, but she didn’t care. It was the first time she’d laughed since leaving her family, and it made her feel like herself again.
After several minutes, Ina appeared. “Your sleigh is ready, Your Radiance.”
“Thank you, Ina.” The Starmaker gave Constance several pets, then stood, turning toward Aurora. “It is time to go.”
“But I’m not done with my breakfast,” Aurora said, making no motion to stand.
“Perhaps you should have considered that before succumbing to your maniacal laughter.”
Aurora took one more bite, blotted her mouth, and pushed back from the table, walking to where the Starmaker stood. “It was worth it.”
“I am so tired,” was all he said, more to himself than to Aurora, as he walked out of the dining room, through the foyer, and into the dark morning.
Aurora followed behind him, slipping on her gloves and pulling the hood of her cloak over her head to fight the cold.
She wasn’t paying attention and almost walked directly into the back of the Starmaker, who had stopped to look up.
Aurora followed his gaze to the stars, inhaling deeply as she took in the absolute brilliance of a world beyond their reach.