Chapter 13 The Honor of Your Presence
The Honor of Your Presence
Several days later, Aurora was sitting outside on a garden bench, bundled up in her thickest wool, watching the night sky.
She had heard the stories of the northern lights, fabled ribbons of purple and green that danced across the night sky.
It was said that the lights were a result of the Sun crying, when she was mourning her beloved so deeply that her tears fell through space and hit the Earth’s atmosphere.
Aurora had always wanted to see them, but they had never appeared in her eighteen years, and she had started to wonder if this was perhaps a story that was not rooted in truth.
Still, she couldn’t give up looking for them.
It had been so long since the first Starmaker had lived, and Aurora couldn’t imagine carrying that kind of pain for hundreds of years.
Maybe the Sun had cried all the tears she could, and now there was nothing left.
Aurora used to hear Mama crying at night, and though it had become a rare occurrence, she was ashamed that she had never knocked on the door to check on her, convincing herself that Mama wouldn’t want her to.
She wondered now if Mama was still crying over Papa, so many years later.
Just then, the doors to the garden opened and Ina stepped outside carrying a silver tray with an orange rose resting on top. She walked to the bench where Aurora sat, following her gaze to the sky.
“It is a beautiful night,” she said.
“Indeed it is,” Aurora agreed. “Ina, have you ever seen the northern lights?”
“I have not, but my mother did when she was a girl.”
“Truly?” Aurora asked, her voice filled with excitement.
“Yes, she spoke of them often.” Ina’s voice was wistful as she watched the sky.
“Did she believe that the lights were caused by the Sun crying?”
“She did,” Ina said. “And I’m inclined to believe it, too. The notion doesn’t seem any less plausible to me than a living snow angel or a lamppost that holds sunlight.”
Aurora smiled. “That is true, though I hope the Sun is not still grieving after all this time.”
“I would not hope for such things, for the weight of her grief comes from the depth of her love, and that love is what keeps Reverie alive.”
Aurora thought about that. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I would like to find a love like that one day.” Aurora looked over to find Ina smiling. She didn’t understand why anyone would want something so fragile, so capable of tearing one’s entire life in two.
“Anyone would be lucky to be loved by you.”
“Thank you, Aurora; that is very kind.” Ina looked down at the tray she was holding, as if to remind herself of why she had come out to the garden in the first place. “A letter came for you today.” She handed Aurora the envelope, then walked back inside, leaving Aurora alone once more.
Aurora looked at the lantern next to the bench, wishing she had brought a match with her. Almost as soon as she thought it, the lantern lit on its own, the orange flame casting just enough light for Aurora to read.
“Thank you,” she said instinctively, then shook her head when she realized she’d said it to an object that could not hear her.
Aurora turned the letter over to see Elsie’s magenta seal, and she eagerly tore open the envelope. Elsie’s perfect cursive greeted her, and seeing her sister’s handwriting provided her with more warmth than the castle’s tea service or a hot bath ever could.
My dear sister,
Your wedding invitation was delivered today—the finest I’ve ever seen! Mama was pleased when it arrived, but I must admit that I did not receive it as well as she did. I know this was not part of your plan for your life, and I worry for your happiness.
I’m eager to see you and miss you far too much to put into words. If the Starmaker will allow it, I would very much like to visit you. I hope that he is treating you well and that your situation isn’t as somber as I sometimes fear.
Please write to me again when you can.
I love you,
Elsie
Aurora read the letter several times, making sure she understood.
She even moved closer to the lantern to confirm she was seeing it properly, but nothing changed the words on the page.
Wedding invitations had been sent without her knowledge, and it was all Aurora could do to keep from screaming.
She clutched the paper so tightly that her hand began to shake, and before she could think better of it, she rushed from the garden and into the castle in search of the Starmaker.
“Is there something I can help you with?” Frederick asked as Aurora hurried into the dining room, but the Starmaker was not there.
“Where is the Starmaker?”
“He is likely in his room, miss. Is everything okay?” he asked, eyeing the letter in Aurora’s hand.
“Where is his room?” Aurora’s words came out in a rush, and she knew her anger was rolling off of her in waves, but she couldn’t help it.
Frederick checked the grand clock against the wall. “He will be preparing for sleep at this time,” he said hesitantly. “Perhaps you can speak with him when you break your fast?”
“No, it cannot wait. Where is his room?” she asked again, not bothering to hide her irritation at having to ask twice.
Frederick didn’t answer right away, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of letting Aurora interrupt the Starmaker.
But finally he relented. “Take a right at the top of the stairs and follow the hallway all the way to the end. There will be a spiral staircase on your right: take that, and his door is at the top.”
Aurora hurried out of the room, but not before Frederick could call out, “His Radiance does not like to be interrupted!”
“I do not care what His Radiance likes,” Aurora answered, though she was sure Frederick could not hear her, as she was already halfway up the grand staircase.
She clutched her wool skirts in her hands so she didn’t trip and ran down the hallway until she reached the spiral staircase.
Fresh flowers were everywhere, more and more numerous the closer to the Starmaker’s room she got.
Roses of every color adorned the furnishings, and Aurora had to be careful where she grabbed the glass railing, as it too was wrapped in vines with vibrant blooms the color of lemons.
Her heart was racing, and she had started to sweat, still in her outside garments, heat radiating through her. She felt as if the letter in her hand might incinerate and briefly wondered if her magic could do such a thing.
When Aurora reached the top of the stairs, she did not hesitate. She grabbed the handle and threw the door open, rushing inside before stopping abruptly.
The Starmaker was standing in the middle of the room, soaking wet.
He wore no shirt, and his pants were resting untied on his hips.
Steam drifted from his bathroom and the scent of lavender hung in the air, and Aurora flushed when she realized she must have been mere seconds from finding him entirely unclothed.
Large beads of water rolled down his chest and hung from his pearlescent hair before falling to the floor, and he gave her a look so severe that she wondered once again if their magic could set things on fire.
If it could, she was sure she would turn to ash right there in the Starmaker’s room.
“Do you not believe in knocking?” he asked, annoyance dripping from his voice like the water from his hair. The Sun’s mark shone on his right biceps, the intricate design catching the dim light.
“Do you not believe in shirts?” Aurora asked, trying not to look at the way his body tensed and flexed as he tied the drawstring on his pants and reached for a thin white sleeping shirt hanging in his wardrobe.
It wasn’t what she had wanted to say, but she was terribly distracted, and with great effort, she forced her eyes to his face.
“Care to explain this?” she asked, holding the letter out.
The Starmaker took his time slipping his right arm, then his left into his shirt.
He slowly fastened each button, and Aurora loathed herself when disappointment rose inside her as he finished dressing.
After an infuriatingly long while, he finally walked to where she stood and took the letter from her.
He scanned the words, then looked up at her with a bored expression.
“It sounds as if your sister misses you and would like to hear from you.” He handed the letter back to Aurora, and she took it, exasperated.
“I am quite capable of reading,” Aurora said, trying to keep her voice even.
“Then why don’t you tell me what it is you’d like explained?” The Starmaker sounded entirely uninterested, and it enraged Aurora even more.
“How could you send out invitations without consulting me first?”
“As neither of us is particularly thrilled about our upcoming union, Ina has been seeing to the preparations so that we can focus on your learning. I believe I told you that.” The Starmaker ran his hand through his hair, his fingers coming away wet.
Aurora hated how beautiful he was, and she looked down so he wouldn’t see the thought written all over her face.
“You should have asked me before sending them. You effectively announced our engagement without my permission.”
The Starmaker pulled a rich navy robe from its hanger and slipped it on. “The wedding is four days from now, a fact you are well aware of. What did you expect?”
“Common courtesy,” Aurora said, staring at him with utter frustration. “Though it seems that I once again overestimated your ability to be decent.”
“Miss Finch, this conversation is wearing on me. What is it that you’re truly upset about?”
“Who received an invitation?” Aurora asked, her voice breaking at the end. Her heart was racing, and she willed him to give any answer other than the one she expected.
“Everyone in Reverie.”