Chapter 15 Clarity
Clarity
Aurora had never been poked and prodded so much in her life, and she was relieved when it was finally time to board the sleigh to the village.
She had been terrified to look in the mirror when the stylists had finished, but it had turned out she need not have worried.
She still looked like herself, just a little less rough around the edges.
And while she was deeply uncomfortable with the scale of the event, she had fallen in love with the dress Ina had chosen.
Aurora stepped into the sleigh, careful not to catch her skirts with her shoe.
The icy blue gown was so pale it could be mistaken for white, with a tight bodice that was covered in thousands of crystals.
It fell to the floor in layers of silk chiffon that moved together like liquid, and the delicate long sleeves were crafted from the same sheer fabric that was woven just tightly enough to obscure the mark of the Sun on her arm.
Dozens of silk-covered buttons ran down her back from her neck to her tailbone, and the skirt’s top layer was longer than the rest, creating a small train.
Aurora sat down in the sleigh slowly, afraid of harming the dress, and then Elsie and Ina climbed in next to her, and the snow deer took off for the village. Elsie held Aurora’s hand the whole way, and when the lights of Reverie came into view, Aurora’s grip tightened and her palms began to sweat.
The village center had been transformed.
The streetlamps had been wrapped in twinkling white lights, and the cobblestone pathways were lined with hundreds of floral arrangements, white roses and blue poppies wrapped around glass lanterns that held flickering candles.
The evergreens had cleared the cobbles that morning, and hundreds of lightning bugs flitted overhead to combat the darkness.
There was a soft snow falling, and it dusted the paths and lanterns in a frosty white.
The Starmaker had let the light slip between the peaks hours ago, and there were dozens of iron stands holding copper bowls that burned with vibrant orange flames.
All the walkways led to the center of Reverie, a large open circle where the market was usually held, but today the stalls had been cleared for the wedding.
There was a platform made of ice in the center with so many chairs arranged around it that Aurora’s breath caught in her lungs when she saw them, realizing how many people would be there.
Between the chairs were narrow aisles where glass poles stood, and sheer fabric draped from pole to pole, woven with soft lights that cast a beautiful glow over the area.
Snow clung to rooftops and trees, sparkling in the moonlight, and the flowers caught falling snowflakes that glistened on their petals. The air smelled sweet and fresh, and Aurora inhaled deeply to steady herself.
It was every bit as magical as the Starmaker’s wedding ought to be, and for a single moment, Aurora wondered how a marriage with such a lovely beginning could possibly be a bad one.
She had been dreading this day even though she had insisted upon it, but it was impossible not be overcome by the beauty of it all.
The village center was already full of people, almost every chair claimed, and Aurora knew that the Starmaker had been right: this night would surely be counted among the mountain’s stories.
“I’m going to take my seat,” Elsie said, giving Aurora a hug.
“Come find me after.” Aurora held on to her sister and closed her eyes, trying hopelessly to calm her racing heart.
“I will. Promise.”
Elsie left, and Aurora stayed in the sleigh just beyond the lights of the village, waiting with Ina. Then, before she was ready, a string quartet began playing, and it was time.
Aurora had yet to see the Starmaker, and as she stepped from the sleigh and onto the path, she craned her neck, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
There was a pause in the music, and then another song began and everyone stood, blocking Aurora’s view.
She faltered, her head too light as if she might faint at any moment, and she told herself to breathe. All she had to do was breathe.
People murmured as Aurora passed, but she tried not to notice.
She had wanted to keep her identity as the Starmaker Rising hidden, and so her family and Farren had kept it a secret.
Her family had done so because it was what Aurora wanted, but Farren, she suspected, still hoped that she might leave the castle and come back to him.
Aurora wanted to preserve a sense of isolation so that she could learn her magic without feeling the weight of the whole village upon her, and she wondered now if that had been a mistake.
She forced herself to look up, to meet her neighbors’ eyes, but no one appeared to be looking at her with judgment.
Instead, they were smiling kindly and blotting their eyes with the lace handkerchiefs that had been placed upon each seat.
They were happy for her, and it moved her to her core.
Aurora took a step forward, then another, each one leading her closer to the Starmaker.
She gripped her bouquet tightly, a gorgeous arrangement of roses so white they matched the freshly fallen snow, and she tried to stay calm as every head turned to watch her.
She had never wanted attention, had never wanted to be anyone’s focus, and yet all of Reverie had shown up to watch the Starmaker marry and to get a glimpse of his bride.
She paused.
That was all she was right now: the Starmaker’s bride.
She wasn’t Aurora Finch or the Starmaker Rising, wasn’t a sister or a daughter or a writer.
She was being wholly consumed by the Starmaker’s gravity, and she understood then that while this would certainly be a story the villagers told, it wouldn’t be a true one.
Aurora forced herself to keep going, and she finally got close enough to see the Starmaker.
His eyes locked on hers instantly and didn’t look away.
His jaw was tense and his stance rigid, but when Aurora met his gaze, she saw his shoulders dip, as if he had finally let out a breath he’d been holding.
Aurora realized then that they were in this together.
Marrying may have been her requirement, but it was one she had been forced to make by circumstances that were far beyond her control—circumstances that were far beyond the Starmaker’s as well.
Every other person was there to witness something spectacular, but for Aurora and the Starmaker, this was a life that had been written for them in the stars, and they were simply being pulled along through the infinite night sky.
Aurora took a shaky breath, but she couldn’t get her mind to quiet.
Nothing felt right, and suddenly she was angry, not only for herself but for the Starmaker as well.
Their stories mattered, and yet they were telling a lie for the sake of a glare line and an acceptable reason for her to have moved to the castle.
It wasn’t real. None of it was real. And if there was one thing Aurora was sure of, it was that she had not given up her life to star in someone else’s fiction. She wouldn’t do it.
She began walking again, all the way to the icy platform where the Starmaker stood.
He offered her his hand, and she took it as she stepped onto a silver rug to face him.
She could feel her resentment of him fading, receding into the distance like the life she’d once planned for herself.
It became hazy while he sharpened before her until she saw him with extreme clarity.
He had once been mortal, a boy who had journaled and read poetry and collected books about plants and stars.
He had once been in love, had once had a family, had once been a person instead of a role.
Aurora was certain that the Starmaker would be irritated at best if he knew she was outraged on his behalf.
She almost laughed herself. But she would one day take his place, and while they were to protect the mountain and keep the village safe, there was nothing that said they must lose themselves to it.
The Starmaker was resplendent in a white suit and light-blue cloak the same color as Aurora’s dress.
His straight hair fell just beyond his shoulders, glimmering beneath the stars, and his eyes were bright as he watched her.
It was all fake, the way he looked at her and the way he gently held her hands, and Aurora could no longer force her emotions aside.
Anger turned to panic, her breaths coming too quick, too shallow.
She tried to focus on her family and how much they needed the glare line, but the thought couldn’t settle amidst her distress.
Nothing could, and all she could think in that moment was that she needed to get out of there.
Aurora pulled her hands from the Starmaker’s and found Elsie in the crowd, who was healthy, entirely healed from the Frost.
The Starmaker had upheld his side of the agreement, but Aurora couldn’t do it, couldn’t go through with the very thing she had required of him. She had demanded they marry, and yet she couldn’t do it.
“Aurora,” the Starmaker said, his voice tight, so quiet only she could hear. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry.” She looked at him and tried to make him see everything she was feeling.
But there were so many people watching, a priest who was impatient to start, and a distance between them she wasn’t sure even the most genuine of emotions could bridge.
She had to be quick, to say something the Starmaker would understand.
“My sister is healed, and I have moved to the castle to learn your magic. But this is something I cannot do.”
And with that, Aurora jumped from the platform and ran as fast as she could, leaving the Starmaker standing alone before all of Reverie.
She paused at the end of the aisle, turning to see him one more time, frozen in place and entirely stunned.
Then she forced herself to move. With every step she took, her panic eased, fading away, and by the time she finally reached the sleigh, she was entirely rid of it.
She knew it would return when the reality of her choice came crashing down on her, but that was a problem she would deal with later. For now, she felt free.
Aurora could hear the chaos erupting behind her, the chairs scraping against the ground as people stood and craned their necks, trying to get a look at her or the Starmaker or both.
Voices got louder and louder, but Aurora kept her eyes ahead.
She took the reins, and the snow deer began to run, pulling her far, far away.
It was the best she’d felt since she’d encountered the Starmaker in the woods, and with the wedding at her back and the wind in her hair, she smiled.
* * *
The Starmaker
It had been many years since the Starmaker had been genuinely surprised, and even longer since he had been mortified. But in a matter of seconds, Aurora Finch had managed to accomplish both.
The Starmaker was acutely aware of all the people watching him, and he knew he needed to come up with something to say, but he’d been stunned into silence.
Sweat formed on the back of his neck, and he clenched his jaw.
He had never relished speaking publicly, and now he had to account for why he had been left at the altar with no bride in sight.
The audacity of that girl.
He knew he should be angry, and he was. In fact, he was furious, but that was part of the problem. His body was pulsing with senses he had long since forgotten, as if his nervous system was waking after a very long nap. He couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t think at all.
It was maddening.
It was…
…invigorating.
All at once, the Starmaker remembered, truly remembered, how remarkable it was to live.