Chapter 17 Melting Snow #2
“I should have been thinking about what it was like for you up there rather than getting caught up in what it was like for us down here. We had visitors every day who wanted to talk about the union, and I wasn’t used to that kind of attention. I’m sorry, Aurora.”
Aurora shook her head. “Don’t be. I understand.”
Elsie offered them tea, and they all sat at the table together.
It was strange to see the Starmaker in her home, sitting at the table where she’d had countless family meals as if he’d been there a hundred times before.
He wasn’t comfortable, exactly, but he was trying.
He smiled at the appropriate times and nodded as he listened, and it did something weird to Aurora’s heart, as if it were beating in an entirely new rhythm.
She didn’t understand why he was doing this, and it was unsettling.
Unsettling, and somehow exactly what she needed.
When they were done, Aurora hugged her family and promised to write soon, and then she wandered through the woods with the Starmaker before heading back to the sleigh.
Everything looked as it should, and the guilt Aurora felt over depriving them of the glare line eased slightly.
Then she had a thought she couldn’t ignore.
“There’s something I want to show you,” she said.
The Starmaker didn’t say anything, simply nodded, and Aurora took the reins.
The snow deer began to pull, and after several minutes, more than a hundred mirrors appeared in the distance, reflecting light so bright that both the Starmaker and Aurora had to cover their eyes.
Even the snow deer turned their heads to avoid staring directly at them.
Once the Starmaker’s surprise wore off, he sat up in his seat and craned his neck to get a better look. “What is this?” he asked.
“It is how my family grows certain crops. We lease this slice of pasture from our neighbors and reflect the light onto our property. It isn’t ideal, of course, but it makes a significant difference to the utility of our land.”
“Clever,” he said, and he actually sounded impressed. “Very clever.”
“I have always loved mirrors, and one day I thought, Why not use them to benefit my family?”
The Starmaker looked at her. “This was your idea?”
“It was.” Aurora had been tending to the mirrors for so long that they had become part of her routine, but seeing them through the Starmaker’s eyes made them new again, and Aurora felt a deep sense of pride as she looked at them all.
“It took me years to build up my collection, but I think it came together rather nicely.”
“It is remarkable,” the Starmaker said, and Aurora smiled at him. “It is no wonder the Sun chose you.”
Aurora knew he meant it in a positive way, but it only served to remind her of what a terrible job she was doing each morning as she tried to pull in the light. She sat back on the bench, frustrated. “It seems I am much better at reflecting the light than I am at pulling it.”
“It will come with time,” the Starmaker said. “We likely have only a few more sessions before your fever sets in, anyway. Perhaps the break will be good for you.”
“Fever?” Aurora asked. It was the first she was hearing of it.
The Starmaker grabbed the reins and turned the snow deer back toward the glacier. “The magic in your blood is increasing your body temperature the more you use it. At first, it will feel like a normal fever, and you will experience chills and sweats. But soon you will acclimate.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“No, but you will become quite ill for a few days. The fever will worsen as your body temperature rises, and you will be extremely weak. But the castle has healing properties that will help your body adjust, and soon you will be fine.”
Aurora turned away. “Even more to look forward to,” she said.
The village came into view in the distance, and Aurora could see the market bustling with activity.
But the longer she looked, the more a deep sadness settled inside her, a heavy feeling she couldn’t shake.
She watched the crowds of people talking and laughing, and she realized that she would outlive each and every one of them.
It felt like a blow to the abdomen, knocking the wind right out of her, and she bent at the waist, completely caught off guard by the brutality of it.
The Starmaker looked over at her, bending to meet her eyes. “What is it?” he asked, but Aurora could barely hear him over the pounding of her pulse in her ears. He pulled back on the reins, and the snow deer slowed to a stop.
Her mother and brothers and Elsie—she would have to say goodbye to them one by one, and she didn’t think she could survive it. An impossible weight pressed down on her chest and wrapped around her sternum, making it difficult to breathe.
“How do you bear it?” she asked in gasps, clutching her arms tightly around her middle, trying to keep from falling apart.
“Bear what?” He sounded confused, and he followed her gaze to the center of the village.
“There will come a day when every single person in that market will be dead. When every single person I love will be gone. And I’ll still be here.
” The words shook as they fell from her mouth, and Aurora tried hard to keep from crying.
The realization had come on so suddenly, and now that it had, she could think of nothing else.
She tried to tell herself that she was not the only one who would experience loss in her life, that part of being human was loving and losing and grieving.
Enduring, somehow. She told herself that every person who had come before her had gone through their own tragedies, that she herself had survived when she had lost Papa.
But her heart slammed against her ribs and her head throbbed and she couldn’t pull herself out of the pit she had fallen in.
The trees were quiet, their snowy branches absorbing the distant sounds of the market, and soon the only thing Aurora could hear was her own heartbeat. The Starmaker inched closer to her, and he reached out his hands before suddenly pulling them back, seemingly at war with himself over something.
“Look at me,” he said, awkwardly holding his hands in front of his chest as if he was unsure of where to put them. Aurora’s breaths were quick and shallow, and she was suddenly aware of how little control she had over herself, but she did as he said.
The Starmaker seemed to make a decision then, and slowly, so very slowly, he took her hand and placed it against his chest, pressing firmly. “Breathe with me.”
His breaths were exaggerated, and he let them out slowly as Aurora did the same, following his lead.
His heart was a slow and steady rhythm that soothed the frenzied beat of her own, and he never took his eyes off her, breathing with her until Aurora felt herself coming back, climbing her way out of the panic.
“You will bear it,” the Starmaker said simply, “because you are able to.”
“How do you know that?” Aurora asked, her voice trembling.
“Because you were born for this. You have the fire of the Sun in your blood, Aurora, and with it a strength that defies logic. It won’t be easy, and there will be days when you forget that your heart is still beating, but you will find meaning and purpose in other things. In lasting things.”
“Like what?” Aurora asked, needing something real to hold on to. “Where do you find meaning?”
“I find it in the mountain I’m protecting.
In the flowers that continue to bloom year after year after year.
I find it in the stars and the moon and the very real sunlight that’s in my veins.
Even an eternity would not be enough time to discover all of the riches of this world.
” The Starmaker took a deep breath and exhaled, long and slow.
Aurora did the same. “It is a different kind of love from what you feel for your family. But it is love, and if you let it, it will sustain you.”
Aurora closed her eyes, noticing that her heartbeat now matched the Starmaker’s. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
“I know.” The Starmaker pushed her hand harder against his chest, but Aurora still refused to look at him, keeping her eyes closed.
“Were you afraid?” she asked, finally meeting his gaze.
The Starmaker slowly removed his hand from hers and slid over on the bench, creating space between them that Aurora did not ask for or want. “I was terrified.”
“What made it better?”
“Time,” the Starmaker said, a softness to his voice that didn’t match the rest of him. “Something you have in abundance.”
Aurora nodded. She wasn’t sure she believed that it would ever get better, but for now, her heart was steady and her breathing was deep, and she felt in control of herself once more. “Thank you,” she said, hoping her tone conveyed how much she meant it.
“You’re welcome.” He took the reins once more, and the snow deer began to pull, and for a reason she couldn’t name, Aurora wished that her hand was still tucked beneath his, feeling the beat of his heart.
Wished she could have made the moment last just a little bit longer.
But she was quickly learning that nothing could last forever, not even the Starmaker.