Chapter 28 Waking Up Slow
Waking Up Slow
Aurora and the Starmaker spent the following nights together, whispering to one another as Constance shot them irritable glances for keeping her awake.
They did not touch in all the ways Aurora yearned for, but they held one another as they spoke of their fears and their dreams and their longings.
Aurora was in a constant state of agitation, never close enough to the Starmaker, never forgetting what was to come, and never letting go of her anger at a situation that was entirely beyond her control.
Her mother had told her that loving her father had been worth it, and Aurora wanted to believe her. She wanted to believe her so badly that it became a physical ache in her chest, living inside her and going with her wherever she went.
This morning, it was with her on the glacier.
Aurora held on to the lamppost after hanging the day’s light as she stepped back down and looked up the mountain toward the peaks. Her breath shook and her heart raced, and she wiped the edge of her cloak across her brow.
Today had been a trial to see if Aurora could carry the weight of the Sun before the official ritual that would transfer the rest of the Starmaker’s magic to her, and she had done it alone.
If she hadn’t been able to bear the weight on her own, the light would have ricocheted back up the mountain, leaving the village covered in a blanket of night.
But deep down, as much as she hadn’t wanted it to be true, Aurora had known she was ready.
And while it had been difficult and exhausting, she had been right.
When the light had rushed down the mountain and slammed into her, Aurora had fallen back into the snow, crushed by the weight of it.
But she hadn’t let go, gritting her teeth and summoning all of her energy so she could stand back up.
It had been a slow, agonizing walk to the lamppost, but she’d done it, and when she had hung the light from the hook, a tear had slipped down her cheek.
As Aurora trudged through the snow back to the sleigh, she looked toward the woods in the distance, hoping they were healthy.
She had been pushing off the ritual so she could have more time with the Starmaker, and they had not been patrolling the woods for the Frost as often as they should have.
They preferred instead to go back to the castle after hanging the light, spending their days drinking tea and tending to the garden and talking for hours.
And today was no exception. Aurora held tight to the railing of the sleigh as the snow deer pulled her up the mountain for a few precious hours with the Starmaker.
There was a nagging feeling in her gut, telling her she should turn back and do what she was meant to do. But Aurora ignored it, knowing she would have plenty of time to push back the Frost. She had meticulously planned this day, and she was eager to surprise the Starmaker.
When the snow deer pulled up to the castle, Ina was waiting out front with a smile on her face, and she gave Aurora a knowing glance.
“Has he woken?” Aurora asked, jumping out of the sleigh and rushing up the stairs.
“Not yet,” Ina replied, her eyes dancing in the early morning light.
Aurora squeezed her hands, then ran through the entryway and up the grand staircase, all the way to the Starmaker’s door. She was out of breath, and she took several seconds to calm herself, then quietly went in.
The room was dark save for a dying fire that popped and crackled. Constance was at the foot of the bed, and she looked up at Aurora, who put a finger to her lips. The animal seemed to understand, and she stayed still as she watched Aurora walk into the room.
When Aurora had woken that morning, she had slipped out of the Starmaker’s bed as quietly as she could, giving the staff stern instructions not to wake him.
Her pillow was still indented, and the Starmaker’s arm was stretched over her side of the bed, and for a moment Aurora just watched him, her heart expanding and breaking to see him this way.
He was reaching for her even in sleep, and she wondered if that was how she would sleep for the rest of her life, reaching for someone who was no longer there.
She shoved the thought aside, then slowly walked to where the Starmaker slept, sitting on the edge of the bed.
She rested her hand on his shoulder, gently running her fingers up and down his arm until he began to stir.
His eyes blinked open, and he lazily grabbed Aurora’s hand, rolling over to face her.
“I have a surprise for you,” she said, smiling at him and kissing him on his forehead before walking to the enormous windows and opening the shades.
Light streamed into the room, and the Starmaker sat up, a look of pure bewilderment on his face.
“I did the trial on my own this morning,” Aurora said, and the Starmaker just stared at her, clearly not understanding. “You slept in.”
His eyes grew wide, and then he laughed, a big full-body laugh that echoed through the room and went straight for her heart.
The Starmaker pulled her on top of him and laughed into her hair, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her, a long deep kiss that reverberated throughout her body.
She kissed him back as tears welled in her eyes because it was such a perfect moment, and she wanted to pause time so she could live in it just a little longer.
But time was their enemy, and so Aurora reluctantly pulled away, stood, and offered him her hand. “Come,” she said. “There is more.”
* * *
Once the Starmaker had dressed for the day, Aurora led him out of his room, down the stairs, and through the castle.
“Are you in any pain from not pulling the light?” she asked, passing the portrait of the first Starmaker. Today, it was overcast in the painting, and the groundskeeper stayed in the background, trimming the hedges.
“No,” the Starmaker said. “I don’t have enough magic left to create a substantial buildup.”
Aurora had assumed that was the case when she had planned the day, but it was still a harsh reminder of their situation, and she shoved the thought aside, intent upon enjoying the day.
“Where are we going?” the Starmaker asked.
Aurora could hear the excitement in his voice, even as he tried to mask it with indifference. She smiled to herself, shaking her head. He truly couldn’t help himself.
“The courtyard,” Aurora said, opening the door that led to the gardens, motioning to the table that had been set for them. “For breakfast.”
The Starmaker’s face brightened, and he hurried past her and down the steps to the elaborate meal awaiting them.
There was a silver-and-white rug over the cobblestones with a glass table sitting on top.
Snow covered the ground and all of the trees, but eight lanterns circled the table with big flames that provided ample heat.
Large white blankets draped each chair, and peach roses covered all of the surfaces absent of food.
Even a cushion and bowl had been perfectly placed at the table for Constance.
It was gorgeous, and Aurora looked at Ina, who had joined them.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and Ina smiled.
“It is a lovely thing you’re doing.”
Aurora looked over to the Starmaker, who was already sitting down.
He picked up a rose from the table and twirled it in his fingers, and he seemed so content that it broke Aurora’s heart.
Then she caught sight of Constance hopping around the base of the table, and she was delighted that the rabbit had decided to join them.
The Starmaker reached beneath his chair, scratching behind her ears.
Aurora walked down the steps and joined the Starmaker at the table, draping her lap with a blanket and pouring herself a cup of tea.
“Thank you,” the Starmaker said, looking at her with adoration. “You have given me more than I ever thought possible.”
“It’s just breakfast,” Aurora said, but her voice was heavy with emotion.
“That is not what I meant.”
“I know.”
The Starmaker took a sip of tea, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. “I have always loved it out here,” he said.
“It’s beautiful.”
The Starmaker looked as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed whatever it was and glanced toward the gardens instead. Just then, Tilly poked her head out from behind a hedge, and when she saw them, she ran over to the table, holding her looking glass.
“Look!” she exclaimed, standing next to the Starmaker, extending the mirror as far as she could with her wing. “Do you see me?”
“I do,” the Starmaker said, peering into the mirror.
“Yes, of course you do,” she said, laughing, “because that is me in the mirror!”
Aurora could tell that the Starmaker was trying to remain casual so as not to make Tilly self-conscious, but she watched as he swallowed and blinked several times. “It most certainly is.”
Tilly was beaming, and she skipped off with her looking glass in hand, disappearing into the garden.
“There are moments when I am overwhelmed with frustration that you managed to do more for Tilly in a single day than I did during my entire reign,” the Starmaker said, looking in the direction the angel had gone, “but right now, I cannot bring myself to feel even the least bit sad.” He shook his head.
“Thank you. I would never have forgiven myself if I’d left her before she found peace. ”
“She is truly special,” Aurora said. “I will always look after her, I promise.”
“I know you will.”
The Starmaker fidgeted in his seat, and Aurora knew there was something he needed to say. “What is it?” she asked.
“I don’t want to spend this morning on morose conversation,” he said, “but I would like to know how the trial went, if you are willing to share.”
It was a reasonable question, and Aurora needed to tell him, but it was so hard to talk about without thinking of everything it meant.
She decided to get through it as quickly as possible.
“As you can see, there is plenty of light,” she said.
“It was very tiring and very heavy, but I was able to bear it on my own.”
The Starmaker nodded and took another sip of tea. “Then all that is left is the final transfer.”
“Yes,” Aurora said, her voice breaking. The Starmaker looked at her then, and she could see that it pained him just as much as it did her.
“Enough of that,” he said, letting the strain leave his face and taking a deep breath of the clear morning air. “Let us enjoy this fine breakfast you planned for us.”
And amazingly, they did. They fell into conversation as if nothing was looming in the distance, as if they had every reason to believe that their story was just getting started.
Aurora laughed as she recounted childhood memories and listened as the Starmaker shared stories of his own, eager to hear whatever he wanted to say.
After they had filled their bellies with eggs and breads and sweets, Aurora stood and took the Starmaker’s hand, leading him into the garden. She had found for him an extremely rare species of rose, one with petals like ice that shimmered in the light.
“Where did you find this?” he asked, his voice full of wonder.
“The nursery in the village. They said it had appeared for the first time a few weeks ago. The owner did warn me to be careful just in case the glittering petals aren’t the only peculiar thing about it. Hopefully it doesn’t bite,” she said, remembering the red flower up in the castle.
“This is remarkable,” he said.
“Plant it wherever you’d like.” Aurora handed it to him, and his face lit up as he took the rosebush, gently holding it as if it were a fragile pup just freed from its mother’s womb.
He cradled it close to his chest as he walked around, looking for the perfect spot, and when he finally found it, he turned to Aurora.
“Plant it with me?” he asked.
Aurora nodded, and they knelt on the ground, digging a hole with their hands and dropping the plant in together. They covered the roots up with dirt, and astonishingly, another rose bloomed right before their eyes.
“Unbelievable,” Aurora whispered, reaching out to touch it.
“There is so much magic here,” the Starmaker said, looking around him. “It is everywhere.”
“I love getting to see it through your eyes.” And Aurora meant it. He was composed and dispassionate most of the time, but not out here. Out here he was like a child who had just seen his first falling star.
“It is one of the rare things in my life that thrills me more the longer I am around it,” he said, then paused, looking at her. “You are another.”
“You find me thrilling?” Aurora asked, tilting her head to the side, giving him a skeptical glance.
“In the beginning, I would have characterized it differently,” he admitted.
“But I do not think there is any other way to describe it now. When we met, I had been Starmaker for so long that I had disengaged from my life, and you forced me back to the present.” He took her jaw with his dirt-covered hand and kissed her as another rose bloomed, then spoke in a low voice. “So yes, Aurora. You thrill me.”
“Then just wait until you see what we’re doing next,” she said, pulling him up to standing and heading out toward the field beyond the barns.
She’d had the staff gather together as many of the animals as they could, the wolves and snow deer and horses and goats.
Even Constance was there, all of them ready to play with the Starmaker.
He stopped when they got to the field, looking at Aurora in disbelief before taking off at a run.
He jumped around the field and played with the animals, lay on the ground and let the wolves pounce on him, cradled Constance in his arms. Then Tilly came to see what all the commotion was about, and she too joined in the fun.
Ina watched from a distance, and Aurora saw her shoulders move up and down as she cried.
After he had spent time with each one of his animals, the Starmaker joined Aurora once more, looking at her as if she had given him everything, the whole world.
“I know I told you this would be my perfect day,” the Starmaker said, “but it was somehow even better than I could have imagined.”
“There is one more thing, if you’re willing.”
“What else could there possibly be?” he asked, searching her face, trying to uncover all of her secrets.
There was just one left, though.
Aurora paused, took in a breath. “Marry me?”