Chapter 34 Eternally Yours
Eternally Yours
When Aurora woke, her sister was sitting in a chair next to her bed, reading. It was the same chair Caspian had used when he had brought her home from the cave, and the memory sat heavily on her chest.
“Elsie?” she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“You slept well,” Elsie said, closing her book. “You moved so little I even checked to make sure you were breathing.”
Aurora nodded. “I feel better.”
“Good, because I have something for you,” her sister replied, holding out a large bright red tomato.
Aurora was confused, and she stared at Elsie’s offering as if it was a clue to a puzzle she didn’t know she was solving. “A tomato?” she asked.
“Yes.” Elsie was smiling, and she forced the fruit into her sister’s hand. “We grew it. The glare line that has formed between our cottage and the castle has changed our land. Between the glare and the mirrors, it is practically as if we are in the path of the light.”
Aurora sat up in bed, studying the tomato, turning it over in her hands. “You grew this? On our land?” she asked, her voice quiet, her eyes burning.
“With a lot of help from the love you shared with the Starmaker,” Elsie said, taking Aurora’s hand. “The glare line has been marvelous.” Elsie paused and gave her sister a meaningful look. “You did it, Aurora. You grew Papa’s favorite fruit.”
Aurora sucked in a breath, hardly believing it. “Are there more?”
“There will be,” Elsie said, “but this is the first. It is only right that you have it.”
“We will have it together,” Aurora said, keeping the fruit tucked close to her chest.
She looked out the balcony doors at the darkness still covering Reverie, and a new wave of shame rolled over her.
“I’m deeply sorry for how I’ve behaved.” Aurora couldn’t bring herself to meet Elsie’s eyes.
She had vowed to keep Reverie safe, and instead, she had put it at risk at the first opportunity.
She did not deserve the trust she’d been given.
“I know you are.”
“How can I possibly undo the damage I’ve caused?”
“By doing your job, sister. Pull the light today and tomorrow and the day after that. Bury the Starmaker and fight back the Frost. People are quicker to forgive than you think.”
Aurora exhaled and rubbed her temples, trying to diminish the ache in her head. “I hope you’re right.”
“I am. There is a bath waiting for you, and I’ll let Ina know to prepare a proper breakfast today.”
Aurora winced at the mention of Ina and how profoundly she’d let her down. She would make it up to her—she would make it up to all of them.
“Thank you,” Aurora said, squeezing her sister’s hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Elsie said, shaking her head. “I wanted to come straightaway, but Mama was ill, and our brothers were tending the fields. I could not leave her.”
“Is she well now? Was it…?” Aurora trailed off, scared to ask the question. “Was it the Frost?”
“No,” Elsie said, and Aurora breathed out in relief. “A fever. She is better now.”
Aurora nodded.
“Get yourself cleaned up and eat some breakfast. You have work to do.”
Aurora looked at the tomato in her hands. “Perhaps you could ask Ina to have something special prepared using this?”
“Of course.” Elsie took the tomato and slipped out of the room, leaving Aurora alone.
She was about to get in the bath when she noticed a faint knocking sound coming from inside the armoire.
She opened the door, and one of her wool dresses was moving, the waist darting out in every direction.
Aurora hesitantly removed the dress from its hanger, inspecting the fabric, when suddenly the gold handkerchief flew out from the pocket and bolted around the room.
Aurora jumped back, startled. She remembered how the handkerchief had followed her on the Day of Darkness, and how she had shoved it deep into her pocket when she could no longer handle being trailed. That had been more than a fortnight ago, and Aurora felt terrible.
“I’m so sorry,” she said to the handkerchief. “I greatly appreciate you and will do a much better job of showing it in the future. I hope with time you will forgive me.”
The handkerchief seemed to calm down as Aurora spoke, and it flitted around her head and brushed her cheek before coming to rest on the side table. Aurora exhaled in relief, thankful the cloth was quick to forgive, and readied herself for the bath.
The hot water felt so good against her aching body, but she forced herself to move quickly, to make up for the hours and days she had lost. She closed her eyes and whispered an apology to Caspian, telling him that she had tried to find something—anything—that would bring him back but that she had failed.
And in the process, she had failed all of Reverie as well.
In the end, Caspian had been right: the thing she needed to learn was how to live without him.
She shook her head in the water, her eyes burning.
She still didn’t know how to do that, but she knew she couldn’t hold on to him at the expense of her duties and responsibilities.
She knew she couldn’t hold on to him if it meant letting go of everything else.
Their story deserved a better ending than that.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. She allowed herself several breaths, then stood up, dried off, and pulled herself together. She brushed her white hair and pinned it back from her clean face, and when she stepped into her bedroom, her sister was back and had laid out a dress for her.
“You look good,” Elsie said, but Aurora frowned.
“You do not have to be nice to me,” she said, grabbing her dress and stepping behind the partition. “I do not deserve your kindness.”
“You do,” Elsie insisted, her voice rising. “You just lost your husband, a man you loved very much, and the survival of an entire mountain is now on your shoulders. You deserve much more than kindness.”
Aurora draped her robe over the partition and stepped back out when she was dressed, looking at her sister. “I miss him so much.”
“I know.”
Aurora took a deep breath, readying herself to face her household staff. “Will you come to breakfast with me?”
“I would love to,” Elsie said, but as they walked, Aurora had a sudden vision of Caspian’s childhood room. She was not the only one who had struggled with becoming Starmaker; Caspian had as well, and though he had dealt with it much better than she, it eased something inside her chest.
You aren’t alone. He had told her that on the glacier, and while she hadn’t wanted to hear it then, she was now so glad he had said it.
“Can we stop somewhere on our way to breakfast? I promise it’ll be brief.” Aurora couldn’t explain it, but it felt important to visit Caspian’s room, to feel that connection to him, to know that he had struggled and had continued on despite it.
“Of course,” Elsie said.
Aurora led them down the hallways to the worn plain door. She looked up at it, resting her hand on the wood, pausing just a moment before going inside. Then she turned to her sister.
“I’ll be right out,” she said, pushing through the door and into the room.
Aurora inhaled deeply, scanning the small space, sitting down on the tiny bed. The room had felt painfully sad the first time she had seen it, but it seemed cozy now, and it made her feel closer to Caspian, seeing the ways he had dealt with becoming the Starmaker.
He had survived it, and so would she.
Aurora gave herself several more moments, and then she stood, knowing there was much to do.
But Caspian’s journal caught her eye, and she walked to the desk, running her fingers over the leather.
Then she stopped. A pen was resting next to the spine, and though it had been a while since she’d last been here, she was almost certain that there had not been a pen before.
She looked at it skeptically, as if it might jump up at any moment.
She told herself to ignore it, but she could not, and she grabbed the journal in a rush.
She frantically flipped to the last entry, holding her breath, and saw pages full of fresh ink.
She knew Elsie was waiting for her, but she had to skim Caspian’s words, know what he was thinking.
She told herself it was a violation, but she was tired and her resolve was weak.
She found the first word of the new entry, and her eyes burned with tears.
Aurora.
She gasped. He had written to her. She took an unsteady breath as she began to read.
Aurora,
Perhaps the least surprising discovery I have made in the entirety of my life was that you have already been in this room.
Aurora laughed, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She could hear his voice perfectly, and the pain in her chest screamed.
I will not pretend to know what to say, because I do not.
Leaving you will undoubtedly be the hardest thing I ever do, and the truth is that I’m frightened.
I had forgotten what it was to be alive, and you forced me to remember, and in so doing, I found a crushing will to live.
I am desperate to stay with you. I am angry I cannot.
Immortality is a fickle thing. It is given, and it is taken away. It expands to infinity and contracts to nothing. It is the Sun’s gift to us, but as it turns out, it is revocable.
Perhaps that is the way of all things. I knew what to expect—that one day it would be taken from me—and yet I find myself stunned.
I am yours, Aurora; I have been yours ever since I pulled that arrow from your bow, and one day, when you are ready, I hope you will put your pen to paper and write of a Starmaker falling in love with the Starmaker Rising.
You have always loved a good story, have you not?
Ours is my favorite; may it outlive us both.
I will meet you in the endless after.
Don’t be late.
Eternally yours,
Caspian
The ink was smeared at the end, and Aurora ran her fingers over it, wondering if it was one of her tears that had done it, or maybe one of his. She closed the journal and tucked it close to her chest, carrying it from the room.
“Are you all right?” Elsie asked when Aurora found her in the hall, taking her arm.
“He wrote to me,” she said, and Elsie squeezed her tight.
Aurora took several deep breaths, and by the time they reached the dining hall, her tears had stopped and she was ready to take on the day.
All of the palace staff were in the room, and shame found her once more, a furious heat running up her neck and settling in her cheeks.
But she wouldn’t turn away this time or ignore the pain she had caused them. She wanted to make things right.
She remembered what Caspian had told her: that her words were not what mattered most, but rather how she made them feel. She took a deep breath as Ina stepped forward.
“How nice it is to see you, Your Radiance.”
“And you, Ina,” Aurora said. She looked around the room, meeting the eyes of everyone there.
“There is no excuse for my behavior over the past fortnight. I know I have caused you all a lot of worry and anguish, and for that I am endlessly sorry. I am here now, and I will try my hardest to earn back your trust. I humbly ask your forgiveness—it does not have to be today or tomorrow, but eventually, I hope that my actions will prove to you that I take my role as your Starmaker seriously, and I will never let another day pass without pulling the light. You have my word.”
“It is good to have you back, Your Radiance,” Frederick said, stepping over to Aurora’s chair and pulling it out for her. She smiled at him.
“Thank you, Frederick.”
Elsie sat to one side of Aurora, Constance to the other, and they ate quickly, filling their stomachs with sweet biscuits, ham, and the best tomato they had ever eaten.
Except for Constance, of course, who ate hay.
When Aurora could not eat any more, she gave her sister a hug and told her she would see her when she returned.
She gave Elsie Caspian’s journal and asked that she place it in her room for safekeeping, then walked down the long hallway and outside to where her sleigh was waiting.
Ina handed her the bundle of roses she had requested, and Aurora tied her cloak around her neck, set the roses in the sleigh, and petted her snow deer.
Just as she was about to board, Tilly appeared.
“Hi, Tilly,” Aurora said, noticing the looking glass in her wing. Aurora hadn’t seen the angel without it since she’d first received it, and it made Aurora’s heart swell. She had messed up greatly in so many ways, but at least there was something she had done right.
“You must look,” Tilly said, holding up the mirror to Aurora. “Whenever you feel lost, you can look in the mirror and see that you are exactly as you should be.”
Aurora tried to keep her composure as Tilly repeated the exact words Aurora had spoken when she had given the angel the gift, and she blinked several times. She stood next to Tilly, looking at her reflection in the mirror.
“What do you see?” she asked the angel.
Tilly was quiet, studying Aurora’s reflection with intense concentration, and Aurora was almost afraid of what the angel would say. Then she stepped back, looked Aurora in the eyes, and said simply, “I see the Starmaker.”
Any hope of keeping her composure vanished with the angel’s words, and several tears slipped down Aurora’s cheeks. She quickly wiped them away and swallowed hard. “Thank you, Tilly,” she said.
The angel smiled, then stood next to Ina as Aurora stepped into the sleigh, sitting on the bench she used to share with Caspian.
She took a deep breath, and the deer began to pull.
I am the Starmaker, she said to herself. Today my reign begins.