Chapter 36 Standing at the Top of the World
Standing at the Top of the World
The next evening, long after Aurora had let go of the light, she stood in the entrance hall of the castle, staring up at the statue of the Sun and the Starmaker.
It really was beautiful, and the more the statue had cried over the past few weeks, the more lifelike it had become.
Aurora would not pretend to understand how the magic that had gone awry worked, but she hoped that after tonight, the statue might find some peace.
“That’s the last of them, Your Radiance,” Ina said as two members of the staff carried a large mirror into the room.
They leaned it up against the wall among dozens of others; Aurora had requested that every mirror in the castle—except for the ones that pointed at her cottage—be taken down and arranged around the statue, and as the castle was quite large, she had ended up with far more mirrors than she had intended.
“Thank you, Ina,” she said with a smile.
Ina looked around the room, eyeing all the mirrors, and Aurora could tell her mind was spinning, trying to figure out what it meant, worrying that she was about to lose the Starmaker to another bout of grief.
Aurora walked to where she stood and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I am well, Ina, and I promise you that you will see the light come morning.”
Ina looked embarrassed. “I apologize—I did not mean to make you feel as if I do not trust you.”
“Trust is earned, and if you do not trust me at present, I understand why. Please do not apologize.”
“Thank you, Your Radiance,” Ina said.
“I still much prefer Aurora, if you don’t mind.”
“Aurora,” Ina repeated, then nodded and left to see to the rest of Aurora’s requests.
Aurora had hardly slept the night before, her mind spinning wildly as she formed her plan.
It was elaborate and probably the most outrageous thing she would ever do in her life, but it also felt right, and she was excited to get started.
She had taken Elsie home that morning, which was probably for the best; she doubted her sister would care for her plan, and more than likely she would try to talk her out of it. But Aurora’s mind was made up.
Aurora would have preferred more time to perfect the logistics, but Caspian’s burial was tomorrow at high noon, and it felt important to her to reach out to the Sun before then.
By the time he was placed in the earth, she wanted to be sure that the Sun would continue to protect the mountain in which he lay.
Aurora had spent hours testing locations and drawing diagrams and figuring out the exact angle at which each mirror needed to be tilted to make her plan work.
She had thought about Tilly’s looking glass and how sometimes what one needed most was to see oneself, to be reminded that even in pain and grief, life continued on.
Not exactly as it had before, but in a way that honored every loss and remembered every love.
In a way that made space for both happiness and heartbreak.
Tilly had needed that, and so had Aurora. Perhaps the Sun did, too.
It had been centuries since the Sun had seen herself as a human, and while Aurora knew the Sun hadn’t truly forgotten the first Starmaker, she wondered if being disconnected from that part of herself for so long had turned her protection of Reverie into a chore as opposed to something she did out of love.
That was why Aurora wanted the Sun to see the statue so badly.
It had been the Sun’s parting gift to the Starmaker, a physical, tangible representation of the love they had shared.
Aurora hoped that if she could reflect its image into the heavens where the Sun could see it, the Sun would remember what it had been like to be human. What it had been like to feel.
Once Aurora had perfected her measurements as best she could, she walked around the room and inspected every mirror until she found two that fit her specifications.
Ina returned, and Aurora handed her the finished diagram, showing her the exact location and angle at which the first mirror needed to be placed and where to set the candles to ensure that the statue was properly lit.
The second mirror would be handled by Aurora.
Assuming she had gotten the angles correct, the placement of the second mirror was the most likely failure point of the entire plan.
It was also the most dangerous part, for Aurora needed to set the mirror atop the highest peak so that the reflection would clear the mountain and launch into the sky, where the Sun could see it.
And while Aurora understood that she was immortal for now, at least in theory, she wasn’t exactly keen to test the limits of it.
“The sled is ready, Your Radiance,” Frederick said as he entered the castle. “It is rather… unruly.”
“That is fine. Thank you, Frederick.”
“Your Radiance,” he began, clearly uncomfortable, “I don’t believe it is wise for you to ride that sled. If you will allow it, I would very much like to place the second mirror myself.”
Aurora was deeply moved by his words, by the way he had always looked out for her. “I will not even consider it, though I greatly appreciate the offer.”
Frederick nodded. “Then I will be holding my breath until you return.”
“As will I,” Ina agreed.
“I will be as swift as I can,” Aurora promised. “Thank you both for your help. It means more to me than you know.”
Once Aurora was dressed in her warmest wool and thickest cloak, she walked outside to the sled and immediately understood why Caspian had banished it to the room upstairs full of magic gone awry.
Even though it was connected to the wolves by a harness, it was pulling toward the side of the castle, trying to scale the wall.
The wolves growled at it, baring their teeth, but the sled paid them no mind.
For a moment, Aurora’s resolve wavered, and she began to rethink her plan. But then she took a steadying breath and walked forward.
The sled was made of white oak, long with a curved front and flat bottom, and the mirror was already attached to it, wrapped in blankets so that Aurora could sit on top without breaking it.
Ina and Frederick joined her outside, and she readily sat down, as she didn’t want them to worry, but the truth was that she was scared.
The sled calmed slightly once she was seated, but it was very insistent, and Aurora could only hope that the wolves pulling it forward combined with her weight and that of the mirror would be enough to force the sled to move horizontally until it was time for the final climb.
Ina and Frederick came over and strapped her in, wrapping rope around her shoulders, abdomen, and legs, securing her to the sled with many knots to ensure she didn’t fall. They were both frowning, and Aurora tried her best to look at ease.
“I am sure this will do,” she said, though she wasn’t sure at all.
“Good luck,” Ina said, and then the wolves began to pull.
It was a dark, clear night with little wind and no snow, and if Aurora did make it to the top of the peak, she would certainly be rewarded with an unmatched view of the stars.
The wolves were fast, and Aurora wasn’t used to being so low to the ground.
She closed her eyes as snow flew up from the rails and splattered on her face.
The sled jumped beneath her—left, then right—but there was nothing to climb, and as the wolves raced toward the woods, the sled seemed to give up for the moment.
Still, Aurora clung to the front with all her might.
The trail pitched steeply upward as the wolves pulled her farther into the trees, closer to the peaks of Reverie.
The wolves slowed, panting louder, but they persisted, digging their claws into the snow and pulling as hard as they could.
Aurora thought she would feel frightened venturing so far into the woods, but something about it felt like home to her. She had been raised outside of the light, and the Frost did not scare her, not with the magic of the Sun in her veins and the strength of her family in her bones.
If Caspian could see her now, she took comfort in knowing that he would, at the very least, not be surprised.
He had never tried to dull her, to mold her into something she wasn’t.
From that very first meeting in the woods, he had accepted her exactly as she was.
He had perhaps done it begrudgingly at times, but he had always given her as much space as she needed.
And in so doing, he had enabled her to fully come into herself.
Grief was a very odd thing. One moment she was content, her entire body warm with the memory of him, overflowing with gratitude for the time they’d had together.
But she knew she could just as quickly become overwhelmed with despair, a crushing wave she was certain would drown her.
But for now, on this cloudless night in this very unruly sled, Aurora found herself able to laugh at how aggravated Caspian would undoubtedly be by her insistence on this outing.
After what felt like hours, the sled finally slowed as one of Reverie’s giant peaks loomed over them, blocking out the stars with a sheet of total darkness.
Aurora looked up, trying to see the top, but at that close distance she could not find it.
The trees around her were so covered in ice that they cracked and popped, and when Aurora reached forward and freed the wolves from the sled, they began to whine.
“Go,” she said, knowing the Frost would come for them if they didn’t leave. “Back to the castle.”