The Stars Wait Not

by Anne Wheeler

  He nodded anyway. If that’s what she was afraid of, he’d let her be. Still, he cringed as he spoke. “Yes. Likely. I don’t have the time nor inclination to deal with a disobedient slave. You’d be wise to remember that whatever new household you end up in will not treat you as benevolently as I do. And if you try to kill me, that whipping you’re so terrified of will seem a mercy.”

  He could see her struggle with that, try to reconcile his lack of tact with the man who’d said the first night that he didn’t keep slaves. Her fingers brushed the silk embroidery on her cloak, and he was relieved he didn’t need to point out she wouldn’t be wearing something like that wherever the Eradication Council auctioned her off to next—not that they ever would. Resignation and relief warred on her face, visible in the way her shoulders sank as she rubbed her eyes.

  “But that’s enough talk about that. You like the gardens?” he asked.

  “Yes.” One corner of her lip curved upward; she pulled her cloak tighter around her. “I am”—the smile fell away—“was a horticulturist.”

  “I know.”

  Kresten held his breath. Why hadn’t he thought of this back on Cereth? It was an arrangement that would make her happy, and if she was happy, she might grace him with another smile.

  Idiot. She might become comfortable enough to talk.

  “Then they’re yours,” he said. “Iria—my gardener—has been talking about his retirement for a long while. I’ll let him know that you’re to be allowed to do whatever you want out here, whenever you want. After my morning tea, of course. Will that be satisfactory?”

  “It would be wonderful. Thank you, Your Highness.”

  Even in the inky darkness, he could see the relief in her eyes. Finally, he’d done something right for her. The one thing he didn’t see was sleep, and he suppressed his own yawn.

  “The stars here look different from Cereth,” she went on, then covered her mouth. “That sounded so stupid. Of course they do.”

  “It’s not stupid. You’re tired, and they’re unfamiliar.”

  “Everything’s unfamiliar—the moon, the stars, the sun. I didn’t realize how much I recognized in the night sky until it was gone. I can’t even find Etult.”

  She’d probably been looking out the windows for Cereth’s main navigational star—the star that had allowed them to colonize the entire planet via its oceans—since she’d arrived. But Cerethians weren’t space travelers, didn’t study astronomy except as their own planetary history, and Ryllis was no exception. It was no wonder she couldn’t find it.

  “It’s low, behind the mountains this time of night.” Kresten pointed straight out, low on the horizon, where the ridgeline was scarcely visible in the dark. He didn’t point out that Cereth was just above them, twinkling like it didn’t even realize she was gone, sending out its light from millions of solar cycles before she was born.

  “I should have known a Fleet officer would be familiar with the stars constellations.” Ryllis picked up her tea and eyed him over the cup, this time with vague interest. “You learned of our local group, too.”

  He smiled, confident she wouldn’t be offended by his cheerfulness now, if she could even see his expression. “Yes. But I’ll tell you, I prefer the old explanations for the stars. The tales the women at court used to tell.”

  Her obvious interest grew more intense. “I can’t imagine you sitting around listening to people tell tales. Tell me one?”

  Was she—was she curious about Vilarian folk lore? Kresten crossed his legs and propped his head on his hand. Curiosity was better than apathy or hate.

  “A long time ago,” he began, “before the constellations kept their watch on us, there were no stars in the night sky. Only the sun and the moon, and sometimes the moon disappeared for a time. It bothered people, but the Light had decreed we live in night until he decided otherwise, so it was something they accepted and lived with, even though it frightened them. And then one day, a witch—” He broke off and laughed, like he always did when he told the story. “Some stories call her Ingmar, others call her Signe. We’re not all that good at the oral traditions in my part of Vilaria, and the written stories were mostly lost in a flood thousands of solar cycles ago. Anyway, Ingmar heard from a traitorous footman in the palace that the princess would be traveling through the forest that very night. Alone, in the absolute darkness of the new moon. And, the footman said, she would be carrying a pouch of the imperial diamonds with her.”

  “Why?” Ryllis asked.

  He drew his eyebrows together, even though she couldn’t see. “Why what?”

  “Why would a princess traverse the forest in the middle of the night, by herself, carrying what must be priceless jewelry?”

  Kresten chuckled at her tone, disapproving and confused at the same time. It was—he hated to admit it, but charming was the only word for it.

  “I suppose she wasn’t very smart,” he said. “Anyway, she came to a creek, and the thin court shoes she wore became stuck in the mud. She cried out for help, but her pleas only reached Ingmar’s ears. The witch, who’d been trailing the princess all evening, could scarcely believe her luck. She transformed into a handsome young man and told the princess she would take the diamonds to safety and come back for her later.”

  He pointed his finger at Ryllis. “But the princess wasn’t as stupid as you think, for she noticed something strange about the young man—when he reached out his hand for the pouch, she saw that his fingers were crooked and knotted. When she realized he was not a man at all, she flung the pouch into the air, hoping it would become stuck in a tree. She would have done anything to keep them from Ingmar, you see, for rumors were that Ingmar used them for nefarious purposes only whispered about in polite company and certainly never at court. But neither of them knew the diamonds were enchanted, charmed by the Light for just that moment. And when the princess threw them, they landed in the heavens, where they remain to this day, giving us light when even the moon disappears—and reminding us that the timing of the universe belongs to the Light, not we mortals.”

  Ryllis had gone silent, and after calling her name a few times, Kresten leaned over and gently shook her shoulder. She made a few soft noises, then tucked her hands under her chin. He squinted at her, but her eyes were closed and her breathing was regular. With a sigh, he stood and watched her, debating to himself. She was too peaceful for him to move back inside, or even wake up. Maybe it didn’t matter. The shielding field was up at night, and she could neither escape over the wall nor fall prey to any number of animals that prowled the forest at night.

  It was settled, then. He hadn’t slept outside in much too long, anyway, and it reminded him of good things. Comfortable things. Walking carefully so as not to wake her, he made his way to the stack of blankets on a cushion by the door and draped one over her. Ryllis didn’t stir, so he curled up against the wall a safe distance away, his own blanket over him, and closed his eyes.

  Chapter Six

  Lina tossed a bag of flour on the counter and gave Ryllis a mock glare. “You will not help me with this,” she said, slicing open the top with a sharp knife, “and I won’t have any further argument about it. I don’t allow people in the kitchen when I’m working on pastries, not even His Highness. No, don’t look at me like that. You can find something else to do, I’m sure.” The knife clattered on the smooth stone, and she crouched down out of sight, searching for something else.

  “Lina.” Ryllis stood on her tiptoes to see over the counter. “It’s too cold to be out in the garden. I wouldn’t be surprised if it began to snow. Surely there’s something I can help you with.”

  She glanced out the large window, toward the low clouds that hung over the mountain and shrouded the lodge in fog. True to his word, Westermark had introduced her to his gardener Iria almost immediately, and she’d spent the past lunar cycle amusing herself in the gardens. How she wanted to be out there now, running her fingers through the dirt and letting the mountains sing peace into her sou
l, but there would be no way to explain that choice of activities.

  “Then don’t go outside if it’s going to snow,” Lina said. “I don’t care what he told you, but there’s no need for you to work in that garden every day. Explore the house. Sleep. Have a cup of tea. You don’t need to be constantly busy, and even if you did, you’ve earned yourself a bit of a break.”

  “Tea? I can’t sit around and drink tea. Won’t the prince be angry with me if he sees?”

  If she was honest with herself, she still wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be doing, but if Westermark saw her lounging around drinking tea, he would—well, she didn’t want to know what he’d say to that. The gray had settled on the mountain two days before, and the delay of spring hadn’t helped anyone’s mood. She was exhausted, Lina was brusque, and Westermark spent most of his time in the office, waving both her and Lina off when they offered to tidy it. He wasn’t snappy with anyone, not in the least, but she wasn’t about to test him.

  “You haven’t figured His Highness out yet, have you? He is a fair man, and I suspect he’ll only be angry with you if you keep me from finishing these pastries.” Lina filled a cup and tossed a tea bag inside. “Here, take this—no more excuses. Now off with you.”

  Ryllis reluctantly accepted the tea and wandered out of the kitchen, only to stop in the large living area. Lina’s dismissal wasn’t quite the same as the way her father had taken to dismissing her after he’d remarried, yet it certainly had felt like it. But it was only the weather. It had gotten to even kind, encouraging, Lina.

  She looked around the open living area. Westermark didn’t need her help today. The mansion was practically spotless—no surprise since he’d spent so much time on Cereth, leaving it empty, and the two of them were absolutely incapable of putting it in disarray, especially with Lina around. With the tea cooling in one hand, she arranged a few pillows on the sofa and gazed up at the vaulted ceiling, lined by wood beams, carved in a pattern just as complicated as the ones in her room. There wasn’t much else to do. Why in the Realm had he requested a slave? The answer, of course, the one she kept pretending wasn’t the truth, was obvious. He wanted a woman to satisfy him after such a long deployment. That he’d waited as long as he had to make his move spoke of his compassion, not his motives.

  A few snowflakes caught her attention, and she pressed her nose against the window to watch them sail in the wind, landing on the deck and newly sprouted crocuses. They melted away as soon as they hit the ground, but the chill in the air outside was unmistakable. There was real snow coming, and it would put the spring thaw behind by at least a dozen days. She would have to be careful. Westermark couldn’t notice his gardens were coming to life faster than the weather would suggest.

  “I can’t believe it’s snowing. It’s supposed to be spring.”

  Ryllis jumped at Westermark’s voice next to her. “Just flurries,” she said, “So far.” She shivered anyway. Despite the warmth of her first few days, the mountain had since cooled, and it was only the fire she started in Kresten’s bedroom fireplace most nights that kept her the least bit warm. Spring needed to come, and quickly. For so many reasons.

  “Cold?” he asked, leaning against the window beside her.

  “Not horribly. I found some warm clothes—thank you for that.” She smiled and brushed her fingers across her leggings, heavily embroidered with metallic teal and gold thread. It wasn’t the fashion in Therus, or likely anywhere else on Cereth, but they were beautiful, nonetheless. “And Lina made me some tea.”

  “It smells good.”

  Ryllis glanced out the window one last time, then back at him. “I could make you some. But Lina is—well, she doesn’t want me in the kitchen right now.” Westermark looked at her curiously, and she took a step toward the kitchen. Anything to escape. “But you know what, that’s all right. I’m sure she’d understand if I told her you asked for something. I’ll—I’ll be right back.”

  He put a hand on her arm, then dropped it. “Not so fast. Kicked you out, did she?” Something cheery lit in his expression. “A little secret for you? That means you’re going to be very happy in a few hours.”

  “That’s good to hear.” She felt like a fool standing here in her captor’s luxurious living room, holding a cup of tea, but there wasn’t anything else to say, anything else to do, anywhere else to escape. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  “Until then . . . you’ve been spending so much time in the garden that you haven’t had a proper tour yet, have you?”

  She could hear the realization in his voice. “No. Not really. But you don’t need to do—”

  “I know I don’t need to.” He smiled. “I want to.”

  “Then I’d like to see it.”

  Ryllis set the tea on the nearest table and shrugged agreement at him, even though she wanted to flee and hide under the covers. But if a prince of Vilaria wanted to show her his home, who was she to say he couldn’t?

  He gestured down a corridor, and she followed along next to him, listening to him explain the history of the mountains and the people who’d lived here until a series of eruptions had devastated the hillside three hundred solar cycles before. Thousands had been killed, he told her, and when the forest began to regenerate, most stayed away. Even though the god of fire was no longer worshiped on Vilaria, people were afraid.

  “The volcano’s quiet now, though,” he added, as her eyes widened. “And we’re advanced enough now that we can see anything coming many lunar cycles before it happens. I promise you’re safe here.”

  “I believe you.” The irony of his insistence almost, but not quite, made her laugh. She would never laugh again.

  “Do you?” he asked, stopping in front of a large picture window. “I need you to know I won’t hurt you, via a long-dormant volcano or otherwise.”

  Ryllis frowned at his earnestness. He’d already hurt her so much, first by his easy acceptance of the interrogators’ accusations, then by bringing her to Vilaria and standing by while his Eradication Council made her a slave. What did he care if she was afraid of being hurt? Silent, she looked out the window, at the snow accumulating on the deck outside. The beauty of the wild shouldn’t come this easily when she was so sad, but it did, like always. Today though, she hated it for its faithfulness.

  Westermark sighed. “Ryllis—”

  “I want to believe you,” she told the window. “Surely that must count for something.”

  “It counts for a lot.”

  She spun around and faced him, suddenly brave. “Why am I here?”

  His forehead crinkled. “Because you’ve been accused of—”

  “No,” she said, barely managing to keep her voice from breaking. “That’s not what I mean. I know why I’m on Vilaria, even though you’re wrong about me, about what you think I’ve done.” She cast a glance outside, at the early spring flowers poking through the rapidly accumulating snow. “I mean why am I here in these mountains? In your home? With you? You told that man you’d requested a slave which implies the request was made before you went to Cereth, but since I spend most of my time wandering the gardens here, I doubt you’ve ever been in any need of a servant beyond Lina. And—and please don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t seem the type to do anyone a favor, especially if they’re Cerethian. You look exhausted all the time, and a favor would be a hassle you’d rather not deal with. So why?”

  Westermark leaned against the window next to her and ran a finger down the chilled glass. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want to hear the truth, Your Highness.”

  “That’s quite a demand.”

  Ryllis shivered, not knowing if it was from the cold or the change in his tone. “I haven’t demanded anything. I’ve asked, very politely, why you’ve shown me the mercy you have. I think I’m entitled to that answer.”

  “Entitled?” He gazed at her for a long time. “Does my mercy frighten you?” he asked at long last.

  “A little,” she replie
d, with honesty forced into her soul. It hadn’t, not until this very second, but now her mind was spinning in circles.

  “It shouldn’t.” He turned away, then stopped. “I have a better idea than a tour. I’m sure you’ve seen enough houses in your time. But when’s the last time you saw snow?”

  “Snow? I don’t know.” It’d been so long. She’d spent most of the prior winter on Cereth in that prison.

  “Long enough to make it novel, then.” Westermark looked her up and down. “I wish I’d known you would need warmer clothes, but I wasn’t expecting such a late spring storm. Let’s see if we can find you something warm enough to wear.”

  He was clearly changing the subject, but she followed him back to his bedroom anyway, where Westermark dug through the closet and tossed her a scarf and an oversized man’s coat. Ryllis struggled to roll up the sleeves as they snuck out the front to the front deck, now coated with a thin layer of snow.

  “Here. Let me do that. Your nose looks cold already.” Westermark stopped her with a hand on her shoulder as she tried to juggle the fabric and remain upright on the slick ground. With a practiced hand, he draped the scarf over her head and face, then stepped back and admired his handiwork. “Yes. That’ll do for a while, I think.”

  He was too close as he smiled, and in the gray of the lowering clouds, his odd blue eyes, so foreign on Cereth, looked unnervingly and comfortingly like hers. Ryllis pulled her hands inside the sweater, even though outside of the snowflakes lingering on her eyelashes, it wasn’t all that cold. Being exposed was simply uncomfortable somehow. With Westermark at her side, she leaned against the railing and watched the snow dance.

  “The snow would just be starting again at home.” Ryllis glanced at him. “I think.”

  “Maybe. I can hardly keep track of the seasons here.”

  “I don’t doubt it, as many planets as you must have visited.” The very idea hurt. Westermark couldn’t possibly understand her pain, because he’d lived the opposite of her quiet, insular life—the identity that had already been stripped from her, along with her hope. “It must be confusing to be so powerful.”