Page 132 of This Shattered Star

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I can’t help but feel like we’ve robbed you of proper silence. Even the quiet is…” He winced. “Deafening.”

“No,” I said quickly. “Don’t apologize. I’ve missed this.”

The admission surprised us both.

“Alright, then. In that case,” he replied, flashing me a teasing smile. “Apology revoked.”

A smile tugged on the corners of my own mouth.

Two doors, almost as tall as the surrounding trees, opened wide to welcome us inside. Upon closer inspection, they were made entirely of opal, refracting the light of the sun in shimmering colors across the floor as we entered what I assumed to be the main hall. A colossal staircase wound up to a vast mezzanine overlooking our floor, its white pillars blocking the view of the next one.

Pieces of colored glass were woven into the windows lining each wall, creating images of animals, flowers, and people alike. Like the creators of this castle wanted to bring nature indoors instead of shutting it out. Further proved by the real flowers, of all shapes and breeds, hanging from both the ceiling and the walls.

“This place…” I spun in a slow circle. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a place so beautiful.”

Beautiful was putting it thinly. It was magnificent. I could walk the halls for hours and find something new to admire around every corner.

The castle was cared for. Appreciated. It was obvious that those who oversaw its upkeep were not afraid of losing their heads if a chair was out of place, or a speck of dust accumulated where it shouldn’t. Rather, it seemed creativity was encouraged.

And it all harmonized together perfectly.

Theia smiled. “I told you, didn’t I? Come on, it gets better.” She gestured for me to follow her up the stairs.

I readied to follow, but a voice called out from down the hall to the left, followed by hurried footsteps echoing our way. “A little early to start opening the doors, don’t you think?” An irritated huff. “The sun has barely risen! Everyone knows how drafty it gets at this time of day. You could at least close them on your way in.”

We turned to see a woman, no older than I was, march down the remainder of the hall, a clay pot in hand. The closer she got, the easier it was to see the dirt trailing behind her as it slipped over the lip of the pot. Miraculously, none of it got on her white robes, tied off at the waist with two ribbons, one silver and the other gold. A similar necklace hung from her neck. Half its chain bore the first, and the second half the latter. A small locket pendant, white-gold this time, hung delicately from it.

Her light golden hair was plaited in a single braid down her back, though whisps of it had fallen out. She moved so quickly that I could barely register the pointed tips of her ears peeking through until her hair had fully covered them again.

She blew a strand out of her face before her gaze settled on Theia. “Oh, it’s you!” Then Brannon, and Kodhan. “You’re all back!” she gasped. “It took so long this time that we…” She trailed off when her gaze settled on me.

The pot slipped from her fingers.

Dirt scattered around her feet, while shards of clay slid across the pearlescent floors.

She said nothing in the wake of the pot’s shattering. Only stared, mouth slightly agape.

More footsteps came rushing down the stairs.

“Fiora? Are you alright?” A lilting, feminine voice called as its bearer appeared from where they must’ve been walking along the mezzanine. “I heard you yell. I was already on my way, you know. Iamthe one who asked to start so early.” She descendedthe last row of winding steps, allowing us to see her fully. She stopped instantly as she took in the scene.

The dirt. The shattered pot. The woman,Fiora,still staring at us. No, staring atme.

“Oh,” she said, simply. “Well, I believe if I’d been holding something, I might’ve dropped it as well.”

Brannon crossed his arms over his chest, amusement flashing in the amber of his eyes. “A simplehellowould’ve sufficed.”

All at once, it crashed into me.

I could barely see the woman’s soft, alluring features. Her hair, lighter than Fiora’s, could’ve almost been described as silver. Tinted with a pinkish gold from the rays that hit her from the window above her head. I barely registered her simple dress, a flattering periwinkle blue that accentuated the only one of her features that Icouldproperly focus on.

The one that gave her identity away instantly.

Her irises, as purple as mine.Both of them.