Page 65 of This Shattered Star

“Have you fallen asleep again?”

Alive. Alive. Alive—

That dizzying throb returned again, muddling my thoughts into thick syrup. When I tried to grasp at least one of them, it slid right through my fingers.

“I thought I asked your father to cover this,” she tutted, shooting a disapproving glance at the exposed metal whose chill still bit at the skin of my legs despite the warmth in the air. “He knows you don’t sleep well in the cold.”

“It’s fine the way that it is,” I argued weakly.

But she was right. The cold did like to sink its claws into my subconscious.

Shaking her head lightly, she stood while gently coaxing me into her arms. “You’ve had another bad dream, my sweet. But everything is alright now.”

I sank into her embrace, relishing it. “I’ve missed you.” My throat burned with the extent of it. “So much.” She smelled like daffodils and earth and chamomile. She smelled likeher.

She laughed, and even the small birds flitting about halted their song. Acknowledging hers. I’d almost forgotten what it sounded like.

“I was only tending to the chrysanthemums over there, just like I promised.” She loosened her hold on me to point towards a mound of dirt ahead of us, the stone path lining it coated in discarded petals and stems. “You know how temperamental they can be,” she teased.

My hold on her only tightened. An odd sense of panic slowly crept up my chest.

“Where is Father?”

She pulled back, examining me at arm’s length. “Your father is waiting for us in the night markets, Eloise. I’m surprised you’ve forgotten, since he promised to buy you one of those trinkets you’re so fond of.” Tucking a stray hair behind my ear, she added a tad grimly, “We’ll have to find that tea him and I have been discussing. The woman who sells it wears a necklace with a black star. You’ll remember to look for her, won’t you?”

“I won’t forget.” Of course. He’d left only an hour ago. “Can we go now?”

She spared a glance at her unfinished work. The upturned soil still scattered around the path ahead. “I suppose the flowers can wait.”

Excitement swelled in my chest, instantly clearing away the strange doubt and confusion. I didn’t hesitate to take off, feet flying over the dirt-coated path. Mother knew I’d never go too far ahead.

Her garden sat in a secluded corner of one of the castle’s courtyards, near its base. It wasn’t the only garden to pepper the clean-cut grasses surrounding the diamond-infused behemoth, but it was the loveliest. Tended with only the greatest care.

I almost tripped as I caught my reflection in one of the castle’s windows.

Slowly, I brought my fingers up to touch the lining of my lips. The curve of my cheekbones. They were mine, yet it felt like I was looking at a painting of a muse long since coated in layers of dust.

Wrong.Wrong, wrong.

The throbbing returned tenfold, hitting both temples this time. It sent sparks flashing across my vision, persisting even when I scrunched my eyes closed.

“Perhaps I am unwell,” I whispered hesitantly. But I couldn’t tell Mother. If she knew I was sick, she would insist we stay home.

Forcing my eyes back open, a streak of movement behind my reflection caught my attention.

A dark figure hovered by one of the lavender bushes further away. Although it was distorted through the windowpane, it certainly didn’t look like Mother at all. But when I turned to face it, it was gone. No more than a trick of the twirling lights above.

Mother appeared at my side with an easy smile and looped her arm through mine. “You’re beginning to look more and more like your father.” Another laugh. A ray of shimmering starlight, warm and reassuring. “And here I was hoping that on the crest of your fourteenth birthday, you would finally shed some of himand gain more of me.” She pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Come now, or we’ll keep him waiting.”

My fourteenth birthday. Yet another thing that seemed to have slipped my mind.

We strolled down the familiar cobblestone streets leading up to the night markets, luckily without any comment from those passing by. They ignored us completely, as though we were mere ghosts passing through the night.

Mother and Father could only do so much to protect me against those who wished me harm. Some people didn’t care about how powerful they were—they tried to hurt me anyway, unafraid of the consequences that often followed.

Too many times had I not been allowed to leave the safety of our home following violent threats whispered along darkened streets from even darker hearts.

They did their best. My purpose was to focus on their love for me instead of everyone else’s hatred.