In the end, it was as easy as feeding their surprise guests the last of their stores, and giving a few herbs to a gopher that still had no discernible illness.
For a moment Asterion lets relief wash over him like a saltwater tide, but it is a difficult feeling to hold onto when he knows how little food they have left, and that with half the population sickly and all of the court flooded. There would be no more harvests before winter, and what grasses could be left after weeks of rain?
The king wonders, for a moment, if these are questions he should raise now, before their goddess and in sight of all the court. But instead he breathes out a long breath through his nose, and glances again at the faces of those gathered.
When it lands on the mare who had at last revealed herself to be Vespera, it is difficult to read, and within Asterion his feelings churn like Charybdis. Had it all been a test, then? Was her hand in it from the very first fall of rain?
“For some it was too late,” he says, and thinks of those washed away, or buried under mud, or sick and frigid in the flooded swamp. “But I am glad our guests are satisfied.” His words are still seafoam-soft, but there is an edge beneath them, and his eyes are the cold darkness between stars when at last he looks away from the goddess.
But he holds no anger for his court. “Thank you for your help,” he tells them all, as the gophers continue their devouring, as he wonders how he will guide them through the winter. “Today and each day before it. I think - I hope - the worst is past.” As he looks on their faces - at Fiona, at Theo, at Israfel and Atreus - and the gauntness, and the weariness, and the frustration, all those same feelings stir in him, too.
Before his face can betray them he turns, and makes his way back to the castle, to learn if what they still have can see them through the days ahead.
if you'll be my star*
