All the strange world fades away as he listens to the woman’s story. Though his ears are tuned to her, his gaze still wanders; it touches on the necklace against her dusky skin, it glances across Hasta, it strays to the woodland behind them and the meadow they stand at the edge of. But her words wash him like rain, falling into his mind like silver drops in soil.
He does not interrupt, though there are parts where he wants to - her nostalgia, her love, is clear in her voice and it is hard not to exclaim in wonder at their magic, or sigh at the sorrow of war. How many of them, he wonders, bore such stories woven through with scars? He thinks of Samaira, of Moira, of Isra and Eik, and how strange it is that their complex lives in Novus were all proceeded by another, equally intricate.
Sometimes Asterion feels like his life will end with Novus, that he will fall asleep a silver-muzzled man looking out to the sea from the cliffside, Rhone’s tree shading him as the sun dropped below the horizon, and never wake. But all their stories, and something about this place - it makes him wonder.
And there are other questions that cross his mind like waves - whether Florentine’s magic could help others visit their families. Whether such a war would come to Novus, too, with its superstitions and prejudices as ancient as dead bones in the soil of Tinea.
They can be better. They must.
It’s difficult not to touch her, to put his shoulder to hers or the soft touch of his nose to her cheek. But Asterion has always been more guarded than his sister about such things, and instead he only offers her a smile, soft as dusk on the horizon, and a slow sigh as he looks away. It is easy to picture a spread of constellations in the blue sky above them.
“Thank you for sharing with me,” he says, quietly, as though they stand in the doorway of a cathedral and not a meadow of humming insects and chirping birds. “It’s to Terrastella’s benefit that we have someone with your knowledge and experiences. I should love to hear what you’ve learned of the stars…and as for your magics, I hope someday the world will know there is no light without dark.” It is not hard to think of Denocte, then, and its goddess and queen. Perhaps more worlds are alike than any of them can guess. Perhaps the same stories are written again and again, until someone changes the ending.
When she turns away he does too, following a few paces behind her, Cirrus sleeping on his back. “I should love some,” he says, and the king is smiling as he follows, though some piece of his thoughts remains in the meadow long after.
@Corrdelia <3 that would be wonderful, I'm so glad we had them properly meet! She is fantastic.
if you'll be my star*
