Page 81 of Ash and Feather

The Star Goddess watched my sword building, her disdain turning to curiosity as I pointed the burning tip at her chest.

“If that’s all you needed to tell me,” I said, “you can be on your way now.”

Cepheid didn’t flinch.

Edea started to move on her behalf, but the Star Goddess held up her hand and brought her to a stop.

Cepheid’s eyes remained cold and fixed on me.

I willed myself not to shake, to not let the blade drop.

“An impressive weapon,” said the Star Goddess. The words bordered on mocking, but her lips curved in an odd way as she looked the fiery blade up and down—as if something like begrudging respect was starting to break through.

I was probably imagining it.

She took a step back, rolling her shoulders. As she did, starry ribbons shot out from her back and twisted into the shape of bat-like wings. They were nearly transparent, save for their edges, until she gave a slow, lazy test flap. Then they came to life, the thin membranes darkening from pale blue to a rich shade of indigo dotted with glowing bits of white. It was like watching a sky turn from midday to midnight in a matter of seconds.

“Make sure you give the God of Fire my message,” she said.

“I’ll make it my top priority,” I replied.

If she could read the sarcasm in my tone, she gave no indication of it.

In a slightly lower voice, she added, “I won’t intervene, but I’ll be watching the movements of that mortal realm—and you—with great interest.”

Before I could think of a response, she gave a slight bow of her head and then leapt into the air, soaring and twisting away with breathtaking grace and ease.

After one last smirk in my direction, the Sky Goddess followed, disappearing in a flash of turquoise light only to reappear at Cepheid’s side far in the distance.

Alone with Mairu once more, I flicked my wrist, breaking up the shape of my summoned sword and sending the pieces of it flying in all directions.

“Thatwasimpressive,” Mai said, watching the scattering sword for a moment before collecting her bag, which was hanging from the same tree I’d used as a coat rack.

I took the first deep, normal breath I’d taken in several minutes. “It was mostly fueled by spite,” I admitted.

She shrugged. “So? I’d say at leasttwo-thirds of what I do is motivated by spite.” She took an apple-like fruit from the bag, polishing it on the flowing hem of her shirt before she added, “Some days it’s the only reason I get out of bed.”

I giggled a bit at this, releasing more of the tension that had gathered in my chest. She tossed me the fruit, took out anotherfor herself, and we strolled side-by-side back into the palace while enjoying them.

“Dravyn once told me you and the Goddess of Stars don’t get along very well,” I said, in-between bites.

She snorted. “It’s complicated.”

“Why am I not surprised? The Marr are complicated in general, aren’t they?”

“Yes. But in this case…I am the goddess most often associated with change and control,” she reminded me, balancing her half-eaten fruit on the tip of her outstretched palm.

I watched as she narrowed her eyes in concentration and the fruit began to spin, its shiny skin unraveling in a tidy spiral to reveal the juicy pink flesh underneath.

“Cepheid is more concerned with fate and the glimpses of destiny she sees in her stars,” Mai continued. “She’s inclined to believe that mortals are bound to these things. And many of them are, of course—but there are always a few who rebel against the stars’ control and make a mess. I champion those mortals who aren’t afraid of these messy, daring changes; she can’t stand them. So we’re at odds to begin with.

“And over the years we’ve gotten into many arguments regarding such things.” She shrugged. “I’m not surprised they won’t be joining us. Cepheid doesn’t meddle in the affairs of the mortal realm whenever she can help it, and she’s the oldest and arguably most powerful of her court. When she refuses something, the others tend to follow her lead. Even Halar.”

I tried to picture the demure Star Goddess commanding the brutish Storm God.

I couldn’t.

“It’s probably just as well if Halar doesn’t join us if we do descend upon Avalinth,” Mai said. “He’d likely only make abigger mess of whatever we ultimately try to do, or whatever battles we end up fighting.”

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