Page 95 of All the Chaos of Constellations
“But they don’t make any promises, right?” Novalise pressed, remembering the words her mother spoke on the night of her star reading.
Trysta looked at her, startled. There was a flash of something in her eyes, an emotion Novalise couldn’t quite discern, and then it vanished.
“You said as much after my star reading,” Novalise continued, stopping on the landing. “When the constellations were in chaos.”
Her mother shook her head, the large diamond drops swinging from her ears. “Yes, darling. It’s completely plausible. It doesn’t happen often but?—”
“Can they be misconstrued?” Novalise interrupted, silencing her mother’s excuses. “Can they be misinterpreted?”
“Where is all this coming from? Has the wedding upset your nerves?” This time Trysta laughed, but it was off, a little too sharp. She reached out, placing the back of her hand against Novalise’s forehead. “Are you unwell?”
“I’m perfectly fine.” Novalise pulled away, a surge of annoyance stabbing into her tone. She was tired of being treated like she was made of crystal. Fragile and delicate. “This has nothing to do with the wedding.”
“Then what is it, my dear?” Trysta’s brows furrowed, a line of concern harboring her forehead. She searched Novalise’s face, worry darkening her eyes. “Has something happened?”
Novalise debated how much to say, how much to withhold. She couldn’t outright accuse her mother of a crime, but at the same time, if Asher was correct in his assumptions, then she wanted to hedge around the subject and attempt to garner as much information as possible without coming across as suspicious. “I was just thinking that maybe the reason the stars didn’t align for me is because I’m not meant to be the next Reader. Maybe my fate lies elsewhere.”
She watched her mother closely for any tell, for any sign of guilt. But Trysta’s expression softened, taking on that maternal gleam she often displayed to Novalise and her siblings when they were children. Trysta gently cupped Novalise’s cheek. “Oh, my sweet child. The stars are more like guidelines.”
“Guidelines?” Novalise almost choked on the word. She stepped back from her mother’s touch, pressing her fingers to her temples. To assume the stars were more like recommendations, or mere suggestions, was deplorable. It was contrary to all she’d learned, to everything she’d been taught. The polar opposite of her upbringing and general understanding of celestial magic.
“Yes. It’s pleasing to think our destinies have been forged by the heavens, but the reality is”—Trysta spread her arms wide, bracelets jingling—“we all have a choice.”
A choice.
Fury ignited inside of Novalise.
She’d never been given a choice about anything. Ever. She’d always been told where to be, how to act, how to dress, what to say. For years she’d been trained to keep her mouth shut, to never speak out of turn. Every life decision had been made for her and she’d accepted it with grace. Of her own free will, she’d allowed herself to become a pawn, a trophy, an effigy. A pretty face without a voice.
Her mother captured her hand, squeezing lightly. “If you want to become something other than the next Reader of Stars, then seize that opportunity. You are capable of achieving whatever your heart desires.”
There was only one thing Novalise desired…Asher.
And maybe something more.
Starstorm.
The word slipped into the recesses of her mind, the whisper of a promise.
“I could do anything?” Novalise asked.
Her mother leaned forward, placing the lightest of kisses against her forehead. “Anything.”
Trysta released her hand, heading down the long hall toward her bedroom.
“But what about you?” Novalise called after her.
“What about me?”
“If I don’t take your place, you’ll be expected to continue on as the Reader of Stars.” Novalise knew the pressure of the title was a weight upon her mother’s shoulders. It was a position full of responsibility, and as with every advantageous station, a price had to be paid. “Do you enjoy it?”
A cloud drifted over the glass ceiling, diminishing the rising sun, casting her mother in long shadows. Despondency ebbed from her like a cloak of sorrow. “I did, once. When your father was alive. Now, it’s merely an appointed position to be held within Queen Elowyn’s High Council. It comes with its own stress and a multitude of obligations.”
Curiosity plagued Novalise. Now that she finally had the courage to speak her mind and ask the questions she’d held inside for so long, she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Is it hard?”
“Trying at times, but not hard.” The corners of Trysta’s mouth lifted in a faint upturn, a ghost of her usual beaming smile. She waved her hand through the air, brushing off the sentiment. “I’m sure anyone could do it.”
Novalise froze, trapped in a state of immobility.
