Page 32 of Starchaser
“I tried, but…” I blow out a tight breath. “There just wasn’t time.”
Will is silent for a long moment, but just when I think he won’t respond, he says, “When you do get the chance to talk to her, try to be understanding, Aster. Sometimes, people keep secrets for reasons we could only understand if we found ourselves in their position.”
I glance at him, but he’s busied himself with pouring anothercup of tea, and I realize, with a pang of clarity, that he means to justify the secrets he’s kept from me. And that voice in the back of my mind whispers…
William Castor is lying to you.
Less than a half hour later, when an elderly woman in a plain gray gown and two long white braids enters the room, Titus and Will both greet her with a warm embrace and a kiss on the cheek.
“Aster, I’m pleased to introduce you to Bellaflor,” Titus says, his grin full and genuine. “Feel free to call her Auntie Bella, if you like.”
I offer the kindest smile I can muster. “Lovely to meet you.”
“Would you look at that?” Titus brings his hand to his chest in mock surprise. “She has manners!”
“If you don’t leave this cabin in the next three seconds, I’ll show you just howmannerlyI can be.”
The woman barely attempts to conceal her mischievous grin.
Titus winks at Bellaflor, bringing his hand to his mouth as if to share a secret but not lowering his voice to say, “Terrible dancer, this one. My toes will never recover. Whatever you do, watch those clumsy feet of hers.”
“Get out!” I shout, throwing a pillow at his face.
He catches it, holding it tightly to his chest. “She’s utterly mad,” he says, backing away slowly toward the door. “William, come quickly. We can’t have her throwing a vase and ruining that pretty face of yours.”
Will smirks, following Titus out into the hall, his hands in hispockets. “At least I’d still have my charm,” he finishes, closing the door behind him.
“They never change.” The woman sighs fondly. “At least they haven’t set anything on fire—yet.”
I rub my arms awkwardly, unsure of what to do with my hands as the woman turns her attention on me.
“Sit.” She gives me a once-over that makes me wince. “This won’t take long.”
One hour later, I’ve been plucked, brushed, painted, and dressed. Bellaflor stands behind me as I examine myself in the mirror, her face beaming with pride. She didn’t speak much as she poked and prodded at my face and hair, but after spending what little time I have with her, I can see why the boys regard “Auntie Bella” with such adoration.
“Well, dear?” Bellaflor asks. “What do you think?”
I twirl, admiring my gown—admiring, perhaps for the first time in a long time, my own reflection, the scar on my throat laid bare for everyone to see. For everyone to know that I have survived before, and I will survive this, too.
“I feel…”
Bellaflor grins. “Magical?”
I can’t help but smile. “Powerful,” I say, running my hands down the front of the satin gown. A rich shade of eggplant purple, the tight bodice of the strapless dress stops at my waist, and yards of skirt cascade over my hips. Draped across my shoulders, a gossamer cloak flows over my arms in two pieces and down my back,longer still than the train of my gown. The glittering purple fabric reflects the light like thousands of tiny stars as I turn, and I marvel at the similarities between my cloak and a pixie’s wings.
Bellaflor applied just enough rouge and powders to “draw out my natural beauty,” as she put it, and I’m thankful that when I meet my own gaze in the mirror, I feel as if I’m looking at myself, not a doll.
“Glide, my dear,” Bellaflor reminds me, “like you’re walking on a cloud.”
I want to tell her these shoes—their heels as sharp as knives—feel more like I’m walking on glass.
“And remember,” she adds, adjusting a stray hair with what has to be the hundredth pin that secures my unruly brown waves. She fashioned my hair in a braided updo that gives me the appearance of wearing a small crown atop my head. “Do your best to stay out of trouble.” She helps me into my white elbow-length gloves before presenting me with a heavy bundle of fabric. “But just in case you find that trouble can’t be avoided, Titus asked that I give you these.”
The instant I take the bundle from her, every cell in my body seems to come alive.
“My daggers,” I breathe, unwrapping the fabric to reveal the gilded weaponry, their hilts encrusted with citrine jewels. “But you—”
“Have a vested interest in your success, dear,” Bellaflor says, rolling up her sleeve to reveal the tattoo of a winged dagger. For an instant, her irises appear to glow with silver light, but I blink, and her eyes are brown again. “Now, go on then, let’s see if they fit.”
