As he pointed …
A star vaulted across the sky, brighter and closer than any I’d seen before. The crowd and city below cheered, raising their glasses as it passed right overhead, and only when it had disappeared over the curve of the horizon did they drink deeply.
I leaned back a step into Rhys—and quickly stepped away, out of his heat and power and scent. We’d done enough damage in a similar position at the Court of Nightmares.
Another star crossed the sky, twirling and twisting over itself, as if it were reveling in its own sparkling beauty. It was chased by another, and another, until a brigade of them were unleashed from the edge of the horizon, like a thousand archers had loosed them from mighty bows.
The stars cascaded over us, filling the world with white and blue light. They were like living fireworks, and my breath lodged in my throat as the stars kept on falling and falling.
I’d never seen anything so beautiful.
And when the sky was full with them, when the stars raced and danced and flowed across the world, the music began.
Wherever they were, people began dancing, swaying and twirling, some grabbing hands and spinning, spinning, spinning to the drums, the strings, the glittering harps. Not like the grinding and thrusting of the Court of Nightmares, but—joyous, peaceful dancing. For the love of sound and movement and life.
I lingered with Rhysand at the edge of it, caught between watching the people dancing on the patio, hands upraised, and the stars streaming past, closer and closer until I swore I could have touched them if I’d leaned out.
And there were Mor and Azriel—and Cassian. The three of them dancing together, Mor’s head tipped back to the sky, arms up, the starlight gleaming on the pure white of her gown. Dancing as if it might be her last time, flowing between Azriel and Cassian like the three of them were one unit, one being.
I looked behind me to find Rhys watching them, his face soft. Sad.
Separated for fifty years, and reunited—only to be cleaved apart so soon to fight again for their freedom.
Rhys caught my gaze and said, “Come. There’s a better view. Quieter,” He held a hand out to me.
That sorrow, that weight, lingered in his eyes. And I couldn’t bear to see it—just as I couldn’t bear to see my three friends dancing together as if it was the last time they’d ever do it.
Rhys led me to a small private balcony jutting from the upper level of the House of Wind. On the patios below, the music still played, the people still danced, the stars wheeling by, close and swift.
He let go as I took a seat on the balcony rail. I immediately decided against it as I beheld the drop, and backed away a healthy step.
Rhys chuckled. “If you fell, you know I’d bother to save you before you hit the ground.”
“But not until I was close to death?”
“Maybe.”
I leaned a hand against the rail, peering at the stars whizzing past. “As punishment for what I said to you?”
“I said some horrible things, too,” he murmured.
“I didn’t mean it,” I blurted. “I meant it more about myself than you. And I’m sorry.”
He watched the stars for a moment before he replied. “You were right, though. I stayed away because you were right. Though I’m glad to hear my absence felt like a punishment.”
I snorted, but was grateful for the humor—for the way he’d always been able to amuse me. “Any news with the orb or the queens?”
“Nothing yet. We’re waiting for them to deign to reply.”
We were silent again, and I studied the stars. “They’re not—they’re not stars at all.”
“No.” Rhys came up beside me at the rail. “Our ancestors thought they were, but … They’re just spirits, on a yearly migration to somewhere. Why they pick this day to appear here, no one knows.”
I felt his eyes upon me, and tore my gaze from the shooting stars. Light and shadow passed over his face. The cheers and music of the city far, far below were barely audible over the crowd gathered at the House.
“There must be hundreds of them,” I managed to say, dragging my stare back to the stars whizzing past.
“Thousands,” he said. “They’ll keep coming until dawn. Or, I hope they will. There were less and less of them the last time I witnessed Starfall.”
Before Amarantha had locked him away.
“What’s happening to them?” I looked in time to see him shrug. Something twanged in my chest.
“I wish I knew. But they keep coming back despite it.”
“Why?”
“Why does anything cling to something? Maybe they love wherever they’re going so much that it’s worth it. Maybe they’ll keep coming back, until there’s only one star left. Maybe that one star will make the trip forever, out of the hope that someday—if it keeps coming back often enough—another star will find it again.”
I frowned at the wine in my hand. “That’s … a very sad thought.”
“Indeed.” Rhys rested his forearms on the balcony edge, close enough for my fingers to touch if I dared.