Raya grimaced at the rickety-looking ladders leaning against the brick wall. “Would it be possible to paint some more? How many do we need?”
“Just one. I could try to make it for you, but I can’t promise that it will work as well as the ones that my colleagues paint.”
Raya looked at Q. “What do you think?”
“I’m game if you are.” He pulled a wry smile. “I’m not a big fanof ladders that look like they’re one half-hearted gust of wind away from falling apart.”
“Neither am I,” Raya said.
“I’ll get started then.” Astrid gathered paints and brushes from a metal shelf. “But this might take a while.”
Raya turned her palm over. One of the loops of the golden knot was noticeably looser. Her heart dropped to her ankles. “I…um…think we should probably use the ladder instead.”
Q stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”
“Do what?”
“I’ll paint the star. I’m used to painting things in a hurry.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Astrid arranged the painting supplies on a stained worktable. “Stars are extremely difficult to paint. It takes a long time to master even the simplest one.”
“I can do it.” Q’s eyes flitted over the brushes and paints Astrid had selected. “I have some experience.”
“I’m sure you do.” Astrid slipped her hands into her overalls’ pockets. “But have you ever painted without a canvas?”
Painting over thin air might have daunted most people, Raya thought, but not Q. He relished it. His brush flew over the air like a horse that had broken free from its reins and was racing the wind. Raya watched him work, refusing to blink. Genius was too rare of a sight to miss. Each of Q’s brash and bold strokes made it clear that he cared little about painting within lines. Or on canvases. He painted as though in a trance, his will surging into the star from his soul.
The star floated around the room, drifting past jugs of clouds, around a bottle of twilight, and into the mason jar that Astrid held open. She covered the jar and set it on a worktable, her eyes flickering and wide. “I’m impressed.”
Q nodded with a small smile.
“That was magical,” Raya said breathlessly.
“Magic’s only a trick you’ve practiced a lot.” Q massaged the bruise he had gotten on his elbow when Raya knocked him onto the deck.
A familiar pang stabbed Raya between the ribs. Guilt was a knife permanently wedged in her heart, indistinguishable from her own tissue. It took very little to twist it. “Does it hurt?”
“No.” Q shook his head. “I just strained it a bit while I was painting.”
“I’m really sorry about—”
“Raya,” he said, looking into her eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I’ve never seen anyone learn how to paint stars so quickly.” Astrid admired the star twinkling inside the jar. “And so well.”
“You’re a great teacher,” Q said.
“I wish.” Astrid laughed. “Anyway, I know you’re supposed to take your time deciding which department to join, but I want you to know there’s a place for you here if you want it.”
Raya looked at the knot on her hand, thinking how much simpler it would be if she found a place for herself on the train and believed that people like her deserved a second chance.
“You’ve exceeded the luggage limit, haven’t you?” Astrid said quietly.
Raya clutched the straps of her bag. “Nothing I can’t carry.”
“Of course.” Astrid cracked a smile that fell short of her eyes. “You should get going. Come.” She strode to the worktable and picked up the jar containing the star. She twisted its lid open. The star popped out and hovered by a hole in the floor. Astrid gave it a nudge. It dove through the hole, leaving a trail of stardust on its way down. It landed on the island’s shore, flickered, and faded away.
Raya looked up from the glittering stardust slide and caught Q lingering over what remained of his painting. She didn’t need to ask him how he felt about watching it dim. His eyes gave him away. Those less acquainted with longing might have looked at them and seen nothing but the reflection of stardust, but Raya saw every hue of sadness no matter how well Q blended them in. His was a combination of pensiveness and melancholy, and the smallest drop of mourning.
