Portia watched as her husband slipped through the connecting door that led from the nursery to their bedroom. The pistol in his hand glinted dully in the candlelight, the weapon pointed unerringly at the intruder.
The woman laughed softly, uncrossing one arm, and it was only then that Portia realized she cradled something against her chest. “I’m no magician, so save your bullets. They will not harm me, and I am not here to harm you.”
“So you say.”
Portia never left her daughter’s side, so Emmitt came to stand by her, refusing to lower his pistol. The woman stepped closer, and Portia’s gaze was drawn to the faint shimmer on her right thigh, candlelight reflecting on a golden constellation tattoo.
She gaped at the bright gold lines and starbursts visible through the open seam, the color of the Eagle constellation tattoo impossible to duplicate with modern ink. When Portia tried to speak again, she found her voice had returned to her.
“My lady,” Portia said weakly.
The star god smiled at them, dark hair pushed back from her face by the brass goggles she wore. Portia took in her appearance, noticing the particular flight uniform favored by E’ridians. She was missing the fur-lined leather flight coat, which Portia distantly thought was a poor choice. Fourth Month on the calendar meant the season was just barely breaking free of winter.
Emmitt’s hand holding the pistol remained steady, but Portia could feel her husband go stiff beside her. Carefully, telegraphing every move, Portia lifted her left hand and settled it on top of the pistol, pushing it down so the barrel aimed at the floor and not the star god gracing them with her presence. She set the candle down on the nearby dresser to free her other hand.
Emmitt drew in a sharp breath before clicking the safety back on, though he didn’t relinquish his weapon. “My lady.”
The Dusk Star smiled at them, but it never quite reached her eyes. “Have you heard the news?”
Portia tightened her fingers on Emmitt’s wrist. “The queen and all her kin are dead.”
“The named ones are.”
It was only then that Portia realized the star god carried a baby in her arms, the infant swaddled tightly in a fur-lined blanket. The baby’s face was tiny, hints of dark hair fluffed about the crown of their head. The baby was as new to this world as Portia’s own daughter.
It was that thought that made her cover her mouth to hold in her cry.
Emmitt glanced worriedly at her. “Darling?”
Portia bit her lip, the taste of bile in the back of her throat an acidic burn. “Please, no.”
“You pray to the stars, do you not?” Nilsine asked.
Portia swallowed thickly. “Always.”
“Then trust in my guidance.”
Portia felt rooted to the floor as the star god approached the crib to stare down at her daughter. One gloved hand reached out to stroke a finger down her daughter’s cheek. Portia had the sudden urge to snatch her up and run.
“The queen’s last wish was to name her daughter Caris,” Nilsine said.
Portia mouthed the name silently, the syllables nothing like the ones she had expected to say for years and years to come.
They watched as the star god took their child from her crib and laid down the queen’s nameless one in her place. Portia kept her eyes on the daughter she’d borne, her heart cracking the way clockwork gears broke under extreme pressure. Portia reached for her, but the star god took a single step back, the candlelight reflecting brightly in those ancient eyes.
“That’s our daughter,” Emmitt said hoarsely.
“Your daughter sleeps in her crib,” Nilsine said, drawing no attention to the baby she now cradled in her arms.
“Can’t we keep both?” Portia begged. “We would love them each as our own.”
Nilsine’s lips curved at the corners, the shadows on her face stretching deeper across her skin. “You have but one daughter, and you will raise her as such. It is decreed by the stars.”
Portia covered her mouth once again, the nursery blurring through her tears. “Please. Let me say goodbye.”
“There is no goodbye to be said here, for you have lost nothing.”
Nilsine raised one arm to touch her thumb to each of their foreheads. The benediction coursed through Portia’s mind, wrapping itself around her bones with a heat that burned like molten gold, like the tears she shed.
