Chapter seventeen

Phoebe kept her eyes on the woods. The fire of the funeral pyre was still blazing behind her, and would be for many hours still to come, but the rest of the mourners had left by now. Even though the light it cast was bright, it did little to cut into the gloom just beyond the treeline.

"I told him not to come," she muttered as she chewed nervously on her thumbnail. "Maybe we should have waited to tell him about the funeral."

"He would have been so upset if we hadn't told him," Rue said. Her voice was hoarse from crying; she sounded exhausted, defeated. "I know you're just looking out for him, but don't be so hard on yourself. Connor can make his own decisions — even if they're questionable ones."

It had been an unsettlingly long time since Phoebe's father had escorted Connor from the clearing. At the time, Phoebe and Rue had exchanged a nervous glance, but said nothing. It didn't matter how badly Phoebe wanted to raise the alarm, she knew better than to draw attention to what was likely happening in the cover of the trees. But now that sense of self preservation gave way to fear. She hunched her shoulders in shame, knowing that she was failing her cousin yet again.

"I should go check on them," she said. "I'll come up with some kind of excuse to bring Dad back—"

Rue grabbed her arm and clutched it tightly. "Phoebe, look."

Phoebe turned her head and followed Rue's gaze. A figure was emerging from the darkness along the path that connected the clearing to the rest of Ardent.

"Dad!" Phoebe called when she realized who it was. She hurried across the clearing to meet him and prepared to play dumb. "Where did you go? Is everything okay?"

Her father waved off her concern as if he was batting away a mosquito. "I was tending to your mother. She always gets quite emotional after ascensions."

Phoebe pursed her lips and chose not to mention that her mother had looked fine to her when she left a short while earlier. She waited for her father to say something about Connor, but instead he turned his attention to Castid, who was stoking the pyre.

"Is there anything else you need, dear friend? Anything at all?"

Castid shook his head and offered a sad smile. "You've done more than enough. Thank you."

"Not a problem at all." Phoebe's father paused for a moment, his eyes darting between Rue's father and the burning pyre. "If it would make things easier for you and your family, my neighbors and I can take care of the preparations for the connection."

It took everything Phoebe had not to cringe at her father's desperation. Even when faced with a family in mourning, all he cared about was talking to the Stars. Knowing him like she did, Phoebe imagined that having to delay the connection ritual had been driving her father crazy.

Castid blinked, clearly just as taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation as Phoebe was. But he regained his composure quickly. "That would be greatly appreciated, Lance. My family and I are so grateful for your hospitality." Phoebe couldn't help but do a double-take at the sound of her father's name. People so rarely called him by it that sometimes she forgot he had one. But if anyone could get away with something as disrespectful as calling Ardent's leader by his given name, it would be a Starborn.

Phoebe's father stood behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "It's our pleasure. Right, Phoebe?"

She nodded dutifully. "Yes, of course."

With that, her father bid Rue's family a good night. As he led her back toward home, Phoebe gave Rue a tiny wave.

They were enveloped in the darkness that shrouded the path when her father finally spoke.

"Did you have anything to do with this?" he hissed quietly. Phoebe's throat constricted as though he'd wrapped his hand around it and squeezed. She knew he was talking about Connor.

"No," she managed to reply.

His grip on her shoulders tightened. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not, I promise!"

Phoebe could feel her father's doubt boring into her, even in the dark. Still, after a beat of icy silence, he spoke again. "You aren't to leave the house until tomorrow's connection ritual. Understood?"

Under different circumstances, Phoebe might have pushed back. But tonight she was too uneasy to test her father's patience. Something about his stony demeanor frightened her, and she wasn't ready to find out why.

"I understand," she said, sending a silent prayer to the Stars above that Connor would manage without her for a little while longer.

Phoebe spent the following day cleaning the house from top to bottom. Her mother was never very far, which meant that even if she had felt brave enough, she wouldn't have been able to sneak away to check up on her cousin. But that didn't keep her mind from wandering.

The sound of glass shattering made her jump.

"Phoebe!" her mother cried from the other side of the kitchen where she was packing away leftovers from lunch. "Pay attention! You could hurt yourself!"

Dazed, Phoebe looked down to the shattered wine glass that lay at her feet — the same one she'd just finished washing. Clearly she hadn't quite stuck the landing when she tried to place it on the rack to dry. She'd been so lost in worried thoughts about Connor. Was he out there in his little shack, wounded and in need of help? Or what if it was worse than that? What if her father's wrath had finally stretched a bit too far? It was that horrifying thought she had been lost in when the wine glass slipped from her soapy fingers.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'll clean it up."

But her mother shooed her away from the sparkling mess. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart. I'll take care of it." As she swept up the broken glass, Phoebe's mother kept stealing glances at her from beneath her furrowed brow. "Are you feeling alright, baby? You seem a little out of it today."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Phoebe said quickly — perhaps a little too quickly. She hurried to come up with a convincing lie. "I'm just thinking about Rue. I feel so bad for her."

"I know, sweetie. It's hard when a friend is hurting." Her mother emptied the dustpan into the trash with a nod.

"Yeah, especially when I can't be there for her."

If Phoebe's mother picked up on her daughter's insinuation, she didn't take the bait. "You'll get to see her tonight at the connection. She should probably be with her family right now, anyway."

"You're probably right," Phoebe muttered. She picked at the hem of her sweater restlessly. Gently, her mother placed her hand on her daughter's cheek — the same one their family's patriarch had struck not so long ago — and smiled.

"Of course I am. Now, why don't you run and fetch the laundry from the line?" he mother said brightly. "There's still a lot to do before tonight."

*

Had it not been for the noise, Audrey probably would have slept until noon. Instead, roused by the sound of creaking and shuffling, and stiff from a night spent on the floor, Audrey cracked open her eyes and peered blearily around. She spotted Connor kneeling on the bed, where stared intently through a tiny sliver between the window curtains. He was so still and focused that Audrey wasn't even sure if he was breathing.

"What are you looking at?" she whispered. Startled, Connor jerked as if he'd been electrocuted. He glanced down at her with a scowl and pressed a finger to his lips before turning back to the window. A moment later, Connor's rigid shoulders softened.

"Sorry — my uncle was outside and I didn't want him to hear you."

At the mention of the asshole uncle, Audrey sat bolt upright, ready to fight. "What was he doing?"

"I'm not sure. Someone usually comes by in the morning to assign me chores for the day, but I think he left a note instead. He's probably still rattled from yesterday." As he crawled down from the bed, Audrey dragged herself up off the floor.

"I was wondering about that."Audrey stooped to pick up the borrowed blanket and pillow. "Why was he so freaked out? Does he have a phobia of teenage girls?"

"He probably saw your eyes and assumed you were with the druids," Connor explained. He nudged the bed with his foot and it slid effortlessly across the room as if it was made of cardboard. "The last thing he wants to do is piss off a Starborn." He opened the door. There, secured with a push-pin, fluttered a piece of paper. Connor plucked the note off the door and scanned it quickly.

"What does it say?" Audrey asked, leaning in to get a closer look.

Connor clicked his tongue and set the note aside with a roll of his green eyes. "They're preparing for tonight's connection and he wants me to stay out of the way."

"Connection to what?" Audrey peeked at the note. Connor's uncle had said a bit more than that, but none of it was kind. His cruel and disparaging remarks only made Audrey hate him more.

"It's what the druids call it when they communicate with the Stars."

Audrey, who had turned away to make the bed, dropped the pillow as she whirled back around. "They can do that??"

"Yeah. Can't you?" Connor tipped his head curiously. "I thought it was a thing all Starborn could do."

A rush of heat warmed Audrey's cheeks. She glanced away, embarrassed. "I don't know. To be honest, I'm still learning to control my abilities. I didn't even know I had them until a little while ago."

Connor nodded. "It was like that for me too." He turned to the simple table that doubled as his entire kitchen. "I was fifteen when I noticed that I was getting stronger — like, unnaturally strong. I think abilities are something you have to grow into."

"Wait, you have abilities too?" Audrey cried. She leaned down and tried to pick the bed up one-handed the way Connor had the night before. It weighed as much as a single bed should. Wide-eyed and incredulous, she turned back to Connor. "Is that why you made this look so easy? How? What else can you do?"

"Nothing." Connor shrugged. "Apparently it has something to do with being a Wish."

It had never occurred to Audrey that there might be other people with Star-related powers like hers. The thought filled her with a sense of hope, and it gave her an idea. "And what about the druids?" she asked. "Do they have abilities too?"

"You mean that glowy light magic you do? No."

"Oh." Audrey deflated, surprised by her own disappointment. "So much for that idea."

"What do you mean?" Connor asked.

"I thought if they had abilities too, they might be able to help me figure out mine. It would be way easier than trying to do it on my own."

"We can still ask," Connor said. He filled a small, dented pot with water from a pail in the corner before adding something dusty and grayish that he poured from a jar. After giving the concoction a quick stir, he placed the pot on top of the woodstove. "Maybe my girlfriend knows something that could help you,"

Audrey remembered the girl at the funeral — the one who had thrown her arms around Connor and wept into his shoulder. "That girl from the funeral?"

"You saw that, huh?" Connor smirked at her. "Yeah, that was her. The funeral was for her grandfather, a druid elder."

This made Audrey do a double take. "Wait, you're dating a druid? Does that mean they don't hate you like the rest of these bigoted dickbags?"

Suppressing a laugh, Connor turned away and crouched in front of the woodstove. He prodded at the still-smoldering embers from last night's fire until they flared, rising like excited young children ready to play.

"No," he said, feeding fresh wood into the stove, "but we've kept our relationship pretty quiet, just to be safe. It's hard because she and the rest of the druids are nomadic, so I only get to see her when they visit."

For a moment, all Audrey could do was stare at the back of Connor's head. She wondered if she was missing something, or if perhaps she had misinterpreted part of Connor's story. Either way, she was confused.

"I don't understand," she said. "If you want to be with her, and the druids themselves don't hate you, why don't you just go with them?"

She watched the strong muscles of Connors neck and shoulders tighten at her question. It took him a long time to answer.

"I don't want to put them in danger," he answered at last. His voice was so quiet that Audrey had to strain to hear him over the fire. She frowned deeply.

"Yeah, but—"

In one swift motion, Connor was on his feet and in her face. Audrey flinched back from his sudden anger, afraid of him for the first time.

"Will you drop it already?" he snapped. His eyes were narrowed in a glare, but Audrey could see that they also shimmered with the threat of tears. She drew herself up taller, taking up space and refusing to back down.

"I just don't understand—"

"You don't have to! It's none of your business!"

"But you deserve better than this!" Emotional energy raced along Audrey's veins like a current through wire. She felt like they were speaking two different languages; she couldn't understand how Connor could be so willing to accept such an unjust fate. "Why don't you get that?"

"You don't know me!" Connor bellowed back. His trembling hands grasped at the air. It was as if he wanted to reach out and throttle her, but had stopped himself just in time. Audrey's stomach dropped at the thought of how much damage those hands, powered by unnatural strength, could do. But it seemed like Connor was a lot better at self-control than she was. Closing his eyes, Connor took a shaky breath and raked his fingers back through his golden hair. "What happens to me has nothing to do with you, so why do you care?"

His words were like a grain of sand, tipping the scales of her precariously balanced emotional state. Try as she might, Audrey couldn't stop the tears as they fell from her lashes and snaked their way down her face. She swatted them away angrily.

"I care because I refuse to believe that this—" she waved her hands around wildly, gesturing at everything "—is the best that people like us can hope for."

Connor folded his arms. His green eyes cut into her, making her feel exposed and vulnerable under his scrutiny. "People like us?"

It was then that Audrey realized she had said too much. Maybe Connor didn't know that he wasn't part of the Plan — that they were bonded by a blank page where their destinies should have been written. She pursed her lips and scrambled for something else to say. "You know what I mean. You're a Wish and I'm a Starborn — we're both made of Starlight."

They stared at one another. A heavy blanket of uncomfortable silence settled over them as the moment dragged on. Finally, just when Audrey thought the quiet might suffocate her, the pot on the woodstove came to a rolling boil. Hot water splashed over its edge and hit the stove with a series of angry sizzles. The sound pulled both of them back to the moment.

Connor jumped to pull the pot from the heat while Audrey focused on releasing the frantic pent-up energy inside of her in small, discrete bursts.

"I hope you like porridge," Connor said as if their entire argument never even happened. "Because it's all I've got."

Audrey sank down onto the bed and watched as he spooned their breakfast into a pair of mugs. Her mind buzzed like thousands of bees had taken up residence in her skull and her extremities tingled numbly — symptoms of what she'd taken to calling "energy hangovers". When Connor handed her a mug, she took it with a weak hand.

He sat down beside her.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," he said softly. He licked his lips and stabbed absently at the steaming porridge in his mug. "Not that it's an excuse, but it's been a really long time since I let myself imagine a better life." When he smiled, Audrey could tell it took him a great deal of effort. "I think it's a self-preservation thing."

"I get it," Audrey replied. "And I'm sorry for pushing you so hard, especially when you said you didn't want to talk about it."

With their apologies made, the pair dug into breakfast. Truthfully, Audrey hated porridge, but she was too hungry to care. She finished her mug in a few heaping spoonfuls.

"Do you really believe that people like us stand a chance?" Connor asked as he watched her lick her spoon clean. "That we can have a future and normal lives and stuff like that?"

If she were to answer his question honestly, Audrey would have said that it wasn't a matter of belief, but of hope. She hoped that the best was yet to come. She hoped that not being part of the Plan wouldn't turn out to be a curse. But when Connor looked at her, his gaze bright and earnest, she knew hope was no longer enough. She needed to believe, and so did he.

So, she nodded. "Yes, I do."