Northern Lights, Southern Stars

by C. S. Johnson

  The path looks much different in the moonlight, and I start to worry when I see moving shadows catching up to me.

  I can see the man, Ruston, as he picks Ebony’s body up with a reverence my son would admire and starts to take her toward the small cottage further up from the woods. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t been able to stab her or throw her body in the ocean. Ebony’s friends have just buried someone, haven’t they? They will not find it that difficult to do it again.

  I snicker at the thought of Ebony stuck in a tomb, buried alive. The picture of it is delightful and deserving, considering what Ebony—and her father, and her nation—have put me through in the last decade of my life.

  I laugh too hard at her fate to care as much for mine. I trip and fall, and, just as the looming shadows of Ebony’s friends catch up to me, I find myself nearly trampled by a horse.

  “Oh!” I hack out a cough and curse, before trying to run the other way.

  But it’s too late. The horse moves to block me, and, turning, I am faced with a trio of Ebony’s friends to the rear.

  “Well, hello there ... Mother.”

  The rider slides out of his saddle and looks at me. Even in the darkness, there is no mistaking my son.

  “Rion.”

  The others behind me fall silent and still as they recognize Rion, Pommier’s Prince.

  “I have been looking for you, ever since you’d killed Viola,” Rion says. His voice is direct and hard, and I know it will be difficult to twist my way out of trouble this time. “I see you’ve been caught doing something else.”

  “It’s too late,” I tell him. “She ate one of my apples.”

  Rion’s hands grip me on the shoulders, and I cry out, more loudly than I need to. He softens his grip, but that’s all I need to know he’ll be a good son and let me go—eventually, if nothing else.

  “My son is a merciful man,” I say, trying to squash down another cough.

  “I am not as merciful as you think,” he warns me. “And the courts won’t be either when they hear you confess to your crimes.”

  “It’s not a crime for a girl to eat an apple,” I argue. “If it was, Ebony would’ve been dead a long time ago, thanks to your little adventures with her.”

  “That is not all that you’ve done,” Rion says. “I’ve had some very interesting talks with people today, Mother, including Dr. Merlacur, who’s been very intentional about telling me all about your friendship. Especially when it comes to the matter of your patronage to his company, the so-called Refugee Return Movement.”

  “It seemed like a good investment,” I say. “It’s not my fault he’s running it as a slave trade, is it?”

  “I think that will be up to the public jury to decide,” Rion says quietly. “But I can assure you, Mother, as your King, I will not allow this kind of behavior to go unpunished. You lied to me and organized a new marriage behind my back, while you called for your own people’s ship to be attacked, and then you killed Viola—”

  “She was already sentenced to a life as a mirror-slave,” I say. “It doesn’t matter if she’s dead now.”

  “We will obviously have to discuss this, and your many other malfeasances, at a later time.” Rion scowls at me, before turning to the shadows behind me. “Can you take me to Ebony? Please.”

  As he walks off with them, the palace guards take charge of me. None of this bothers me until I hear some of them whispering.

  “This is the Queen?” one of them asks another. “She’s so ugly.”

  I pull the hood up over my cloak, hiding my face from their view, but I can’t hide my shame.

  *30*

  Rion

  “ARE YOU REALLY PRINCE Rion?”

  The woman with the short hair looks me up and down, and I can’t blame her for the strange situation we find ourselves in, but right now I am only concerned about Ebony.

  My mother has finally gone mad—or revealed herself to her full evil potential—and I am shocked, appalled, and horrified by her actions. Ebony never held it against me that I was her son, and I see now I have not been gracious enough to her for that.

  Mother said it was too late, but I refused to believe her.

  “Yes,” I say, offering a quick nod to the lady. “Are you a member of the Bonpette family?”

  “Yes. I’m Verna,” she says.

  “I’m looking for Ebony,” I say. “Please, tell me where I can find her.”

  “Ebony has been helping us take care of my mother at our house for the last several weeks. My brother hired her to help assist him.”

  “I’ve heard good things about Dr. Bonpette. I’ve talked with some of his patients today while I was looking for your cottage,” I reply. “But I’m looking for Ebony.”

  “My brother is a very good doctor,” Verna agrees. She nods to the others who come to stand beside her. “These are my brothers, sir. Birdon is the tall and quiet giant. Dom’s the small boy over here. And Vagarey is my sister.”

  “It is nice to meet you.” I hurriedly extend my hand to each of them, and they are kind enough not to stare at me. “I must apologize for my impatience, but please, I beg you. Take me to Ebony.”

  “Come in and follow me,” Verna says. Her eyes fall to the ground. “I’ll take you to her.”

  Verna’s voice is full of warning. For all my desire to see Ebony, I now walk with a shadow of grief and shame cast over me.

  Together, Verna and I make our way up the hill to their home, where I assume Ebony is. All the while, I tell myself I can’t be sure of her condition. Remembering my mother’s bragging, I pray silently for forgiveness, for grace, for any ounce of mercy to find Ebony alive. Even if she rejected me, even if she hated me.

  My family has already caused hers to suffer so much. If she hated me, it would only be fair.

  What if I am too late?

  I hang my head, thinking of how alone she must’ve been, and how I’ve failed her so many times before.

  We wouldn’t have even been in this position, if I’d only thrown tradition and propriety aside and married her the day she said yes to my proposal. It was all I’d wanted to do anyway—take her in my arms, kiss her, and make her mine.

  I loved her, and I lived only for the song in her heart.

  We reach the door to the small cottage, and Verna turns to me.

  “It’s silly, but please don’t mind the mess,” Verna says. Her voice is still quiet and unnerving. “We are in mourning for my mother.”

  “I understand.” Seeing her own discomfort, I try to put her heart somewhat at ease. “I’ve lost my own father, and my stepfather as well. And I’m sure the mess is welcome in its own way. If Ebony’s here, I know it’s a good place.”

  “She has taken really good care of us,” Dommier agrees. “I hope she’ll be all right.”

  What’s wrong with her? I want to scream and shake anyone in my way, but I force myself to calm down.

  “Hope is important.” I say this to be kind to him, but I also say it to force myself to believe it. I need to believe things will be all right, too.

  “Ruston?” Verna calls out to her other brother as we step inside the home. It’s warm, but there’s no ounce of welcome as I draw closer to Ebony.

  “I put her in Mama’s room.” Ruston’s voice is heavy as he responds.

  All of us walk down the hall; the others gather in front of me as my heart begins to race and my footsteps begin to slow with sickly anticipation. I step through the doorway, and the crowd between me and Ebony finally divides.

  That’s when I see her.

  “Ebony,” I whisper.

  She’s resting peacefully against the pillows, surrounded by the Bonpette family. There’s no stopping me as I run to her side and pull her into my arms.

  “Ebony, wake up,” I whisper, begging her. Her body is limp and cold as I hold her next to me, trying to warm her.

  “I can’t wake her.” Ruston growls behind me. “I’m a doctor, and I’ve checked over everything. There’s n
o pulse, no breath ... no nothing.”

  I cradle her next to me again, unwilling to hear the doctor’s assessment.

  “Is she dead like Mama?” Dommier asks, and the others rush to comfort him.

  My eyes squeeze shut, unable to bear the sudden loss I feel. I cling to her tightly, angry and sad as I run my hands lovingly over her face, still desperate to wake her.

  The others behind me are starting to cry.

  “Who are you?” Ruston asks. There’s a sharp look on his face as he looks me over, and I can see there is some conflict within him; I don’t know if he loves Ebony the way I do, but I know he is pained by the thought of her suffering.

  “I’m Rion,” I say.

  “Oh.” He snorts, looking away. “She’s mentioned you.”

  I nod. “Thank you for seeing to her care.”

  “It’s natural at this point. I’m a doctor.”

  He’s clearly uncomfortable, but I am only focused on her face. She is so peaceful, and I don’t know what to do.

  I’d dreamed of returning to her, and now ... now I am too late.

  “Here.” Ruston hands me an apple with a single bite taken out of it. “This is the apple that she ate.”

  I look down at the scarlet apple, looking at the part where Ebony bit into the fruit. I think of the softness of her sweet lips, and how I’d rushed to cover them with my own before.

  I’d taken a bite of her apple in my mother’s garden, and told her I wanted her to sing for me. I put the apple back in her hand, and then I lean over her again.

  A single tear falls from my eye down onto her cheek.

  “Sing for me, Ebony, the way my heart sings for you,” I whisper.

  And then I place my lips over hers in a helpless kiss.

  *31*

  Ebony

  ALL MY LIFE BEFORE me seems still and beautiful; I am stuck singing outside on the plains of Marula, stringing the starlight together while the music is held in place by the Northern Lights.

  The lights. They’re not supposed to be here.

  I can see others that aren’t supposed to be here, either; there’s Prudence and Vi, and there’s Verna, Dommier, Birdon, Vagarey and even Ruston. Damaris is also here, her bright red hair dancing in the wind as she, along with all the others, looks up at me and cheers.

  I look to the other side of me, and I can see even more people I love.

  There’s my father, King Maru, at the height of his glory, sitting on the Maruli throne with my mother, Queen Ysaya, who is as young and pretty and alive as ever.

  All of them are there, together, cheering, and I see why the moment I turn around.

  Rion is there.

  My Prince. He’s come for me.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” I tell him, but I don’t hear myself say the words.

  All I can hear is music as it pours out of me. The music of the Northern Lights combined with the southern stars of my home, all coming together to make a new place for us to live.

  Rion leans over and kisses me, and, as my eyes close and I begin to kiss him back, I feel the world around me disappear.

  I blink again.

  This time, my eyes open. I am in the Bonpette house, lying down in Prudence’s bed. Ruston and Rion are beside me, and the rest of my adopted family is watching over me, too.

  “Rion?” I whisper his name, and joy lights up his face. Rion quickly opens his arms to me, and I reach for him at once, while Verna and Vagarey clasp each other in a hug, Dommier is cheering, and even Birdon is grinning wider than I’ve ever seen. Ruston looks at me with one of his stoic looks, but even I can see a smile in his eyes as Rion plucks me off the bed.

  “Ebony.” He holds me close, picking me up and holding me against his body. I forget we have an audience as I lean up and kiss him again. “Oh, Ebony, I’m so sorry for what my mother has put you through.”

  I am still having a hard time believing he is really here, that there is still some good despite all the bad.

  “What your mother meant for evil, God meant for good,” I say, running my hands over his face—the face of the one I love, whom I’d never thought I’d see ever again. “I used to think I didn’t have any power in my life. I didn’t have the power to change my life or help others. But now I see that wasn’t true. Not at all. Now I know that true power comes from love.”

  “You have no idea how often your love has given me the strength to carry on,” Rion whispers back. “Thank God I’ve found you again.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “And I am very sorry I’ve kept you waiting,” he replies. “You’ll have to forgive me.”

  “I’ll attempt to forgive you,” I promise, before abandoning myself to his kisses once more.

  It takes me a long time to reorient myself to the world, but in all fairness, the world looks much different when all my hopes turn out to be too small for what I’ve been given.

  *Epilogue*

  Ebony

  “RION? RION, WHERE ARE you?” I hurry through the palace, looking for Rion.

  We are to be wed in a few days, and that’s not the only thing that’s going on. In addition to our wedding, the palace has to get ready for Rion’s official coronation as King, and I will be beside him as his Queen. There are other things besides that, too, one of which I am in charge of today: Viola’s memorial service.

  I am happy that, even though I am not officially crowned Queen yet, I am allowed to free the speciavos and the speciavas at last. I am glad Rion and I agree that magical subjugation is no better than physical subjugation. Slavery comes in all forms, and we must continue to choose that which keeps us free.

  Viola’s death had been a shock to me when Rion first brought me back to Pommier’s palace, and I soon found myself mourning the loss of her as well as Prudence. I am happy that I will be able to help grant her final wish and free Horatio, but I already miss Vi and her strict kindness.

  I turn into the library, knowing Rion has a fondness for books. As I enter, I see that several books are missing, and I can’t help but smile at the thought that they are probably tucked away in Verna’s room with the rest of her mess.

  She is a writer, but she is a reader first. When she asked if she was able to borrow some, I didn’t even think of denying her.

  But I probably should’ve put some provisos down in our agreement.

  “Ebony.”

  Rion is there, sitting behind a desk. There’s a small letter in his hand, and he is staring off into the distance.

  “What is it?” I ask him, already moving to comfort him. “Did you get bad news from Caryo?”

  He shakes his head. “No, it’s not that. Caryo is doing well and he sends you well-wishes.”

  “I will have to write him back,” I say, but before I can ask Rion if there’s anything else I should write, I see his eyes dim. I know he is in pain. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Mother is dead.”

  His words hang in the air between us for a long moment, and then I wrap my arms around him.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “I’m not,” Rion says. “She ate one of her own apples.”

  Once Rion took me back to the palace, everything seemed to right itself. There was going to be a trial for Queen Varyes, for her awful deeds, and it was to be open to the public. She had agreed to the trial, but asked that she be confined to her garden, so she could be around the things she found most beautiful until she was sentenced.

  She’d ended up sentencing herself to death.

  I press myself into him. “Perhaps this is for the best,” I say. “We can forgive her now that there’s nothing else to be done.”

  “It’s not a matter of forgiveness here, but justice.”

  “Justice, not revenge.” I hold onto him, allowing myself to listen to the beat of his heart as he holds me back. “I’ve been in the world now, Rion. I’ve seen more of what it is like, and I am incredibly grateful for what we have here. And I am better prepared to mak
e it better.”

  Rion is quiet for a moment. “That is your power,” he finally agrees. “You do make my life better, certainly.”

  I reach up and place a kiss on his cheek. “I’ve forgiven your mother,” I tell him. “Now she’s gone, so you should forgive her, too. Otherwise she’ll have her own form of revenge on us, and that idea alone has to give her enough joy that hell will burn brighter for her.”

  “Well, you’re right about that, my sweet.” Rion laughs. “Will you sing for me?” he asks, drawing me into his lap.

  I snuggle into him. “You know I sing only for you,” I promise him, before I lean up and kiss him, reveling in all the music I can hear between our hearts.

  C. S. Johnson is the award-winning, genre-hopping author of several novels, including The Starlight Chronicles series, the Once Upon a Princess saga, and the Divine Space Pirates trilogy. With a gift for sarcasm and an apologetic heart, she currently lives in Atlanta with her family.

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  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Dear Reader,

  We certainty live in interesting times. When I started writing a long while ago, I had someone ask me if I would continue to write books that reimagined fairy tales. At the time, I said no, because, as I try to do with my Birds of Fae series, I wanted to write more original fairy tales.

  But it seems in my life, God has always found a way to make me smile, especially when he pancakes me at times like this. He teases me with my stubbornness like a chef tickling a pancake stuck to the pan, and he’s eager to flip-flop me around on my points of certainty. He did it the first time when I met my husband (after a hurt-filled vow to never marry), and now he’s done it again, with the help of one of my best friends, Faith Moore.

  Faith and I met over social media and bonded over Disney Princess movies and lamented the fact that many of them seemed to be derided by the mainstream culture. With the rise of feminism, too many of them are seen as unacceptable because the women are not “strong,” which I believe is a misleading term; one of my most ardent insistences is the notion that the strongest part of any of us is our convictions. There is nothing stronger about us than what we believe. And this can take many shapes and forms throughout our lives; truth will always make itself known to us, if we are willing to listen. If what we believe is not able to hold up to the world, we need new beliefs.