“She’s ready,” she directed to the maidens guarding the mezzanine door. They pulled the heavy stone doors back, a rush of whirling sound and color flooding over the marble floor and clutching Astra’s hem. The wave hushed as the High Priestess motioned Astra forward.
“Astra Leona Aurellis, born on her mother’s thirty-seventh Strawberry Moon, princess of the Lunar Court. May the Mother bless her within and without,” the priestess announced.
“Damn,” Ameera muttered behind her. “She forgot Fire Queen.”
Astra’s fingers twitched at the moniker, the twin nickname she shared with her sister: the Fire and Ice Queens. As the strings below struck up a simmering melody, she stepped forward. A collective breath from the mezzanine below knocked her back as she scanned the crowd. For a moment, she could have sworn she’d felt a tinge of that same merciless heat from before, but she must have been anxious. It faded quickly, replaced with a cold sweat dripping down her spine as she took in that first step.
When they’d rehearsed it earlier, the distance between the mezzanine and the ballroom floor seemed relatively short, but they hadn’t accounted for the dizzying potion of the lowered lighting and hundreds of sets of emotions.
Sizing her up.
She took the top two steps easily enough.
Comparing her to Lunelle.
The next few weren’t as gentle. The heft of the train on her dress dragged her backward.
Wondering where she’d been.
Twenty-four steps to go.
Did the music need to be so loud?
Astra watched a soft hand rise as her mother stepped forward to meet her, the only anchor point she had in this world as she descended the final steps. Impossibly fine threads wrapped her arms as if woven by the Moon herself. Her skirt ruffled out in great swaths of pale tulle, reflecting the candlelight in the room. The dome above scrolled back, baring the room to the Moon above, her gentle light bathing everything in a Summer shimmer.
Gossamer curtains fluttered around each arched opening, dancing on a breeze sweetened by the wisteria and roses in the garden.
Oestera pulled her daughter gently into her side and led her across the floor as courtiers backed into a wide circle. Their eyes locked on the two women as they stood facing each other, two ends of a spectrum. Oestera’s chin nodded nearly imperceptibly, sending the orchestra into a flurry of high notes as Astra sucked in a breath.
It caught between her ribs as the melody stroked her cheek, a familiar trill she had not prepared for. The image materialized in her mind at once, Oestera’s silver hair piled on top of her head, rocking her slowly under a full Moon, humming the melody as she drifted to sleep.
The memory could not survive the anxiety that gripped her as Oestera stepped back, starting a series of complicated twists and turns she’d rehearsed in her younger years. The dreamy low candlelight, the music she’d grown to, the slip of their gowns as they spun in a wide circle all came together in a mystic spell that transformed Oestera’s face. Her cold, restrained countenance fell away, melting into something relaxed.
Relief, Astra realized.
After a few days of her best behavior, perhaps Oestera saw the potential within her daughter’s abilities and not just the devastation.
Astra set her face and shoved the pathetic hope down where she kept plenty of other weak thoughts locked away, so they never got the best of her.
Oestera raised her arm and Astra followed, setting her hand atop her mother’s. They caught the downbeat and twirled again, twin leaves circling one another in the night air, falling to the polished stone floor in a decadent arc. Their skirts traced intricate patterns around the ballroom, brushing against the shiny boots of the courtiers as they looked on.
The courtiers.
This was Astra’s one chance to take in the room before everyone was in motion. She mimicked her mother’s movements perfectly, noticing the signature scarlets of the Martian Court just over her shoulder. Their juvenile prince could not have been more than twenty, twenty-one—an infant by Lunarian standards.
Oestera twisted them back in the other direction, her braid whipping behind them. Astra had missed a step, forcing her mother to take up the lead. Astra’s ribs flared at the mistake, but her mother’s jaw unclenched in a silent apology.
“That’s a new dress,” Oestera remarked as they turned.
“A birthday gift,” Astra confessed. “From the Mercurian Court.” Something sparked in Oestera’s eyes, something Astra wasn’t sure what to make of. “I have a question,” Astra said, choosing not to investigate. She threaded herself below her mother’s arm and held her shoulders steady as she looked toward the crowd and dipped below her arm again. “If I behave myself this week, make nice with the courtiers, ensure our alliances are in good shape… would you consider appointing me as the High Priestess of Celene?”
Oestera’s lips twisted, her hold on her emotions slipping momentarily. She twirled Astra away from her, a crushing navy tidal wave cresting over her lungs. Astra knew her answer before she spoke it.
“You will not be returning to Celene, Astra. In any capacity. Your duty is elsewhere.”
“You have Lunelle!” Astra cried, stumbling as she clung to the rhythm. “You have no need of me, Mother. Celene does. Desperately!”
“I have plans for you, Astra. I’m asking you to please trust me,” Oestera whispered, a harsh warning not to make a scene.
