Dorian nods, then finds me from the corner of his eyes.
I turn my head fully toward him as several things happen in quick succession …
Bronwyn crunches the point of one of the star biscuits between her teeth.
“Nearly seventeen years we’ve been waiting,” the Sindaco says. The crowd mumbles in agreement. “Finally, the day has come—our Lunalette has returned home.”
As if I’m in a bizarre nightmare, the Sindaco raises his glass directly at me. I glance to my left and then to my right. Surely, he’s motioning toward Dorian, but both Dorian and Bronwyn have stepped away so I stand alone. Stranded. An island in a sea of Night. Collective, expectant eyes right on me.
When I look across the space at the Sindaco, he nods, not leaving any room for interpretation. He meant me when he said Lunalette.
And I’m getting out of here.
I search the nearest route to flee, but before I can get away, the cave erupts in applause, which quickly dies down when everyone realizes I don’t know what’s going on, that I’m about to run for it. There’s soft murmuring, questioning, whispers.
I begin turning away when the Sindaco says something about a star-shaped scar and I stop dead.
Dorian slowly glances over at me. He taps his chest, mirroring the place where my own star-shaped scar is. How could he…?
But a memory hits me square between the eyes like a sharp headache: that day at the Hole … When he returned my twine he saw my scar.
I must be shaking my head no, because he nods an emphatic yes as if reminding me of that horseshit story he told, that he wasn’t lying, that not all legends are fable. His expression, all sensitive-eyed and strong-browed, is a firm yet sympathetic I tried to give you a hint.
But … No.
Hint or no hint. Star or scar.
No.
The Sindaco continues. He’s still staring straight at me, speaking directly to me, but, my heart racing, ears ringing, I only get snippets of what he says. “… We didn’t intend for you to find out this way … It must be a shock … We apologize … Have been waiting so long … Fate … Opportunity … Lunalette … Welcome…”
The ringing in my ears turns to a high-pitched buzzing as my eyes dart from face to face, cave arch to cave arch. I follow the intricately painted phases of the moon, and like a trail of bread crumbs, it leads down the back wall with the tapestry and to an exit.
I bolt straight for the metal door because there’s no way. These people are either terribly mistaken or terribly delusional. Either way, I’m not about to stick around to see which it is.
I’m not their Lunalette.
Whatever that even means.
I’m only two short strides away from the door when a little girl breaks from her parents, rushing right up to me and blocking my grand exit.
I’ve no choice but to skid to a stop or plow her down.
I wouldn’t normally plow a defenseless child down, but this isn’t a normal situation, now, is it? Poor little thing … But she’ll be all right.
I’m about to try my best to skirt around her, accepting she might fall over as collateral.
Until, she stares up at me. Doe-eyed. Defenseless. Pure innocence.
I stop.
Forced to take a breath, I decide whether I’m going to walk right past her or address her. My head tells me not to take a second glance, but it’s too late. I’ve looked down.
She’s tiny, no older than seven, a bit of dirt smudging her nose. Face framed by dark ringlets, when she gives me a well-practiced yet wobbly curtsy, her curls spring up and down with the motion.
“I’m Ruby,” she says, her voice strong and squeaky at once. She hands me a rolled-up scrap of cloth.
“For me?” I say, holding it in my hand.
She nods. But the way she stares, starry-eyed, clearly expecting more, I realize to simply ask if the gift is meant for me isn’t near enough.
Right.
I quickly untie the twine. Ruby watches quietly, her eyes wide as saucers, and I decide, despite the chaos unfolding all around us, within me, that whatever I find inside this cloth, she deserves a gushing reaction.
Unrolling the white square of muslin, I see that it’s a handkerchief, upon it the blue embroidered image of the phases of the moon, the word Lunalette roughly stitched in light purple thread below the careful arc.
I smile down at her and not entirely for show.
“This took you a long time to make, eh?”
Her dark eyes light up. “How’d you know?”
I lean down on one knee to her level. “I embroider too. It’s harder than it looks. If you miss one stitch, then—”
“—the whole thing’s ruined.” She nods emphatically.
“Yes!” I stand back up. “Thank you so much, Ruby. I’ll treasure it always.”
She grins, all teeth, and runs back to her parents, who nod and smile at me.
Slowly returning to the present, when I take a look around, the worn tapestry, now in full view, catches my attention.
Stretched out before me is a battle scene. Not of the moon and the Sun like the painting Dorian showed me back in the cave, but an actual battle scene with people and weapons and blood, one side clearly winning.
It’s in the faded shades of four colors only: mostly black and white, but with flashes of red, one flash of gold. The Night is led by a young woman with the mark of a star over her heart—the solitary bit of golden thread in the entire thing. Unlike the more traditional five-pointed star back on the cave wall, cut out as cookies, this one is less perfect. More haggard. Asymmetric. A near twin to the scar I was given by an adult pantera fish’s teeth when I was two. The losing army is the Imperi. They’re awash in red and black and even more red spilled on the ground beneath them where the edges of the hanging fray.
The cave is quiet, all eyes on me and me alone. As much as I want to sprint straight through that door, somehow I gather the strength to turn and face the crowd.
I have no plan. No words. Just a scrap of muslin, a tightness in my chest, and an angry and confused knot in my throat.
My hands visibly shake, but I clutch the handkerchief between them, clasp it at my waist to calm my nerves. Women, men, and children stare. Some appear to be anticipating something. Something I’m sure I won’t deliver. Others wear confusion, what looks like disappointment; a few avert their eyes when they realize I’m seeing them right back.
The Sindaco clears his throat, thankfully pulling the attention off me. “Veda…” When he says my name, the way it echoes off the walls and all around the cavern makes my insides squirm. In this moment, all I want to do is hide, curl up into a ball, pinch myself, and make this strangest of strange nightmares end. But I’m not asleep. And he continues, “We were so worried we wouldn’t be welcoming enough that I think we overdid it.” He holds his hands up like he’s treading lightly, choosing his words carefully. “You must know we’ve all been awaiting this day, prayed and hoped for this day. We know you’ll need time, maybe you won’t want to stay here a minute longer—” Several someones near the back murmur in dissatisfaction. “No, no…” He glances in the general direction of the gasp. “We mustn’t question fate.” A low mumbling of agreement overpowers the naysayers. The Sindaco turns his sight back on me. “Whatever you choose, it’s what’s meant to happen. We trust in the legend. The Lunalette.”