The Midnight Star

The tale is told by royalty and vagabonds alike, nobles and peasants, hunters and farmers, the old and the young. The tale comes from every corner of the world, but no matter where it is told, it is always the same story.

A boy on horseback, wandering at night, in the woods or on the plains or along the shores. The sound of a lute drifts in the evening air. Overhead are the stars of a clear sky, a sheet of light so bright that he reaches up, trying to touch them. He stops and descends from his horse. Then he waits. He waits until exactly midnight, when the newest constellation in the sky blinks into existence.

If you are very quiet and do not look away, you may see the brightest star in the constellation glow steadily brighter. It brightens until it overwhelms every other star in the sky, brightens until it seems to touch the ground, and then the glow is gone, and in its place is a girl.

Her hair and lashes are painted a shifting silver, and a scar crosses one side of her face. She is dressed in Sealand silks and a necklace of sapphire. Some say that, once upon a time, she had a prince, a father, a society of friends. Others say that she was once a wicked queen, a worker of illusions, a girl who brought darkness across the lands. Still others say that she once had a sister, and that she loved her dearly. Perhaps all of these are true.

She walks to the boy, tilts her head up at him, and smiles. He bends down to kiss her. Then he helps her onto the horse, and she rides away with him to a faraway place, until they can no longer be seen.

These are only rumors, of course, and make little more than a story to tell around the fire. But it is told. And thus they live on.

—“The Midnight Star,” a
folktale

his boots already turned in the direction where Adelina’s constellation will appear in the sky. I hope, when he comes back, she will return with him, and we might see each other once
again.

Until you return, then,” I whisper.

“Until I return.”

At that, Magiano puts his hand down and turns his eyes up to the sky. It is a habit now that my eyes instinctively turn skyward, too, to where the first stars have begun to appear. “I’m going to follow her, of course,” Magiano says. “As the night sky turns. When she appears on the other side of the world, I will be there, and when she returns here, so will I.” Magiano smiles at me. “This farewell is not forever. I will see you again, Violetta.”

You are
kind, Your Majesty. I imagine Adelina could have ruled like you, in a different life.” He studies my face, as he often does now, searching for a glimpse of my sister. “Adelina would want to see you carry this torch. You will be a good queen.”

“It is time for me to go. There are adventures waiting for me.”

I will miss the sound of his lute, the ease of his laughter. But I don’t try to persuade him to stay. I know whom he misses, whom we both miss; I’ve seen him walking alone in the gardens at sunset, perched on the roofs at midnight, standing at the piers at dawn.

There, prominently in the sky . . . is a new constellation. It is made of seven bright stars, alternately blue and orange-red, forming a slender pair of loops that aligns with Compasia’s Swan

Then Compasia took my sister in her arms and placed her in the sky, where she, too, turned to stardust.

Magiano looks at me, his eyes wide. It seems as if he already, somehow, understands.

“My goddess made me a promise,” I whisper.

Only now do I realize that I have never seen him cry before

I know why Magiano doesn’t look at me. I remind him too much of her.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, after a long pause.

“Don’t be.” A small, sad smile touches his lips. “She chose it.”

I find Magiano standing alone on deck, his head bowed. He stirs, then looks away as I join his side. “The ship is too still,” he mutters, as if I had asked him why he is awake. “I need some waves to sleep properly.”

I shake my head. “I know,” I reply. “You are searching for her too.”