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“Do you know why it does that?” I ask. She holds it up again, and the closer it gets to me, the brighter it shines.
“It doesn’t make sense.” Her mouth works for a while, and she shakes her head. Dark curls bounce around her shoulders. “I mean, yes, it’s made from a metal that’s supposed to not only reflect incredibly well, but also absorb the surrounding light—or so they say. But it usually doesn’t do anything more than glimmer.” She touches the pendant in her palm and smiles sheepishly. “When I was younger, I’d even try to get it to glow by holding it up to different things.” The smile fades, and her eyes jump to mine. “But I never saw anything make it shine until you held it at the market.”
Pursing her lips, she thrusts it back at me. “I think it belongs with you.”
I take it from her hands—it immediately shines bright again—and tie it back around my throat. It feels heavy there, like a kindness I will never be able to repay.
“Excuse me, miss, but why have you handed me this book?” The librarian pushes the leatherbound tome across the polished wood counter. “It isn’t one of mine.”
“What do you mean?”
He slips it into my hands, weighing them down like a brick.
“What I said,” the man answers. “I know every book on my shelves. I’ve never seen that one before in my life.” He leans forward, looking both ways, and the market girl and I can’t help but lean in too. “But I’d be keeping it a secret, if I were you.”
Confused but not wanting to appear obtuse, I nod at him and drop the book into my bag, trying to ignore the way the girl watches me. The librarian stares at me for a while, not convinced I understand the gravity of the matter, then clicks his tongue and resumes painting glue onto a coverless spine.
The girl faces me. “I was ...” She grabs a coil of hair, stretching it down while avoiding my eyes. “I was pretty much done here. Would you like to take a walk with me?” Without giving me time to respond, she exits the library and waits for me to follow. Her bold actions stand in stark contrast with how shy and unsure of herself she seems.
“I suppose we should learn each other’s names, if we’re going to be friends,” I say once outside, feeling my heart flutter with nervousness. I don’t have much experience making friends. Is that something a friend would even say? I cringe inwardly as my palms begin to sweat.
“That seems like a good first step.” The corner of her mouth tilts up. “I’m Wehna Qaith.” She adds her family name like an afterthought. I wonder why she felt the need to tell it to me at all.
“Amyrah Cantar,” I reply in kind. We shift awkwardly, as if we both wanted to shake hands, then reconsidered. It makes us giggle softly.
We walk into the charming courtyard, the tree now almost fully leafed out. An elderly couple sits on one of the benches, smiling widely at us. I give a small wave, which they return with enthusiasm.
“I actually wanted to speak with you about something,” I say, shooting a look at our small audience. They watch us with rapt attention. “Is there anywhere we can talk that’s more private?”
Her eyes dart to the courtyard’s gate, and she sighs in resignation. “Yes, we can go to the cathedral.”
I have never heard the word ‘cathedral’ before, but when I step into the walled-in forest, I can infer its meaning. Everything in this place draws my heart to praise. The trees coax my eyes up, up, up to where they are lost in the expanse, and the symphony of colors fills all the spaces between their lacing roots. A large clearing that a hundred people could fit in comfortably lies in the center. At the far end, where the ground curves upward and meets a rocky outcrop, a tinkling brook splashes over smooth stones and into a deep pool.
Wehna leads me beside it, and we sit on spongy moss. She pulls her legs up and wraps her arms around them, resting her cheek on her knees. I can’t decide whether she seems tired or sad. Her eyes caress my void of darkness, less visible with the thousands of bolétis crowding in around us. Having it revealed like this should make me feel exposed, but in the presence of this girl I hardly know, I amseen.
“You don’t make sense to me,” she says, curiosity pinching her lips.
I don’t make sense to myself.My hand wiggles into my sack to pull out the book. I rest it on my lap and press a palm to its tattered cover. “There’s a lot I’m struggling to understand these days.”
She raises her head and blinks at the book. “Where did you get that?”
“Tress made me take it when I found this place, said it would give me answers. But all I have is more questions after reading it.”
I flip through it, the verses rushing past in a blur. When the illustration of the star appears, I smooth out the pages and turn the book toward Wehna. “You used this phrase to describe the pendant of this necklace the other day—istilatum ideralis. I didn’t know what it meant at the time, but I found this.”
Her eyes pass over the picture and the words. She exhales slowly, troubled.
“What does it mean by ‘firelights in the sky’ and ‘burning star’? How could they ‘shine through the ages’ or ‘pierce the sky?’” I hold my breath.
Tugging at a bracelet, she stares at the pages for a long time, until I give up the hope of an answer.
“I’m not sure what I can or should say,” she says. “There is a lot I know, and a lot I’ve been forbidden from speaking about.”
“By whom?”
Her chest rises sharply. “My parents.” A breath leaves her in broken bursts. Her eyes seem to sparkle for an instant. She sniffs and looks away, shaking her head. “I know what they would say if I told you anything.”
I reach out and trap her twisting fingers beneath mine. Her head snaps back to me. “Please.”
