The Shadow Behind the Stars by Rebecca Hahn

toward her. “It is the best thing in his life.”
    He loves her , they said. She loves him . Again and again, everywhere we went. The hero was to marry his love; the beauty was to marry her prince. The whole land was to celebrate.
    â€œIt is too bad,” I said once to a girl who was walking her geese alongside us, “that the lady’s family is not alive to see her married.”
    â€œOh,” she said, “but it is a miracle that she survived. That is what she says. A miracle that she lives to be wed.”
    So, not a whiff of grief was to darken Aglaia’s wedding. Not a hint of trouble to worry her bridegroom—who was also the father of her child, I was certain. This prince was not used to refusal.
    I could see the moment my sisters began to believe in Endymion’s glory. I saw how they walked with lighter steps, how they breathed freer and smiled at the people we met. They thought the girl was on her way to destiny. Not one that shrieked and shattered, but something full and beautiful, the nicest sort of end.
    I let them believe it; I had to, didn’t I? I couldn’t expose them to the twistedness, the rot I had smelled on Endymion’s thread. I had to keep it from them for as long as I could and hope that Aglaia’s future would be happier than her past, that this journey would end with us seeing the girl settled into as contented a life as my sisters dreamed.
    It was all I could do: stay silent as we heard the stories of this brave young prince and the things they were saying about Aglaia— Lucky girl. He always loved her. Now she’ll have a chance to be happy! —and pray that my sisters wouldn’t notice the darker underbelly hidden on the flip side of these green leaves.

Nine

    A DAY BEFORE WE WERE to reach the city, the scent of Aglaia’s thread veered off to the east. We stood at the crossroads, smelling it. We knew the way to Endymion lay straight ahead. When a woman came by with a basket of freshly picked flowers, we asked where Aglaia’s road would lead us, if we were to take it.
    â€œOh, that,” she said. “Just a few villages, some fields. If you’re looking for the city, it’s on ahead.” She pointed in the direction we had been heading.
    â€œNothing else?” I said. “Only fields and villages?”
    â€œWell . . .” She thought, and then she said, “I suppose, a good day’s walking, there’s also that sad ruin. The village where our Aglaia used to live, the one who’s to marry our prince. Nothing’s left of that, though. There’s no reason to visit.”
    We thanked her, and we let her go her way, and then we turned east.

    That night I asked our innkeeper a few pointed questions when I went down from our room to fetch some food. Yes, Aglaia had passed through here only the day before. Yes, her old village lay to the east; we’d reach it late tomorrow morning if we set out early enough.
    Yes, he could tell me where the oracle lived who had given the children of that town their prophecies. She was the same oracle he had asked prophecies of for his own children. His round face brightened, and he began to tell me what those were, how they had been promised contented lives, luck, lots of love.
    I cut him off; I think he was offended. But I could not stand his naïveté, and after I’d grabbed some bowls of soup, I turned from him and walked away.

    I did not tell my sisters that next day where I was going; I left them as soon as we were out of town. I said there was a place I had heard of, with views to the north and the east. I said that maybe I could catch a glimpse of the sea, or maybe Endymion’s city.
    Serena offered to come along with me; I shrugged her off.
    â€œThe path would be steep for Xinot,” I said, and when my eldest sister snorted, I went on, “Oh, leave me alone, will you? If she can run outside in the middle of the night and we