Star's Crossing

69: Where it All Began

Mare rode hard, a wild thing in the wood, the icy afternoon wind snapping against her cheeks. Sunset burnished the sky brass to gold; it was promise and magic, not fragile as she'd feared, but brazen and endless and possible. It was possible. This had to be possible.

He visited every time? Why?

Why hadn't he written?

Why hadn't she?

Mare flew through town, the steed's hooves rhythmic and violent against the cobble. Hope took flight in her heart: Theodore Bridge was at the end of this path, after all. She'd found herself, and now she would find him.

Could they be together? After everything? All this time? So many lies?

Mare had to believe a happy ending was possible. She'd written one, after all. She bore down toward the edge of Star's Crossing, those final lines playing like music through her mind.

After all, she was not his and he was not hers. They were together, side by side, facing the world.

Mare bent against the cold wind and spurred her horse faster.

They'd seen heaven and hell; fury and fire and faith. They'd traveled the world only to find their way back, here; to where it had all begun.

The station was just around the bend; she could nearly see it. He had to be there. He would be there. Top hat and cane, as he had been that day in the wood.

They'd worn masks and unmasked themselves. They had fallen in love long before their lips had touched. They were not inevitable or meant-to-be. They were star-crossed, and every smile, every laugh, every dance, every touch—was a choice.

Mare rounded the corner. Her heart soared.

They chose each other.

Her horse halted and Mare held the reins, looking down on the station. There were fresh tracks in the snow; the coach had come and gone.

Teddy Bridge was not there.

Mare closed her eyes, breathing hard against the cold.

After what felt like an eternal moment, she turned her horse toward home, and the steed trudge through the snow. She was numb in the frosty air. It was foolish to think she'd have caught him. She was too late, just as she'd feared. It had taken Mare too long to realize she still loved Teddy, that she hadn't had to let him go to be free. Would he have waited for her, had she asked? Would she have wanted him to, knowing she was tethered everywhere she went, to a man who had once upon a time turned his back on her?

We are the same in that, at least. Mare swallowed against the tightness in her throat as she made her way through town. We have both turned our backs and chosen our roads.

Mare held out the barest grain of hope; he might have been at the post or at his father's estate. He could have been anywhere. He could have missed his coach.

Why would he have? Mare closed her eyes as she reached the wood again. I gave him no reason to.

"Mare."

She blinked, straightening. At the sight of Geoffrey and Camden on the road, buried in their coats and scarfs, her stomach plunged. "No luck, then?"

Camden shook his head grimly. "He'd already been to his father."

Geoffrey sighed, for once looking ashen and somber. "And the post."

Mare stroked the horse's neck absently. "It was rather a hopeless quest from the get, wasn't it?" She smiled sorrowfully. "I'm grateful for your help. I suppose after everything we might all be friends, in the end."

"I'm sorry, Mare," said Camden, and for once, Mare believed he truly was. "You must write to him immediately. Tell him—"

"No. I don't think so." Mare smiled. "The timing was never right. As my Christmas gift, won't you keep my secret, as you have not before?"

Camden and Geoffrey exchanged a glance. They nodded in unison, and something of the gesture tightened the knot in Mare's stomach. She would not cry again, and certainly not in front of them. She couldn't.

"I'll take her home," Mare said, forcing her smile to remain in place. "I hope you'll indulge me a cup of tea to warm my bones?"

Camden nodded, but his expression was mournful.

Mare could not look at them a moment longer without breaking. She spurred her horse and rode into the woods.