Chapter two

Deep in the woods, far from the small town that Audrey called home, Phoebe Rowan was waking up from a paltry night's sleep.

Her entire body ached from the neck down. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her limbs in an attempt to loosen her stiff, sore muscles. It didn't seem to matter how many times she was made to perform the Renewal ritual, her body simply refused to adapt. Then again, people weren't really made to spend half the night kneeling in damp grass with their heads craned back, staring at the stars.

But Phoebe knew better than to complain. After all, at least according to her father, she'd brought this upon herself. She flexed her fingers and took stock of how she felt. In theory, her night in the fields was supposed to be a spiritual reset button. The hours spent under the sacred light of the Stars was meant to purify her — make her a better person and more obedient daughter. Only time would tell if it worked, though with her track record, Phoebe wouldn't be holding her breath.

After murmuring a quick morning prayer, she wriggled gingerly into her clothes and tip-toed from her room. She could hear the light clatter of dishes coming from the kitchen. The smell of breakfast cooking made her stomach ache, and she briefly considered joining her parents for the meal. But that would mean facing her father, and it was still a bit too early for that. Instead, she wove her blond hair into a neat braid, tucked her feet into her boots and slipped out the door before anyone noticed she was awake in the first place.

The morning air was crisp, and early rays of light were just beginning to break through the leafy boughs that stretched like protective hands overhead. Phoebe slid her hands into the sleeves of her knit sweater and made her way down the path that led from her family's home into the deeper woods. Here, the trees were closer and sunlight was sparse, even on the brightest of days. Picking up her pace, Phoebe jogged along the narrow trail as it cut through thick brush until a small, one-room cottage came into view. In truth, it was more of a shed than a cottage, but she hated to think of it that way. Once she was beside it, she ducked low beneath one of the structure's small windows and peeked up over the sill. The inside of the cottage was dark, but she could still make out the silhouette of someone curled on the small bed in the corner.

A mischievous grin slid across Phoebe's lips.

Without knocking, she burst through the cottage door as loudly as possible.

"Goooooood morning!" she crowed gleefully. "Rise and shine, slacker."

A feeble groan answered from the bed, making Phoebe chuckle. She crouched in front of the tiny wood stove that sat in the corner and got to work building a fire.

"Guess who spent most of the night out in the field again?" She jerked her thumb toward herself in an over exaggerated gesture. "This disappointment of a daughter! I swear, if I spend any more time basking in starlight my Dad might have to start taking orders from me for a change."

Behind her, the bed creaked under her cousin's weight as he shifted. "You say that like it's a bad thing," he said in a hoarse voice still thick with sleep.

"I guess it would depend on whether I used my godlike power for good or evil." Phoebe struck a match and set it against the starter and kindling she'd carefully arranged. She watched the flame leap hungrily to its meal. A twinge of guilt pulled at her insides. To joke about her father's beliefs was to poke fun at the entire commune and their Star-worshiping way of life. But in a way, she was also making a dig at herself. After all,  it wasn't that long ago that she too believed that the Stars were beyond reproach. "Seriously though, he's obviously hoping that soaking up all that starlight will turn me into a kid he can actually be proud of. Unfortunately for both of us, I don't think it's working."

"He's just worried about you," her cousin grunted. "And you being here right now probably isn't going to help."

Phoebe frowned as she carefully eased a log into the wood stove. She knew he was right, and she hated it. According to her father and everyone in the commune who followed him, her cousin was a shameful blight whose existence spat in the face of the Stars. When he was first brought to live with them, Phoebe was forbidden to speak to him. But she'd been six at the time, and with very few children her age living in the commune, Phoebe couldn't help herself. At first, she simply spied on her older cousin, following him around like a shadow and watching for any sign of what made him so terrible. Soon enough, watching from afar became curious conversations and childhood games until, to her father's dismay, Phoebe came to think of her cousin as her best friend. She didn't understand how she was supposed to hate someone she knew to be good and kind, and she definitely didn't understand how being around him was supposed to make her less worthy to the Stars they worshiped.

And so began a subtle battle of wills between daughter and father. Despite her father's wishes, Phoebe refused to shun her cousin the way everyone else did. In response, her father would command her to perform back-aching Renewal rituals and other demanding acts of piety whenever he felt she needed to be put back in her place, as if a strict regime of discipline and punishment might somehow save her from herself.

Her latest crime had been so innocuous: her cousin had been sent into the deep woods to forage, and Phoebe decided to join him. They would spend the day hunting the deep woods for mushrooms and herbs, and be back for dinner and evening prayer.

But they'd lost track of the hours, which was easy enough to do in that part of the forest where the dense tree cover blocked the sun's journey across the sky. By the time they'd stumbled back to the commune, stifling laughter as they crept into the storehouse with their hauls, evening prayer was already over and Phoebe's father was furious.

"You give him way too much credit," Phoebe said, slamming the wood stove's grate with a touch more gusto than was necessary. She snatched the small metal kettle from the stove top as she stood, waving it around as she turned. "He acts like your being a Wish is contagious and I'll be corrupted just by—"

The words caught in Phoebe's throat when her eyes landed on her cousin. In her shock, her hands slacked their grip and the kettle fell to the floor with an alarming clang.

"Connor!" she cried as she rushed over to his bedside. "Oh my Stars, your face!"

"Is it that bad?" he asked. His fingertips gingerly touched an angry bruise that shadowed his left eye and cheekbone. Dried blood stuck to a split in his swollen bottom lip. "Because it feels pretty bad."

Phoebe sat beside him on the edge of the mattress and surveyed the damage to her cousin's face. In a lot of ways, Phoebe and Connor looked more like siblings than cousins. They had the same wheat-colored hair and rosy complexion, though Connor was built like a pitbull, barrel-chested and brawny, while Phoebe often regarded herself as a log with legs.

They both had green eyes, too. But in truth, Connor's eyes were more like the stunning gold of the astromantic druids who often visited the commune than the mossy shade of green that ran deep through the Rowan family. Unlike the rest of the family, the color of Connor's eyes was the same brilliant green of a fresh young sprout bursting from the earth at the first hint of spring; so vibrant and unnatural that they almost seemed to glow. Even as he peered out between his swollen lids, Connor's injured eye was disarmingly bright.

"Of course it's bad, Connor," Phoebe said. "Did my dad do this to you?"

"Well, technically, no. He didn't lay a hand on me."

"He never does," Phoebe snarled between tightly gritted teeth. "Let me guess: he made someone else do his dirty work instead, right?"

Connor didn't answer, but when those shocking green eyes met hers, Phoebe knew she was right. Anger flared in her chest, and erupted from her throat in a frustrated, unintelligible yell.

"This is insane!" she shouted. "All this because we were late and missed prayer?"

"You know that's not why," Connor replied with a shake of his head that made him wince.

Again, Phoebe knew he was right. Her insides twisted with shame. It was bad enough that her father believed it was his Star-given right to hurt his nephew; to punish him simply for daring to exist in the first place. But when Connor wound up battered and bed-ridden because of her, Phobe couldn't help but feel complicit.

"That's it," she said, leaping to her feet, "I'm going to talk to him."

But as she started for the door, Connor grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "Pheebs, don't. You know it'll just make things worse."

Phoebe chewed her bottom lip and considered her limited options. "He can't treat you like this, Connor. What would your parents say if they knew?"

Mentioning his parents—the ones who actually wanted him but weren't allowed to keep him—made Connor flinch as though he'd been struck again.

"I think they'd just be glad that I'm alive," he said, and Phoebe's heart clenched. She couldn't argue with that, so she switched gears instead.

"Okay, fine. Hang on, I'm going to get something to clean those cuts."

Connor sighed, and it made him sound so much older than his seventeen years. "Maybe you should just go.

It was Phoebe's turn to flinch. "What do you mean? Are you mad at me?"

"No, of course not. I just think..." Connor licked his swollen lip, "maybe we shouldn't give your dad another reason to be mad at me for a little while."

Phoebe wanted to argue—to insist that they shouldn't let her father push them around—but she caught herself. It was easy for her to pout over not being able to spend time with her only real friend in the entire commune; she wasn't the one sporting a black eye and a split lip. She didn't want Connor to suffer more than he already had, especially not because of her, so she swallowed her disappointment and nodded solemnly.

"Right," she said. "That makes sense." She stooped to collect the discarded kettle and handed it to her cousin like a peace offering.

Connor gave her a small, painful-looking smile. "Just give me a bit of time to heal up, and then we can hang out again."

"I'm really sorry," she whispered. "You don't deserve this. I wish I could help."

"You are helping, Pheebs." Connor dropped his gaze. "Knowing that there's at least one person in this place who actually cares about me makes everything a little easier."

Though it clearly hurt him to move, Connor pulled himself up and walked Phoebe to the door. She gave him a featherlight hug and then pushed into the forest toward home. Knowing it wouldn't help either of them if she was caught returning from the cottage, Phoebe forged her way through the thick underbrush so that she skirted the perimeter of the commune to the north. She paused for a moment to gather a fistful of wild berries from a bush to use as an excuse for being in the woods, and then hurried the rest of the way. As the commune came into sight, Phoebe heard her father's voice calling her name.

"Shit," she hissed, picking up the pace. Through the trees, she could see him standing in the back garden in his immaculate white tunic, hands on his hips and glaring down the path that led to Connor's cottage. In the moment before she stepped into view, Phoebe composed herself, arranging her features into what she hoped was a nonchalant expression.

Her father's eyebrows lifted when he noticed her emerging from the forest.

"Where were you?" he asked, eyeing her with suspicion.

Phoebe feigned innocence, tipping her head to the side as she popped a berry into her mouth. "I wanted to have fresh berries with my breakfast." She held her cupped hands out to him. "Want one?"

Her father's face softened and Phoebe finally let herself relax. She had gotten so good at lying to him that sometimes it actually scared her.

"Not this time, but thank you," he said with a smile. "How are you feeling after last night's Renewal?"

After sixteen years, Phoebe had learned that there was only one right answer to that question. "Much better, thank you."

Her father wrapped his arm around her and steered her back toward the house. Phoebe warily eyed his hand clasped on her shoulder. It was so hard for her to reconcile that the man who had always been so tender with her could also be so capable of violence. Even when he didn't strike Connor himself, her cousin's blood was still on those hands. "I'm glad to hear that, honey. The Starlight will do you good. Now hurry up and eat — I need your help today."

Phoebe blinked. "With what?"

"With preparations," her father answered. His eyes glinted in the morning light. "We've received word that our friends will be paying us a visit within the week."

Despite all her anger toward her father, Phoebe couldn't fight the excitement that bubbled inside of her. There was only one group that the commune considered friends, which could only mean one thing:

The Starborn were coming.

***

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