Welcome to the Advent Calendar Story Train, where you can read through 24 stories under the theme Surprise.

 

Part One: The Watcher

I am nameless in the ancient expanse of space, drifting out of time amidst the planets.

I was there when these stars first burned into being, their fire drawn from the void between worlds. I watched as Faery took shape beneath the eternal dance of light and shadow, as it opened its eyes and wept at the exquisite beauty of the fair ornaments I placed in the heavens above.

Once, I held dominion over the entirety of this realm—its skies, its seasons, its boundless magic. Now, I’m little more than a silent spectator drifting through the airless, windless cradle of creation. Where I lost my mind and my body, drifted, then awoke as something new.

Now ancient.

The children of Faery do not remember my name, nor do they know my face, and so I remain unseen, a wanderer among the stars I once called into being.

But tonight… something stirs in the endless night. A new star—one I did not create and place in my firmament—has risen. Brightly, it shines in the velvet expanse of midnight blue, a sparkling gem of rare splendor and even rarer magic. It fits in the hand of The Hunter, a herald or a beacon, set above the coldest and the darkest of Fae Kingdoms, but also one hearth-warmed and family-loved.

I do not know what the star-sign signifies. Not even I, the Father of Night and the Maker of Stars and Planets. And yet, there’s something familiar within it. A whiff of something lovely, a whisper of a scent, the ghost of a long-forgotten thought. Something nearly… almost… to remember.

What?

I do not know.

But the star has drawn me here. I’ve followed the trail of its glittering tail, the slow progress of its path across the sky. Here, in the silver and sapphire hues of the Winter Court, where frost clings to every surface like a dusting of fine diamonds… I will find it.

That thing… elusive.

I will remember.

****

Inside the palace, the air teems with the scents of pine, snow, and the faint sweetness of mulled wine. A great Yule log burns in a grand hearth, while icicles hang like chandeliers from every vaulted surface.

The throne room is the heart of the wintry domain, a sweeping space where an ice-carved throne etched in complex, frosty patterns sits idle on a lordly dais. Holly berries and evergreen garlands crawl up the frosted steps, while ribbons of mistletoe swing merrily from high rafters. In every corner, there’s joy and celebration, but also a deep and quiet stillness.

It’s late, and the guests have not arrived yet.

All is ready for their coming, or nearly so… but the queen of this mighty realm of frost and snow sits working beside a glowing hearth in the coziest of her kitchens. It’s deep in the bowels of the castle, far away from the frosted spectacle of the throne room, a small addition off the side of the larger food hall that serves the noble families. Alone, she sits in the modest chamber, bent over a worktable in the dying light of the fire, yawning with the lateness of the hour. She’s intent on her final task, the decoration of the exquisite sweets that will complete her Winter Solstice table. It’s the last thoughtful touch of a matriarch’s love. Softly, she hums as she works, a tune that, like the new star above, carries a hint of reincarnation.

This Winter Queen is unexpected.

Unlike the ones who ruled before her. Those were each unbending, wizened ancients, the embodiment of biting chill that saps the warmth from marrow in the deepest throes of barren cold.

This current monarch carries the healthy blush of early, festive winter. Her gown is simple but the hue of evergreen forests. Her gleaming frost-spun hair is thick and waving, a shining cascade festooned with holly berries. Her skin is radiant as the gentle glow of moonlight over freshly fallen snow…. and so is all the rest of her.

She’s regal, and calm. Kind. A natural nurturer.

Behind her eyes lies something more, a loneliness profound—a widow’s aching grief. A mother’s and a sister’s, also. Despite the warmth and joy she fosters in her court, she knows the weight of absence.

I know it too, and keenly.

As she loses her battle with sleep, the exertions of her day overtaking her…

I move closer.

I could fade away into Night and Space as I have done before. Observe from beside the planets…

Something holds me here. Not just the loneliness I see mirrored in her, but the quiet strength beneath it.

Carefully, I wipe a smear of icing from her delicate chin. Her skin is warm and soft beneath my thumb. I’m unsettled by it. Not only by the heat of her but by the sensations she evokes in me. The want, or the echo of it, so long a thing forgotten.

She stirs, but she does not wake. Unmoving, I hold my breath, my thumb still near my lips, where I’ve licked the sweet icing clean.

She mumbles a word in her sleep. A plea or benediction.

“Astraeus.”

It’s a name. My name. A forgotten one of them.

Disconcerted, I swipe a cookie from the platter beside the dreaming queen and move away from her. The sweet is cut in the shape of the newborn star, frosted with edible glitter and sugar crystals. It’s gilded with swirling curlicues of white piping in a pretty, whimsical pattern.

An offering.

It’s lovely. Painstakingly crafted.

Delicious, too. As I wander the palace halls, unseen and unheard by all, I listen.

I watch.

And I wait.

For there’s ancient magic afoot.

A mystery.

It’s been an age since I touched, tasted, and wondered like this. I’ve nearly forgotten how. But tonight, in the heart of Winter, beneath a clear, frozen sky speckled with stars…

I ponder, and I observe.

Silent.

A watcher.

 

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Read The Winter Star in full (all three parts) here.

 

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