All six looked up at me in shock.

“What?”

“No!”

“Aster, darling, you mustn’t!”

“None of you want to,” I said. “I’ve decided. My mind is made up. You all have a better chance at making your own life than I do. You draw suitors, you wear pretty dresses, you sing beautiful songs. I’ve always been on the outside, and I’ve been starting to wonder if I should ever find true happiness, or at least purpose. Perhaps this will give me, at least, the latter. I shall go.”

I turned to the staircase and walked quickly up, vanishing to the room I shared with Liddie and Calya. I crawled into our large bed and laid down with my back to the door; none of my sisters followed me up, but I heard their despairing whispers from downstairs. I had spent much of my life complacent, living in their shadow. If I knew anything for certain, it was that living with the Stag I would be free of that.

But I loved my sisters, and I wept for many hours at the thought of leaving them the next eve. I had been certain it would not fall to me to depart with the Stag, and I had not cherished my home the way one does when they know they may never see it again. I had laughed at my silly sisters for their obsessive gossiping and debating, and been sad to think one of them would henceforth vanish- but I had not imagined I would lose all of them. Our quiet forest cottage, wooden boards supported by stone pillars, with an always blooming grave in the back, had been home for as long as I could remember. I had accompanied Father when possible to the nearby towns of Baynesferth and Wentworthy, but it was not the same as the journey I would now undertake.

It was many long hours before I fell asleep, and still as I did, my sisters jabbered below, their relief palpable and their grief acknowledged.

Come Saturn’s Day morning, I fell into an apathetic spell, offering no joy or laughter to my sisters, who attempted to cheer me up and reassure me. There was no happiness to be found in any fiber of my being. I wandered my lifelong home, touching the soft pink and green wallpaper, the dark stone of the fireplace, the smooth wooden furniture, with almost the same grieving love I’d felt when caressing my mother’s cheek at her deathbed. By the time Father came home, Calya and Elowyn were fretting over me and trying to force me to drink tea. He looked at me with grave eyes and a deep sigh.

His gravelly voice offered one word, thick with resignation: “You?”

I nodded. A protective glimmer lit the back of his eyes.

“Did Jana bully you into agreeing to this? I can speak with her; there’s still time-”

“She volunteered, Father,” Elowyn said somberly.

“She said she would be the best candidate to go,” Calya added with no more enthusiasm than Elowyn contained.

“I am,” I said, looking between all three.

Father sighed. “Come with me, then. I would like to speak with you, one last conversation before you depart. Calya, Elowyn- round up your sisters and begin a great feast; we shall see your sister off properly.”

I followed Father thereafter into the sunny summer morning that buzzed in our little back garden, where Gella’s strawberries bloomed scarlet and green. Father planted his hands upon his hips and looked out at the trees.

“The Stag lives in a wintry realm far to the north; there is a chance you shall never return.” He studied me, gray eyes so like mine, and then continued. “I understand your mother blessed you with courage- but take heart, she did not intend your courage to lead you to an unknown fate. I understand you believe your sisters all to be more beautiful than you, but you are the one who looks most like your mother. Jana and Elowyn take after their faye grandmother, Gella and Calya after my sister. But you, dear Aster, take after your mother and I. Everly wanted only the best for her seven daughters- for each of you. And any of you would make a suitable companion for the Stag.”

“You don’t really believe that,” I said, and laid a hand upon Father’s arm. “You know they would not do well with the Stag. Jana would be malcontent, and Elowyn would fall into a melancholy spirit. Gella would lose her smile and Rendra would grow old and bitter. Calya would forget how to sing, and Liddie how to laugh. I am the only one who learned well how to be brave, and to make the best of unfavorable circumstances.” I gestured to my own patchwork pants and grass-stained tunic. “I have never allowed myself to become uncomfortable, but I have never been truly at ease in this village; I am the only one of us who volunteered for this. It is best that I go, Father- my sisters, bless them, were so relieved they were free of the burden. And now you will all have wealth and happiness, comfort and health. It is the best use I could put my life to, the best fate I could wish for. And I’m sure any being who can provide such promises will live in a fanciful estate- even if he is a Stag. Probably some cursed prince, poor fellow.”

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My father saw the resilience in my face and finally submitted. He gave me a long hug, and then led me back inside. As the sun traversed the sky, we dined and laughed and made merry. We exchanged stories, mostly about our mother, and let mirth fill the house on my last day. I left my apathy in the morning fog; its cloak would not help me, and parting would be easier if my sisters believed I moved to a happier future. I wished I could believe it, too.

As all good things, the merriment came to an end. As the sun sailed to embrace the horizon, the songs and stories were separated by tense, awkward silences, in which all ears pricked just slightly toward the door, awaiting a knock. A progressive gloominess encroached the shadowy corners of the living room, and the smiles became subtly less heartfelt as sunset turned to dusk. It seemed nearly a relief when the knock finally came, though my heart pounded and I feared briefly that I could not breathe.

All my sisters turned to me, searching my expression; what they hoped to find there I couldn’t guess, but their mingling disappointment assured me I hadn’t presented as bright a face as I’d hoped. Finally, Father rose and went to the door- it was the cloaked messenger, again.

“Hullo,” Father greeted him gruffly. “I suppose you’re here for the girl?”

The cloaked messenger stepped off the doorstep and held up an arm robed in swathy, draping fabric, gesturing toward the darkened wood. Father glanced between the messenger and the forest, and then nodded.

“Very well. Aster, come with me.”

He lifted the torch from its perch next to the door, shifting the balance of light on their front step, and I came to stand outside with him. A warm breeze fluttered between jade leaves around our cottage, and as I stared at it the surreal moment came that I realized this would be the last time. It felt dream-like; as Father turned the key in the lock, I pressed my palm to the doorframe, my brow creasing with inexpressable emotion. Where would I go from here? To depart from this step, this cottage- what came next?

Father laid his hand softly on my slender forearm. “Let us be on our way, my dear.”

I turned to look at his face and saw, lit anew by the torch, the lines of age etched there by raising seven daughters. The weariness creasing shadows beneath his eyes. The streaks of gray in his brows, silver sheen to his thick matted hair, peppered patches of stubble. I decided then I would have courage throughout this venture- it was time for my father to rest, and this would be the best I could do for him and for my sisters. I removed my palm from the doorframe and turned my back on the life I had known.

“Okay- let’s go.”

The moon had breached the treetops when the silver silhouette came into sight through the trees. His antlers rose in great sweeps to the stars, and he was twice the size of any normal deer. He appeared ethereal and ghostly, nearly translucent, and even his eyes lacked pigmentation beyond the silver of the rest of him. It was like seeing a ghost rather than a stag. A jump of fear bolted in my ribs, and I forced a deep breath in the dark forest.

Father’s hand on my back tensed. “Are you sure about this, Aster?”

The Stag approached in a few deliberate steps, coming to stand before me. “Why does she wear short hair and mens’ clothing?”

His voice was lighter than I had expected, sounding more like a young man than an ancient magical being.

“She may not prefer fine gowns or delicate braids like my other daughters,” Father said, “But you will find she has twice their spirit. She is adventurous, bright, and, most importantly, brave. My other daughters faced this decision with fear; she volunteered. Don’t let her preference of dress deceive you into doubting her virtues.”

The Stag snorted, the sound seeming to hold contempt, and then said, “Very well.” He stuck out one leg and lowered his head, a gesture that might have been a bow. “I am Cervis, the Stag of the Palewood.”

I tucked one leg behind the other and half-bowed, half-curtsied. “I am Aster Fallowfall.”

“That is all I need know,” he said, and rose from his bow. “Bid your farewells, and climb aboard my back when you are ready. We leave immediately for my realm.”

I turned to Father. “I will miss you, and my sisters. Tell them so. Tell them that I love them greatly, and want only for their happiness.”

He laid a hand on my cheek, my mother’s bone structure there, and then pulled me into a tight, warm hug. Pressed against his chest, smelling the spruce and honey scents of the forest, I tucked the moment away into my heart, to call upon in lonely moments.

I withdrew from the hug and met his eyes one last time. “I shall never forget you- any of you. Goodbye, Father.”

“Goodbye, my darling Aster.”

I turned to the Stag.

“Very well- let us go, if we’re going.”

I approached his side as he faced north. The cloaked messenger hoisted me onto the Stag, and Cervis turned his head slightly toward me. “Hold my antlers and you will not fall off. Do not be afraid.”

I gazed upon the path ahead, and stilled my quickened heart.

“I’m not.”