Agna folded her hands into her sleeves, because it was less obvious than hugging herself against the chill. After you go. After you go, I’m leaving. The winter was just beginning. They had a long time yet. She had time to tell him about her foolish plans about staying in Kavera and opening her own gallery. She had time to become brave enough to tell him. But first she had to figure out whether she was making the same mistake all over again.
Keifon went on. “And... I think I could... I think I could start to make a life there.” His voice strengthened. “I could have a place that’s mine, and a position in the base. And... and live.” He fell quiet, watching the flickering light on the table between them. “I want to try for those things we talked about at Midsummer. All of them, a little at a time.”
She remembered his goals, all domestic and heartbreakingly simple. Agna covered his hand with her own. He turned his wrist to squeeze her hand. “I think you could,” she said. “I believe.”
His smile made her want to cry. “Thank you.” He left his hand in hers. “It could be hard. For a lot of reasons. I’m old, for an apprentice. But the Benevolents should help. And... with other things, well. There are matchmakers. Or I could try to go it alone.”
Agna’s voice stuck in her throat. She had nothing to add on the topic, nothing but academic curiosity about matchmaking and arranged marriages.
Keifon saved her the embarrassment. “Do you have matchmakers in Nessiny? Or is it all your parents? Or love matches?”
She jumped on the tangent away from the personal. “Well, both. Mostly – mostly not arranged. Sometimes parents do it, or more often they just pester you about it. They’ve thrown my sister at as many of their colleagues’ kids as they can find, because she doesn’t want to be in the art trade.” She remembered what Keifon had conjectured about Marco, which, of course, wasn’t true.
“That sounds like a lot of pressure. It would be easier just to arrange it directly.”
Agna shrugged. “Yeah, probably. Though I can’t imagine an arranged marriage. I mean, I can’t – not for me, I mean I can’t imagine what it’s like for somebody else.”
“Hm. I wasn’t... I wasn’t in one, but I was supposed to be. My parents were still looking when they died.” He slipped his hand out of hers, drumming a soft rhythm on the tabletop. “The thing is, the decision is made. There isn’t as much pressure. You have the situation, and you make the best of it. It doesn’t always work, but it usually does. My parents’ marriage was arranged. They respected one another so much. I knew that, even as a kid.”
“Hmm. Alaste, maybe, more than amane.”
He considered this. “Family before romance? I suppose so. But romance is there. The expectation is that you build it – grow it – after you’re married. And...” He shrugged. “For me – I mean – it’s not the same for everyone. But I’ve always – for me, the willingness to – to build a family and a future with me is very attractive.” His voice faltered, and he cleared his throat.
“It’s sweet,” Agna offered, covering his embarrassment. “I’m sure you’ll find someone you love both ways. All ways. Inire and ente, too.” I like you more than peach pie, she recalled, and had to smile.
The thought of another person entering his orbit cast ripples through her that she couldn’t quite untangle yet. It wouldn’t be the same as with Edann, though the apothecary’s attitude toward her had shifted during their relationship – more pointed and guarded. If Keifon found someone who would marry him and treat him well, she would be happy for him. But she would miss him, all the same. If they both lived in Wildern, she was sure that they would find time for one another, but it would never be the same as this. It wasn’t his fault, nor the fault of his potential spouse. It was the sadness that came along with the joy, that was all.
“I’m sure you’ll find someone wonderful. Just make sure they get along with me, too, huh? I don’t want to feud.”
Keifon gave her a strange look. “Of course. …Should I have you screen them for me? I’ll give you a checklist.”
Agna realized that she had taken their future proximity for granted, and that he had taken it as a joke. She scrambled to join in. “Oh, I can write a checklist. It will be extremely thorough.”
“I’m sure it will. No one in the world would measure up.”
“You deserve nothing less.”
They broke down the tent eventually and went home together. Keifon said no less than four times that he was glad to be back. She agreed every time.
Keifon: Fairy Tales
Nelle settled her basket on her arm. “Fall in!” Keifon shot her an unamused glare, and she grinned and stuck her tongue out. “All right then, line up!” Agna shifted and shrugged against the clanking bag over her shoulder. Nelle spun to face them. “Stay safe. Watch out for one another. Meet me here at three; this’ll be our base camp. Compass?” Keifon tapped the compass in his pocket, and Nelle nodded. “Know what you’re looking for?”
“I have the list,” Agna said. “And I remember last time.”
“Good. I’ll be over that way. Difficult terrain for newcomers.” With one more flash of her teeth, she bounded through the snow and between the trees.
Agna sighed and surveyed the snowy landscape. “How about that way? The trees are thicker, but there’s less snow.”
“Mmn. Works for me.”
They tramped through the snow toward the thicker cover. Agna tugged her scarf up to her lower eyelids. “I’m sorry we dragged you into this.”
“You didn’t drag me. It sounded fun.”
“Yeah, but it’s cold.”
If I wait till it’s warm, I won’t have the chance again. “I think it’ll still be fun.”
“I guess.” She swatted at some snow-covered branches.
“Walking will warm us up. How do you say ‘hiking’ in Nessinian?”
She told him, and stopped complaining about the cold. His conversational skill in Nessinian was not much more advanced than a child Nachi’s age, though he had a burgeoning vocabulary in medicinal terms and words related to camping. He couldn’t sustain much of a conversation with a native speaker. But Keifon was thankful for every word.
Agna paused in her etymological monologue to hop over a fallen log. Keifon climbed after her. She shifted sideways out of his path, pulling at her coat as if it didn’t fit. Keifon paused beside her. “Is everything all right?”
“Ehhh. I just... I don’t know. I look stupid.”
“What? No, you don’t.”
She snugged her face into her scarf and grumbled. Maybe it was the trousers. She had never seemed to wear them before, but she had bought a pair while he was gone. They were heavy leather lined in wool, intended for plant-gathering outings much like this one. Nelle wore a similar getup, and the two of them looked like they could conquer the wilderness. Keifon found himself charmed in a way that he couldn’t quite justify. Even though Agna moved and stood as though she weren’t quite comfortable, she looked ready for adventure, and Keifon had found himself eager to go adventuring with her.
“I... kind of like it.” He realized that he’d spoken out loud. “I-I mean. You look warm. And functional.” Keifon sucked in a deep breath of the frigid air and walked ahead of her, sending her scrambling to catch up.
The woods thickened as they pushed through brittle canes and detoured around brambles. The snow was indeed thinner here, screened out by the boughs overhead. Agna pulled out Nelle’s list and studied the trees. “Hmm. I think that bush over there might be darkberry. What do you think?” She held out the sketch she had made from Nelle’s samples.
Keifon considered the drawing and the shrub. “It isn’t far. We may as well try.”
Agna nodded. “Fair enough.” They headed toward the shrub, cutting an angling path between two patches of bramble. “Ever had darkberry jam? It was a mountain thing in Nessiny. Only place cold enough for these things to grow, I guess.”
“Yeah. Too sweet for my taste, but I’ve tried it.”
&n
bsp; She chuckled. “Everything is too sweet for your taste. More for me.”
“Heh. Well, Nelle’s making things out of it.”
“I mean metaphorically.” She compared the plant’s leaves to the drawing. They plucked off the frosted berries with their gloved hands, dropping them into one of the empty jars from Agna’s bag. Agna cut a sprig of leaves with her penknife, for drawing later.
“So how do you say ‘hiking’ in Yanweian?”
Keifon told her, and she practiced the phrase until she got it right. Her tones were still flat. It was endearing, in a way. She was trying, even if it was difficult for her. And as strange as the sounds were, they belonged to her. The words were dear to him no matter how wrong they sounded.
They filled two jars with the berries and packed them at the bottom of Keifon’s backpack. He had insisted on carrying it this morning, emptying out his belongings onto his cot, despite Agna’s protests. He strapped the pack back on and looked for a likely path. Agna decided for them, ambling along a level swath overlooking a dry streambed.
“What happened next with Lun and the ghosts?”
Keifon smiled behind the collar of his coat and recalled where he’d left off in the story the previous night. He was probably embellishing it wrong as he went along, remembering a fairy tale he hadn’t heard for years, but that seemed fitting somehow. Agna had already admitted to stylizing her Nessinian stories.
“Hmm. He had gone to the wisewoman to have his sword repaired, after swinging it at a ghost and chipping it on a stone. And she’d said that he had to journey to the edge of the afterlife to get the whetstone to sharpen it.”
“Of course.”
Keifon chuckled. “Of course. So he went around asking everyone he knew whether they knew the way to the edge of the afterlife...”
The two of them rambled through the snow as the watery sun climbed the sky. As he told the story, Keifon kept half an eye on the sun’s direction and progress, noting where they were headed and how they could get back. Agna paused to compare another plant to her notes, and they stooped to scrape some lichen from a tree with their knives. In a clearing they stopped for an icy drink of water from their canteens, took their bearings, and began a wide, looping path that would take them toward a lake in the distance. Agna spotted some seedpods from Nelle’s list, and took off her mittens when the seedpods began to stick to the fibers.
Keifon waited as she pulled on her mittens and flexed her hands to get the blood flowing. “Nelle had better appreciate your dedication as an apprentice.”
She grinned. “Think I can get some darkberry jam out of it?”
“You can get some darkberry jam out of your natural charm. Aim for some of those walnuts she was looking for. We can cook something good out of those.”
Agna shrugged the bag onto her shoulder. “You’re just saying that because of your unrefined palate, Yanweian. Charm your own walnuts out of her.”
Translated into Yanweian, that would sound obscene, but Keifon bit his lip over his snickering. “Yeah. I’ll consider that.”
At the water’s edge, they found three more of Nelle’s plants. Keifon and Agna tackled them one by one, trimming a few stalks from one with Keifon’s knife, pulling some weeds from the soft ground, and finally wielding Nelle’s trowels to dig up some roots. They swished these in the lake to wash the mud off, reaching out from a slab of stone that leaned over the water. Agna elbowed Keifon as they stretched out in a thin layer of snow, dangling roots into frigid lake water. He looked over at her and saw the smile in her eyes. They were absurd and deadly serious in the middle of nowhere, and being with her lent it a perfect logic. He laughed, and she laughed with him.
***
The sun hung low and orange in the sky at three. Nelle was flushed and bright-eyed under her layers of wool and leather, and the basket at her feet overflowed with stalks and leaves. She let out a triumphant whoop as Agna and Keifon stomped out of the trees, and leaped up from her makeshift log seat by the fire. “Yes, yes! Give ‘em.”
Keifon unstrapped his backpack, and Agna unshouldered her bag, now full of bark, soft pine buds, lichen, and a few mushrooms that they had found sheltered among the tree roots. They warmed their hands over Nelle’s fire as she rifled through their finds.
Keifon flexed his hands. “Uh, I’m gonna need the pack back.”
Nelle waved it off. “’Course. Counting, cataloguing tonight, and have it back to you tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks.”
“This is for everyone, right?” Agna reached for one of the fish skewered over the fire.
“Yeah, of course. We’re celebrating.”
As Nelle continued her gleeful survey of their haul, Keifon and Agna tucked into the grilled fish, hot tea, and toasted walnuts – she’d found them after all, and shared them without any extra application of charm. Agna gave up on pulling her handkerchief out of her pocket every half a minute, and finally tucked it into her sleeve. Keifon palmed his continually, dabbing his nose as the sudden heat made it run. They didn’t joke about this business; they didn’t need to.
Keifon’s throat closed over a swallow of tea. This was his last winter with her. This was probably his first and last plant-collecting jaunt with her. They’d already had their last Lundrala and their last summer. Spring was far from this snowy corner of the western woods, but it wouldn’t stay away forever.
Nelle finished her inventory and reached for the last skewers of fish. “S’wrong?”
Keifon snapped his eyes up to her firelit face. “I – um, sorry.” He felt Agna’s hand on his elbow and shoved down a swell of regret. I should have enjoyed my time with you more. I should have done more. I should have... “I just... I’ve had a good day. That’s all.”
Agna sighed. “Happiness makes him sad,” she clarified for Nelle. “That’s my boy.”
Nelle regarded him kindly as she chewed. “Because it passes,” she said. “Right?” Keifon had pulled his collar away from his face as they basked at the fire, and so Nelle could see him flushing. She took a pull at her canteen. “Misses you,” she spelled out for Agna.
“I’m still here,” Agna protested.
The herbalist shrugged. “Yeah, but...”
“I don’t – I don’t want to talk about this right now. Later, Agna, please, when we get back. Not now.”
Nelle held up her hands in surrender. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s...it’s all right.”
Agna squeezed his arm, and he offered her a thin smile. She was right; she was still here, for now. He would enjoy it for as long as he could.
***
“I’m sorry about today.”
“What?” She turned, half-in, half-out of her long wool coat. “I had a lovely day.”
“No, I mean – later. With Nelle.”
“Oh. Don’t worry about it on my account.” She finished shrugging out of the coat and dashed outside to hang it next to Keifon’s, then danced back inside, shuddering with cold. She fastened the tent flaps and sat on her cot to strip off her snowmelt-dampened socks. “Are you all right, though?”
He sat on his own cot, mirroring her in his stocking feet. The brazier had begun to warm the tent, and he hunched forward to spread his hands toward it. “I just – I like how things are now. I miss it, somehow. I know that isn’t fair.”
Her face was readable now, wind-pinked but bare in the indoor warmth. She watched him, puzzled. “I’m still here. And…” She sighed, motioning for him to wait. She removed her layers of socks and replaced them with dry socks. Then she hesitated, her hands idle on the rail of her cot. “Listen. I have to talk to you about something.”
They’d talked all day, it seemed, when they weren’t breathing in the fresh air and appreciating one another’s silent company. But there was always more to say. Keifon warmed his hands and waited, listening.
“I’ve been thinking,” Agna began. “And writing to Marco. About what I should do next, where I should go.”
Keifon imagined her in a Nessinian art salon, draped in silks and velvets, surrounded by paintings framed in gold. She would be magnificent in her element. “Yes,” he said. “They have a position for you, I assume.”
“Well – yes, but…” She swung her legs onto the cot, folding up with her ankles crossed. “Mostly we’ve been writing about Kaveran art. And the state of the community here, and where the galleries are, and things like that.”
“I see.”
“I’ve learned so much since I’ve been here. If I went home I’d be one of hundreds of agents, even if I specialized in Kaveran art.”
He heard the qualification, the if that replaced the when. Still, he could not bring himself to grasp for any misplaced hope. She would not risk her future. She would be a specialist in Kaveran art in the halls of her people, and she would shine all the brighter for her unique training.
“You aren’t one of hundreds,” he insisted, translating his own stampeding thoughts. “You’re – you’re you.”
“Listen. I should have told you.” She took a deep breath. “In Wildern, when you were gone, I met with some people. Historians, and local collectors. About whether there’s enough of a following to open a gallery there. I think I can do it.”
“Do…what?”
“Open a gallery in Wildern.” She sat forward, and as she spoke her stockinged feet scuffed restlessly against the floor. “There are some private collections, but no public galleries. The local historical society is trying to open a history museum, too. We think we can open a combination of historical and art space. It would be small, but it’s a start, and it’s something the city doesn’t have yet.”
The lump in Keifon’s throat stopped him from saying what he wanted to say. It rerouted into a weak “Could you do all of that from Nessiny?”
Agna lunged forward to nudge his forehead. “Don’t be dense. But the problem is…” She withdrew, clinging to the cot rail. “I don’t know whether it’s the right thing to do. I made a mistake last time, even if I tried to make the best of it. I don’t want to be that stupid again.” She clenched her fists and released them. “I really want this. I know I can do it. But – am I just doing the same thing? I mean, I was thinking about Wildern’s potential before you said you might move there. But maybe I’m fooling myself. It’s your city. I shouldn’t just follow along.”
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