It sounded nice, she had to admit. She’d wanted to spend time with him, and he made it sound like the most natural thing in the world. “What kind of shows do they have?”
“I saw a sign, but I don’t remember what’s when. Music, dancers, things like that. Want to look?” His smile made her next breath easier, and the next.
“All right. Maybe we’ll find something on the way.” She stepped past him toward the aisle, and he caught her arm to squeeze it as she passed. Part of her wanted to pull his arms around her shoulders like a blanket. At least that much had returned to normal.
Keifon and Agna meandered between the stalls. Straw had been scattered over the bare dirt, obscuring the paths that had outlined the Golden Caravan’s itinerant town. The market stalls, wagons, and tents had been replaced by games, contests, and sign-ups for local organizations. Agna wanted to turn her mind away from the ghosts of their old life, as happy as it had been near the end. She hadn’t come here to wallow. “Something occurred to me a few days ago,” she said, not quite turning her head toward him. “How is it that the Resurrection turns out these kinds of festivals? It always sounded like a solemn holiday, when I read about it.”
“Hmm. People like to have a festival at the beginning of summer, I guess. It doesn’t have a lot to do with the holiday. Some of the priests who helped me back home were opposed to Resurrection festivals. Said it was a distraction.” He looked around the stalls, the people, the late afternoon sunlight. “But… I’ve always liked them. After praying and reflecting, I like to get out among people. Reconnect with life for a while. It helps me to appreciate what Darano returned from the dead to protect.”
“I see.” Their last Resurrection festival together was a memory so warm and bright that it was almost painful to recall. She still walked through the fairground in the mountains sometimes in her dreams, and Keifon walked next to her in the uniform that he had since surrendered. She hoped that their first Resurrection together, when she’d lashed out at him and questioned the validity of his faith, was receding further into memory. It had happened; she’d made mistakes. But the festival was still something he enjoyed. He’d forgiven her. She could try to forgive herself.
With her heart in her throat, she let her hand swing near his, ready to deny it if he didn’t notice. Keifon glanced over and caught her eye. Her palm fit against his, and their fingers folded together.
“It’s good to see you smile again,” he said. “Thank you.”
She looked away, watching her feet as they scuffed through the straw. “Listen to you.”
“What?” He swung their arms together as they walked, which would surely draw attention to them. It felt nice, she thought guiltily. It was nice to be reminded of his presence, to feel connected. He didn’t let go as they passed by the games of chance and the food tents. For now, she had his full attention, whether she’d asked for it or not.
Keifon waved his free hand at one of the stalls. “Hey, there’s a noodle stand. Right up there. That’s my pick for dinner.”
Her stomach had accepted the fried dough, and now it insisted that dinner was still required. “That sounds fine to me.”
“Well then.” Keifon finally let go of her hand as they took their places in the queue.
They each ordered a dish of noodles, served in a salty sauce with vegetables and piled into paper bowls. Balancing the hot bowls, they weaved through the crowd into the middle of the fairground. Facing the temporary stage, benches and bales of hay had been set up for the audience. The festivities seemed to be in a pause between acts at the moment, and most of the seats were empty. Agna and Keifon sat side by side on a hay bale at the rear corner of the seating area. Agna tucked in with the flimsy wooden fork. The noodles were hot and slippery, and their notes of salt and ginger reminded her of Keifon’s Yanweian cooking from their camping days.
She sucked on her fork thoughtfully. “Is this a Yanweian style?”
He took a forkful of his noodles. “It is. Southern, from Ceien. I guess there’s enough trade through the mountains that people here have gotten to know the cuisine.”
“That’s good, isn’t it? There will be more travel back and forth when the new road opens, too. I’m sure more cultural exchange would be a good thing for both sides.”
“Mm-mmn. I guess it’s good.” He poked at his paper dish with the fork.
“Have you found any Yanweian restaurants yet? I don’t think I’ve seen them, but I haven’t looked much.”
Keifon chewed slowly, his brow furrowed. “I haven’t. Dr. Rushu hasn’t mentioned anything yet, either. Just the dinner parties, and those are at people’s houses.”
She couldn’t keep her smile hidden. “About that…”
“Not yet.”
“Fine… fine.” She focused on her noodles, and let the festival flow around them. A stagehand pushed a broom across the stage between the acts, and a few attendees used the rows of hay bales to talk or canoodle or, as they had, to sit down with dinner. Barkers at the stalls called out at the passers-by to buy their wares or play their games, goats bleated in the livestock pens, children laughed as they shot past with fistfuls of candy.
After dinner, maybe they’d watch the next act on stage, or maybe she’d walk around and peruse the sign-up tables. She’d spotted several booths from clubs and social organizations, like the Amateur Beekeepers’ Club and the Embroiderers’ Guild. Maybe she’d find something she wanted to join, like a reading group. Maybe there was a recreational sports league for Keifon.
“Agna? Hey!”
Agna looked up with her mouth full of noodles. Three men approached from her right, a wall of bodies in brown and white and gray. She swallowed, and the noodles turned into a lump in her stomach. The man in the middle, Tai the cabinetmaker, waved. She felt Keifon shift on the bale next to her, the straw rustling under him.
She swallowed again. “Hi.”
“This’s the customer who healed my hand,” Tai said to the boy on his left, whom Agna didn’t recognize. The third was the one who had helped Tai and Whalen haul their furniture into the apartment on that strange spring afternoon. “Mind if I join you for a minute?”
“We’re gonna go look around,” one of his friends said.
Tai waved them off cheerfully before turning to Agna and Keifon. “This must be your roommate, then!” He sat on the bale in front of them, sitting backwards to face them. His words switched seamlessly to Yanweian, nearly too liquid for Agna to follow. “Hey. Wei Taijiang. Tai, though. Agna healed my hand when I cracked it on your stairs like an idiot, bringing your furniture in.”
“Mmn.” Keifon wiped his mouth on his handkerchief, buying time, perhaps. She knew all about his blinkered and unjustified feelings about introducing himself to new people. “Keifon the Medic. I’d heard about that. I’m sorry there was such a hassle getting them in.” It was a little strange to hear him speak in his own language. Agna wondered whether he’d get a chance to speak it regularly at home, someday, if his spouse would know it or be willing to learn. She wasn’t fluent herself, despite studying the book he’d gotten her. And asking him to practice with her seemed presumptuous. For all she knew, he’d move out before the year was over. Would it be worth his time to tutor a friend?
“Your work is beautiful,” Keifon said to Tai. “I’m glad Agna found your shop.”
“Hey, thanks.” Tai scratched the back of his head. “You two ever need anything else, you know where to find us.”
“Thank you for the offer, I’m sure we’ll stop by.” He was speaking like a customer, not a neighbor. Agna could gather that much from his tone.
Tai set his hands on his knees. “Hey, I’d been meaning to ask. D’you know about the Yanweian dinner club?”
Agna’s eyes bounced between the two of them. Keifon’s already cool expression solidified. “I’m apprenticing with Dr. Rushu at the hospital. She’s mentioned it.”
“Oh good. So, um, my folks are hosting it next time, they’re up on Ridgeline Avenue. Jus
t south of Oldtown, next to the milliner’s. You two should come.”
“Oh no, I’m Nessinian,” Agna stammered, probably botching even that short of a sentence in her panic.
Overlapping her garble, Keifon’s words were as distinct as if they’d been stamped out of metal. “I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
Tai squinted, trying to listen to both of them. “Well, you,” he pointed at Agna, “are still welcome, because a bunch of them are Kaveran anyway, and I don’t know what you,” his hand swung toward Keifon, “are talking about. Really, anyone is welcome if you’re from Yanwei, or used to be, or you’re a friend of somebody who’s coming, or you like our food. We get together and cook and play board games. It’s not a big fancy deal. Dr. Rushu should’ve told you, she’s been hosting these things for longer than I’ve been alive.”
Agna watched Keifon, because it was easier, safer than watching Tai and his blithe enthusiasm. Keifon’s jaw was tight, and a flush had risen across his cheekbones. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I think you’ve misunderstood. I’m — nameless.”
Tai shrugged. “So’s Fujia, and Deisu. And probably some others, I don’t know. This isn’t the old country.” He spread his hands, wide and rough from wood grain and sandpaper. “Good thing, too, ‘cause I didn’t want to work up at the sawmill like my Apa or be a schoolteacher like my Ara, and here I don’t have to. You know?”
Fighting a smile, Agna nodded. Maybe Keifon would finally listen if someone else delivered the same message she’d been drumming into his head. But Keifon only set his bowl on his knees and swallowed. “I’ll take it into consideration,” he said, a phrase Agna had learned in her Introductory Yanweian grammar book. A polite way to decline an offer, without offending the other party. Blast him.
“All right, well, I’ll see you two around, either way.” When he stood, he dwarfed both of them. “Enjoy the festival, all right?”
“Thanks,” Agna said. “You, too.”
She watched his broad back until he disappeared into the crowd. When she returned to herself, Keifon still stared at the straw-strewn dirt at their feet.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” He stirred his noodles with his fork.
She took a bite, determined not to let her own dinner get any colder. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“Hmph. Fine, then. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Agna shrugged. “Glad you got a chance to meet him, at least. It’s too bad Whalen wasn’t with him, I think he’s more your type.”
Keifon’s voice was tight. “How so?”
“Well.” Agna feigned intense concentration on her bowl. “Not much taller than me, thin, kind of androgynous. Seemed pretty smart. And what’s the word… Acerbic.”
His cheek twitched. “Edann wasn’t my ‘type.’ It just… turned out that way.”
Since he wasn’t looking, she indulged in an eye roll. He could tell himself that all day, but he had stuck with the apothecary from the caravan for the better part of a year, and that didn’t happen accidentally. Of course, she only knew a little about Kazi, his boyfriend in the Army, and even less about his ex-wife before that. “At any rate,” she said, “Tai seems nice, and he knows Dr. Rushu. The Yanweians seem to stick together in this city.”
“Hmmn.”
He’d locked the doors tight. Fine. She could be patient. As he picked at his food, she focused her attention on the stalls and the families passing by and the musicians gathering behind the stage. She wasn’t one to talk, anyway. There were seven Nessinians in this city, and all they had in common was a note board in the break room. She’d only gotten to know Fulvia, out of six other healers. Hectoring Keifon about community-building was a little hypocritical of her.
At least he had time. Most of the other healers would leave when their contracts were up, but he had a lifetime to get to know the other Yanweians. Someday he’d find his place among them.
Eventually, Keifon spoke up. “I’m just not in the mood to have to — you know, expose myself. Talk about my background, and all of that.”
Agna focused on her bowl, biting back an encyclopedia of arguments. “Well…. sorry about this, then. Letting you do the talking.”
He shifted his weight on the bale, toying with his fork. “I know you have a hard time talking to guys sometimes. And you’ve had a rough day. If I think about it as covering for you… it’s worth it.”
She felt herself blush, which was only made worse as he watched her. There was no point in arguing. He’d been there when she’d met Laris, when a patient had crashed in out of nowhere and blundered into the heart of her insecurities, leaving her a stammering, brainless wreck. She didn’t know what to do around boys. She still didn’t, even after Laris had come and gone.
Besides, her half-formed scheme to throw Keifon at Tai wouldn’t work. First because he’d met Tai and reacted with the opposite of flirting, and second, because he was wise to the plan. He knew how flustered she was right now; she was pinned under his worried gaze. If they ran into Tai again, Keifon would deflect, stepping back to let her speak. He was the one who had convinced her to talk to Laris, even though they’d been feuding at the time. He wouldn’t let her hide behind him for long.
“Well,” she said. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t need anyone to “cover for me.” No — it was too late to pretend. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He finally dug into his noodles again, which was as clear a sign as any that he considered the issue closed.
Agna speared one of the last pea pods in her bowl. “It’s good to know that there are people our age in that expatriate group, at least. In my opinion.”
“I suppose so.”
“I’m going to keep pushing you to talk to them, you know.”
He slurped up some noodles. “Can I push you to go and talk to Tai?”
“No.”
His smile returned. “Well, then.”
Footsteps creaked on the stage, and Agna and Keifon looked up. A band of musicians climbed onto the stage. Agna leaned back on her hands, against the rough straw. She’d never been a connoisseur of music — Rone’s attempts to take her and Esirel to concerts had been largely wasted effort, and she never appreciated Keifon’s nanbur playing as much as he deserved. But it was enough to sit out in the open air on a summer night, with the familiar presence of her closest friend at her side, and let time pass for a while.
Agna: The Devotees
“Oh, hello! Hey, I have an idea.” The young Vogal heir met Agna at the door. Agna took a step back, clutching her armload of notes, as Keth launched over the threshold. “Want to go see the groundbreaking? It’s today. We can talk about the gallery and things if you want, on the way. Would you like some water? Or tea? I think Cook has some cold tea in the root cellar, it’s very good. Unless you want to get moving now.”
She paused long enough to hear Agna’s reply. Agna blinked and considered the offer. The mountain pass project had been the talk of Wildern for months, and the ribbon-cutting ceremony was supposed to draw every luminary in town. Before she could answer, Keth darted into the house. “I’ll get the tea. How do you take it?”
“Uh — with honey, please,” Agna called, concerned that Keth had already run too far to hear, and would bring a glass of cold tea with a dozen ingredients thrown in, just in case. She balanced her paperboard file folder against her hip and stuffed her handful of notes into it. She’d have to speak without references, it seemed. She tied the folder’s laces and slipped it into her shoulder bag. Time to summon her debate skills and improvise.
Keth Vogal reappeared with two dewy glass bottles in her hands and a lacy knitted wrap around her shoulders. “Here you go. I’m going out!” she shouted into the depths of the house. Without waiting for a reply, she closed the door behind her and bounded down the porch stairs.
“Thank you,” Agna said, before Keth could move on to six other topics. She took a sip as she followed Keth along the winding path throu
gh the front garden. The tea was quite good, made of Kaveran black tea and mint, sweetened with just enough honey. A sprig of mint leaves floated in the bottle as a garnish. It looked as though the Vogal heir didn’t intend to call for a carriage; it was probably best to play along.
“So have you bought any art yet? Anything interesting?” Keth turned with one hand on the fencepost, the other clutching her bottle of tea.
“Nothing yet.” Realizing that Keth was still listening, Agna went on. “I have been corresponding with some artists, getting an idea of their specialties. I’ve gotten a few representative sketches. Samples, in a way.”
“Ooh. Is that how they do it. I’d wondered how you audition an artist. If you can’t travel to where they are right away, how do you know what their art’s like? You can buy something, I suppose, but then what if it isn’t what you wanted? You’d have to ship it back anyway. I guess the best way would be to travel to every artist first and audition them there, but then it would take forever to collect any art from overseas. Oh, are you going to have any art from Nessiny in your gallery?”
Agna took a drink of tea to buy herself enough time to catch up. They were halfway down the road that connected the buildings of the Vogal estate, walking on a carpet of pine needles at the edge of the cobbles. “I’d hoped to have some Nessinian art, yes. I have some good contacts in Murio, my hometown. I may travel back this year, so I’ll have an opportunity to select some pieces.”
“I bet it’s warmer there than it is here, that’s for sure. Oh oh, have you been to the opera in Nessiny? I’ve never seen a real Nessinian opera. I saw a concert with a few selections, when I was in Prisa. It was so beautiful I wanted to cry. And that wasn’t even acted out in full context, just songs by themselves. I can’t even imagine. Do you think we’ll ever get enough interest in Wildern? There are a lot of Nessinians in town these days, because of the hospital, like you, but the other Crescendo board members say there isn’t enough of a market for it. Pff. If we don’t take any artistic risks we’ll never grow as a company, you know? But I’m only one vote. Someday there’ll be a Nessinian on the board with us, I bet. Assuming they like opera. I guess not every Nessinian does. Seems a waste, if not.”
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