She knew so little about him. A tapestry of rumors was part of the backdrop of life in the base, just as it had been at the Academy — nowhere that the patients would hear, but in the break rooms and the cafeteria. Aines Shora was not immune to scrutiny. They made jokes about the safety of handsome young men. They made jokes about the base leader sleeping under his office desk, or else rising from the foundations of the building like a fairy-tale demon. Every day Agna walked past a painting of him in which he stood uncomfortably close to her childhood hero. She had been gawking in front of it like a tourist when she first met him. He’d remembered her name, from Rone’s stories about her. And he’d remembered her nearly two years later, when she turned up on his proverbial doorstep, even though she meant nothing to him.
She couldn’t put the pieces of him together. It was a good thing she’d never end up trying to play cards with him. She shut her scattered thoughts behind her better judgment and kept quiet as the water heated.
Jaeti appeared, glanced around the room, and turned as if she found everything to her liking. Agent Shora’s chin lifted. “How’s your cousin doing with the new treatment, Jae?”
“Hm? Oh.” Jaeti’s hands clasped at her waist. “Better. Day by day.”
“Good. You never know, with these things. So do tell me how it goes, and if you need anything.”
“I will,” Jaeti said. Agna watched the fire. Agent Shora was some fifteen years younger than Jaeti, and there was no obvious reason for the two of them to have been associated before the gallery brought them together. More old connections? She wondered how much he knew about the other attendees of the meeting, and the other people in town.
The water came to a boil, and Agna let Agent Shora help her to carry it to the sink. She poured soap into the water and attacked the dishes. To her mixed irritation and appreciation, Agent Shora shifted to her other side to dry and stack the plates and wine glasses.
She considered what she had learned. The leader of the Benevolent Union base came off as an isolated mastermind, but he wasn’t, not really. A trace of chilliness underlay his formal words and his studied courtesy, but he seemed acutely aware of his relationships to everyone else in town. He recalled each person as though they were all equally important — Agna and Rone and Jaeti’s cousin and everyone else he encountered.
She’d need to take more notes about the donors. Not only about their potential donations and their family histories, but about their preferences and grudges and tastes in art.
“So, Agna, I’ve wondered — will you be leaving the Benevolents when the gallery opens?”
Agna’s grip tightened on a dish before she could drop it. That was one way to cut to the heart of things, wasn’t it. “Uh — I’d thought about it. But I enjoy my work there. I expect to stay at the hospital for the foreseeable future, at least part-time.”
His eyes crinkled. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ve heard good reports of your work from our other doctors and healers. I’d hate to lose you already.”
She was flushing because of the hot water. Certainly. The soaring, fizzing feeling that fought to get out of her chest in a squeal — that might have been her sips of wine. The part she definitely couldn’t explain was the thought of slamming that comment on Ettore Cruti’s desk, carved on a plaque, and yelling So there, Mr. ‘I’m Too Important to Do Rounds!’ “Err — thank you.”
“I do hope we can come to a compromise between your ambitions. I think it would be beneficial to the Benevolents and to the community as well as to yourself.”
After two hours of being questioned on her motives and the validity of her project, the fresh ladling of flattery felt more potent than the wine. “Uh, thank you. I hope so. I do hope to be a benefit to the community.” She darted a look at him in time to see him smile. It was a guarded smile, hiding something she couldn’t quite translate. But he accepted the last dish she passed him and dried it serenely.
“I appreciate your invitation, Agent Despana,” he said, folding the dish towel. He draped it over the edge of the sink. “I look forward to further discussion about your collections.”
“Thank you for coming,” she said, scraping together what was left of her decorum. Jaeti reappeared as they headed down the hall toward the front door. She had put out the lamps in the side galleries, leaving a path through the heart of the building.
“Thank you, Aines,” Jaeti said. “Have a safe trip home.”
“Good evening, both of you.” The head of the Benevolents closed the door behind him.
Jaeti gathered up her notes from the counter. “I suppose that went well.”
Agna’s neck cracked as she stretched. “I think so. I’ll have to think on all of this. Plan my strategy. If you hear from anyone, please let me know what they say.”
“Of course, of course. I’ll be getting home now, too.”
“I can get you a carriage.” She knew that Jaeti lived only a few streets away, but it seemed right to offer.
The historian flipped her hand at the idea. “No, no, I’m fine. Bring your strategy to my office when you have it together, and we’ll talk.”
“I will. Have a safe trip.” Agna closed the door behind her business partner and locked it. For a minute she stood with her back against the door, facing the empty room. It wouldn’t stay empty forever. She had to believe that.
Keifon: Lundrala
Summer in the mountains reached a plateau; it was hot in the sun, but the trees lining Wildern’s streets offered relief in the shade. Keifon and Agna opened the windows and closed the latticed wooden screens that would contain the kittens while letting the infrequent breezes through. Shadow and Lulu devoured everything that was put in front of them and staged play fights with one another. They were beginning to learn not to scratch the humans’ hands to ribbons when they got excited, so Agna was better able to keep up with healing the damage afterward.
The kittens were supposed to have been a gift, Keifon reminded himself. As the grapevine wreaths and bunting went up for Lundrala and the signs in shop windows advertised gifts for the season, his resolve wavered. He had already sent Nachi’s gift in the mail. Now that the furniture situation was resolved — Agna had even gotten her drawing table, at long last — he didn’t have to set aside as much for home improvements. It wouldn’t upset his budget to splurge on a gift. Agna had done so much for him this year.
He watched the shop windows on his way around the city, thinking about the impossibility of expressing everything he needed to say in a single object. The two of them had already decided to pass out homemade jam as their token gift, and so he picked up some baskets of fresh strawberries and another half-dozen jars. When their off days coincided tomorrow, they’d fire up the stove, boil down a batch of jam, and set it aside for the two weeks leading up to Lundrala. Sometimes he felt as though he looked forward to tomorrow more than the holiday itself.
With the crate of straw-packed jars balanced on his hip, he paused in front of a shop window. Agna loved new clothes and fine things, and she often watched the changes of fashion in the shop windows when they were out together. Since they’d come to Wildern, she hadn’t had time or money to treat herself to anything new. The hair ornament in the jewelry store’s window would suit her beautifully; it was elegant and understated, not flashy or frivolous. Keifon could picture it on her, in that tableau he’d filed away in his mind — welcoming the guests at her opening gala, showing the city what he’d always known she could accomplish.
He heaved a sigh and wrung the back of his neck with his free hand. It might give the wrong message; he wasn’t entirely sure whether there were cultural nuances that would make the gift seem strange. It was questionable in his own estimation, already. It seemed halfway to a courting gift. And he had only a nodding acquaintance with the other Nessinians, so he couldn’t easily ask them whether it would come across badly in their culture.
Even so, he found himself pulling the shop’s door open. If it wasn’t the right gift now, he could keep it. S
omeday the right moment would come. He’d come up with something else for now, something less charged. He could keep the hair ornament as a gift for the opening of her gallery, or some day when she needed a reminder of her own potential. It would only take up a little space.
* * *
She knocked on his door the next morning when the light slanted in over the mountain peaks. Groaning, Keifon turned over and propelled himself out of bed before he could fall asleep again. He could always sleep in the heat of the afternoon, and they’d want to take advantage of the cooler hours of the morning for their cooking spree.
As he dressed, he nudged back the edge of the board that peeked out from under his bed. His second gift idea was as prosaic as the first one was fanciful, but he knew Agna would enjoy using it. He’d heard her fretting about the increasingly complex state of her business notes more than once. He only had to keep the kittens from deciding that it would make a splendid scratching surface, in the meantime.
The scent of strawberries drew him down the hall. In the kitchen Agna had water on for tea already, and had tied her hair up in a kerchief. Doing so had become a habit for her, on days when she stayed home cleaning or catching up on her correspondence. It had seemed strange at first, too casual and common for a lady of her stature. But as Keifon slumped into a kitchen chair, it struck him as charming, even comforting. She looked relaxed and at home in a light cotton dress and one of their canvas aprons. With the practice they’d had recently, she was becoming as adept at cooking as she was at healing.
“Are you conscious enough to handle fire?”
“Mmgh.”
“Can you feed the cats, then?” She lifted one of their cooking pots into the sink and began to pump water into it.
Keifon was conscious enough to frown. “How…”
“Oh, I ran out to pick it up. Got some things for dinner, too.” Letting go of the pump handle, she waved at a paper-wrapped package on the other end of the counter. “That’s it over there.”
He rubbed his eyes as he shambled over. “You’re showing me up again.”
Agna heaved the pot out of the sink and onto the counter. “Says Mister Feed the Masses. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do before I can show you up. Besides, I had what, four more hours of sleep than you did. Did you plan to go to the canal this morning?”
Keiva’s camp. Yes. Another item on today’s agenda. He had all day; they’d work together to get everything done. No need to worry. He unwrapped the parcel from the butcher’s shop and divided it between Lulu’s and Shadow’s bowls. The kittens stampeded in, their paws thumping softly on the floorboards, and rubbed against his legs. “Hang on, hang on. But yes, I’d hoped to stop by as usual. We can get started on the preserves first, though. I’ve got to reread that recipe book you got. As soon as I’m conscious enough to read.”
Agna stirred the slurry of strawberries and sugar that she had left out overnight. The scent nearly upset his stomach with its sweetness. The tea would settle it, with any luck. Or he’d simply get used to it.
She tapped the spoon on the edge of the bowl. “Good move. And take your time. How did you sleep, by the way?”
“All right.” His nightmares persisted here, though it was less embarrassing to wake in the middle of the night if no one was there to see it. Waking in the same place every time seemed to ease the terrors a little. And sometimes, like last night, he would get up and walk around the apartment, touching the door frames and edges of tables or looking down from the front windows into the quiet streets, until he convinced himself that his life was real.
She smiled. “Good. So go ahead and have your tea, I’ve got this first batch.”
“Mmn. I’ll watch, if you don’t mind. See how it’s done.”
Agna laughed. “I’m just following the book myself. We could have nothing but sludge at the end.”
“Ehh, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He meandered to the cupboard to retrieve his tin of tea and a cup. Agna took up the masher and poked at the strawberry slurry skeptically. Keifon half watched her as he prepared his tea. She poured the mixture into another cooking pot and searched through their spice shelf for crystallized lemon.
Keifon sat at the table, skimming over the cookbook that Agna had bought as he waited for his tea to steep. It was too early to be up after a night shift, sure, especially after sleeping poorly and waking up a few times. But despite the headache gathering at his temples, he was glad to be awake for this: the pale light streaming through the windows, the way Agna’s skirt swayed as she shifted her weight, and the sharp, sweet smell of cut strawberries. “This is nice,” he said, realizing as he did that it had seemingly come out of nowhere. “I mean, doing this with you. This was a good idea for our token gifts. Thanks for sharing it with me.”
She turned, setting the empty mixing bowl on the cutting board. “You’re welcome. Are you all right?”
“Mmn. Tired. Really tired. Nightmares last night. It’s all right, I’ll take a nap when we’re done.” As an excuse to look away, he tasted a scalding sip of the tea.
“I told you, if you ever need to talk, you can wake me up. Any time.”
Keifon’s face warmed over his cup. He’d been tempted, last night. He’d stood with his back to the wall outside her door, feeling wretched and voyeuristic even as the clinging tendrils of his dream nagged at his brain. But then she’d shifted in her sleep, and the rustle of her sheets was enough to convince him. It had helped him to quell the panic and despair. It had helped him to accept that he hadn’t run through a fractured, twisted version of Wildern asking everyone he knew whether they had seen her, and getting only blank looks in response. That wasn’t real. She was here, she had been with him for two and a half years now, and in a few more hours they’d get up and make strawberry jam together. It wasn’t the first time he’d spent a sleepless night with a dream like that, but this time had seemed especially vivid.
“I… I’m sorry. I dreamed… I dreamed about you. That you weren’t there. That — that you were never there in the first place. I know that’s stupid. I didn’t want to bother you.”
Agna wiped her hands on a towel. She’d never said she was crossing the room to hug him, but he didn’t need to hear it; he knew. And as always, her touch proved that she was real, that she was still with him. She pulled back and cupped his cheek, and the smell of strawberries clinging to her fingers made his breath catch in his chest.
“You should have woken me. It’s not stupid. We all have bad dreams, all right?”
Keifon nodded and pressed his hand over hers, catching the coolness of her skin against the flush in his own. It wasn’t that simple. Night was dangerous. Being half-asleep and confused was dangerous. It was bad enough now, when he was tired and headachy and embarrassed. The jewelry he’d bought her burned in the corner of his mind, even though it was hidden in one of his dresser drawers. He never had to give it to her. He could return it, sell it, before he caused any more damage. But the fact that he’d bought it was bad enough.
At home, teenagers and grandmothers and well-meaning parents hassled newlyweds, teased them about whether they’d fallen in love yet. “Fallen,” that’s what they’d say in Kavera. In Yanweian, the word was related to “build.” Your families set you up, you went off and set up a household, and after enough time together, after enough small favors, enough shared secrets, enough idyllic days and arguments and plans, this near-stranger began to mean more than anything else in the world.
What Agna would say was it’s out of the question. She would say don’t be silly. She would say it isn’t like that. And she might be right. He wasn’t even sure what he thought anymore. Everything could be read backwards and forwards, and words and thoughts shifted with the context. Such things were supposed to be clear, ordained, inevitable. It wasn’t supposed to be this confusing, and perhaps his confusion meant that he misunderstood. He’d keep quiet and pray, and hope the truth came to him.
He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer, and after a minute Agn
a looked away. “I should… we should talk.”
She knew. He’d ruined this in the end, like he thought he might. Keifon stepped back, bracing his hands on his chair as his heart and head pounded in time. “I’m sorry.”
“About what?” Before he could answer, she waved her hands. “Listen. I’ve been thinking I should go and talk this over with my father. Settle this business with the agency, once and for all. He won’t let up until I do, and I know I have obligations here, but I have to face this sometime.” Her eyes stuck to her fingers, knotted together at her middle.
Keifon swallowed. His mouth was dry, but he couldn’t move to pick up his teacup. “All right. If you think that’s best.”
“Well, mostly, yeah. I’m worried about you, even though I know you’re a grownup and you can take care of yourself. I just don’t want you to be lonely.”
A separation would be good for him, right now. It would pull him back. His dream wasn’t real; she wasn’t a figment of his imagination. It wasn’t the same. She would only be gone for a while, not erased from his life. “I don’t want you to avoid going because of me.”
Her mouth twisted. “It’s important. But… I trust you to be all right. And to take care of yourself.” She let a breath go and raised her hands as if to fidget with her hair, and instead straightened the kerchief. “I’ve been thinking about how we can take care of the payments on the building, and keep everything running while I’m gone. I need you to work with me, talk it through with me. Let me know if I’m overlooking anything.”
Keifon nodded, and bent to reach his teacup. Its warmth was comforting, despite the growing heat of the morning. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
Agna closed her eyes, almost a wince. “Thank you. I know you would.” She took a step toward the counter, where the makings of their Lundrala token gift waited. “I have some notes about my ideas, so far. I’ll get them out while this is cooking, and we can look them over.”
The Healers' Home Page 23