Of course she had notes ready. Trying to conceal a smile, Keifon sat and sipped his tea. “Sounds good.”
Reading recipes kept his mind occupied until the tea was gone. They could return to normal, in time. This trip of hers would help, in that regard. By the time she returned — however far away that day might be — he would have talked some sense into himself, and figured this out. He watched Agna measure spoonfuls of crystallized lemon into the strawberry slurry. She swung open the oven door to check the fire, then set the pot on the stove top and took up a long wooden spoon. “This is it for a while. It cooks down, then we…” She glanced over, and her eyes flicked between him and the book open in front of him. “Well. You can see.”
He tracked their progress along the page with one finger. “Mmhm. Seems pretty straightforward. Then we seal them and boil them, and let them cool.”
“Yep. So. Notes?”
“All right.” As Agna left the stove to fetch her notes, Keifon poured himself some more tea and idly stirred the strawberries. It might help to hear her ideas, to sketch out what his life might look like without her. He’d take care of the cats, which was easy enough. Keeping up with the payments on the building, as she’d so blithely mentioned, was another matter. He’d kept a larger portion of his traveling earnings than Agna had, expecting to buy his own house someday. He could parcel that out for a few months. How long would she be in Nessiny? He thought she’d said that the trip took six weeks, one way. Add unfavorable winds or a storm or two — don’t think about storms. He drank half of his tea while it was too hot. Don’t think about storms.
“Got it.” Agna slapped her notes on the table, and Keifon jumped, sloshing what was left of his tea.
He turned, pretending that his heart wasn’t hammering, refusing to react to Agna’s raised eyebrows. “What do you have so far?”
She flipped open the cover of the folder, which, like most of her files, was filled with a combination of scrap-paper fragments and full pages covered with neatly written lists. “Finances, logistics, what to do with correspondence from the artists, keeping the investors pacified till I get back, other sources of support.”
“Support?” It sounded as though she’d used the inflection for “emotional support,” rather than the “organizational support” he’d expect after the mention of the gallery’s investors.
“For you. Father Tufari, Dr. Rushu. Keiva and Bargi. Nelle, if you want to write to her.”
Keifon sighed. “You don’t have to take care of me like a child.”
“I worried,” Agna said tightly. “I felt better making lists about it, all right?”
“Fine… sorry. Go on.” He took the seat next to her, reading her notes at right angles.
“I talked to the bank, and they’ll let me cut back the payments for the next couple of months if I step them up when I get home. Which will be no problem — I have an account in Murio that’s just gathering dust, and I can sink as much of that into the mortgage as we need. The union is strong against the crown right now, but even with that, there’s plenty to go around.”
She’d already gone to the bank? A few months? The question of time weighed too heavily in his chest, for now. He’d sound desperate if he badgered her about when she’d leave and when she’d be back. Instead, he said, “The bank will allow that? Changing the terms?”
“Well.” She turned a few pages, away from the bank’s paperwork. “There are some penalties. Higher rates. But I can’t wait thirty years until the building is paid off to deal with this.”
“Hm. I see what you mean. If you think it’s worth it…”
Agna shrugged. “Seems like the best available option.” She turned to one of her lists, laid out with graceful little ink-drawn leaves to mark the points. “Now. Keeping up with my correspondence. I don’t want to lose any more momentum than I have to. Before I go, I’ll write to each of the artists and let them know what’s going on. And I’ll pick up some art for the investors while I’m in Murio. We’ll keep communication open as much as we can.”
The question had grown to eclipse anything else he had wanted to say. “How long do you think it’ll take?”
Agna didn’t look up from her papers. “Six weeks each way, if they have decent watermovers, and the winds don’t fight the ship.” She absently tapped a nail against a blank spot on her list. “I don’t know how long I’ll be in town. Not long, I think. I’d like to catch up with my family and settle this thing with the Despana Agency. That’s all. Everyone else I knew was from the Academy, and most of them are still out on assignment.”
Six weeks out, six weeks back — three months at the minimum. Perhaps four, with time to visit with her family. Almost half a year. Despite the summer-morning warmth and the heat radiating off the stove, Keifon felt cold. “When… when were you planning to leave?”
Her glance up at him almost looked guilty. “After Lundrala. A couple of weeks.”
Keifon swallowed the last of his tea. So there it was. Two more weeks, and she’d be gone through the autumn and much of the winter. He patched over the hollow feeling with the thought that at least she’d miss the Kaveran winter cold she disliked so much.
Her plans were sound. He’d show her that she could depend on him. He’d show both of them that he could handle this. It felt pointless to offer anything more — she had everything figured out. But an offer was all he could give. “Is there anything I can do?”
Her expression softened, warming into the trace of a smile. “Of course. Take care of the fuzzballs. Keep up the mortgage payments — I’ll give you the paperwork about the new payment structure. And I know you’re not my secretary, but it would help to keep my mail sorted, if any comes in while I’m gone.”
“I can do that. And — and I have my savings, to help with the mortgage. It isn’t enough to cover it all, but it’ll help.”
“No, no. None of that.” She stood to stir the pot as it began to bubble. “Keep your savings. I don’t want to slow down your plans. And I’m sorry for springing this on you. It won’t be easy to visit Nachi if you’re holding down the fort for me.”
He shook his head. “I can’t take leave yet, anyway. And the pass will be easier to travel through after they widen it. This won’t affect any of that.”
Agna balanced the wooden spoon on the rim of the pot. “Yeah… I guess so.”
The outlines were clearer now; he had a timeline and a vision of what his life would be like. It wasn’t forever. He’d make her proud when she came home. Keifon let out a breath, feeling some of the tension release. “I’m glad you can sort things out with your father.”
“Well. We’ll see about that. But it’ll be nice to see Lina again. And Letta — our cousin, the artist. It’s been too long.”
He remembered her stories about them, the other two parts of the sisterly triad, with their matching names. “Letta is Marco’s intended, isn’t she?”
She shot him a skeptical look, perhaps at his terminology, but let it pass. “That’s her. And… well, maybe I’ll finally meet him, too. No reason not to.”
The less he speculated about her hometown pen pal, the better. Especially when she looked so grim about it. He hadn’t forgotten their talk about whether her father had ulterior motives in connecting her and Marco by letter. He hoped she might sort that out on her visit, too, and put her misgivings to rest.
That angle seemed a little safer to address. “Has Marco said anything about what your father wants? Does he have any insight on the situation?”
“Not much. He isn’t always in the loop on the Despana Agency’s dealings, since he’s working for the Nocta Agency, under my aunt. But he thinks they’re feeling their age, Naire-ceisi and Papa. It’s making them keen to lock down their chain of inheritance.” Her voice held a trace of bitterness.
“I suppose that’s inevitable, eventually.”
“I suppose,” she echoed. She turned some more pages, evening the corners of the papers. “That’s all I have planned. Think abou
t it, tell me if anything comes to mind. I’ll be thinking about it too, believe me.”
“I will.” He felt brave enough, calm enough, to lay a hand on her arm. “And I want to enjoy the next two weeks, however we can. I’m still glad we have today.”
She squeezed his hand. “Thanks. That sounds nice. I should remember not to run around madly for every minute of the next two weeks. Can you slow me down if I start to do that?”
And now he could smile. “I’ll do my best.”
“Ha. Thanks.” She closed the folder, with its plans and lists. “I have the paperwork in to the Union already, to take some leave.”
Keifon pulled a face, and used his mock jealousy as a cover for taking his hand off her arm. “Lucky. Well — you have rarer skills than any old apprentice.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t undersell yourself. But they are understaffed with healers, that’s true. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Academy sent two more graduates in the spring. Some in, some out. Some of us will stay, at least.”
Keifon collected his cup and saucer, carried them to the sink, and stirred the simmering strawberry jam while he was up. He wouldn’t think about the possibility that her family would talk her into staying in Nessiny, that they’d find some loophole or requirement to keep her there. He was sure no force in the world could stop her once she’d made up her mind, and the gallery was her life’s work. He knew better than anyone how badly she wanted to build this place. He’d do all he could to help make it happen, no matter how small his contribution was. They’d work together on opposite sides of the ocean to bring her dream to life.
* * *
All but two of the jars sealed perfectly, and Keifon and Agna set them out in ranks on the counter to admire them. One by one, the strawberry jam made its way to all corners of the city. Over the week of Lundrala, Keifon distributed them to Dr. Rushu, Father Tufari, and the staff at the bakery and greengrocer’s and butcher’s that sold him food for the camp. He took three jars to Keiva for everyone there, with another bag full of bread.
Several of the younger members of Keiva’s camp, including Bargi, had left for the worker’s camp at the mountain pass. Keifon considered a trip up to the pass with another jar or two, but the rumors in town gave him pause. The Yanweian National Army had sent a unit to provide support for the project, arranging the supply lines from Yanwei and lending their expertise in engineering and logistics. The last thing he needed was to turn a corner and face someone in his old uniform. He couldn’t take it yet, not when Agna’s departure already weighed on his mind.
Agna spent a day dithering about whether to bring gifts to her potential investors, and finally decided to take some to Keth Vogal and Sister Sulli, who seemed as though they’d appreciate them. She gave a few jars to the other Nessinians at the hospital. Keifon stuffed down his itchy unease when she took two jars to the staff at Wei Cabinetry. It was none of his concern if she meant to stop dodging the subject and make friends with the cabinetmaker.
When Keifon came home from his shift the night of Lundrala, Agna insisted on getting out of bed, hurriedly pulling her mussed hair into a ponytail. As she got ready, Keifon changed out of his work clothes and slid the board out from under his bed. The kittens had left it alone, for what good it would do now. Resting the edge of the board on the floor, he reminded himself that she’d still have notes to organize when she returned. This was only a temporary state of affairs.
Agna met him in the living room, he with the board, she with a small crate. She set the crate aside on their reading table as he passed the board to her. She ran her thumb over the fabric tacked across its face, her forehead creased in thought. “It’s… oh, it’s a note board! For my studio!”
“Yeah. I thought it might be useful.” He scratched the back of his neck, but her quizzical expression had turned into a smile.
“Thank you! It’s perfect. I can put up the sample sketches, or my notes about the buyers’ requests…” She bounced on her toes behind the board. “Thank you, Kei. I’ll hang it over my drawing table.”
“Glad you like it.”
“Open yours!”
“All right.” The lid of the crate was loosely nailed on, and popped free easily. The crate was full of jars and bottles — medicines? He lifted out the jar at the nearest corner of the crate: fermented bean paste. He lifted a bottle: fish sauce. The next jar was full of slices of dried ginger. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten dinner yet. This was everything he’d need to outfit a Yanweian kitchen. He hadn’t tasted some of these flavors in years.
“I asked around,” Agna said. “Tai helped me find which stores carried them. Dr. Rushu helped me out a lot, too.”
Keifon closed his hand around a bottle of rice vinegar. “Thank you. Just… thank you. That’s so thoughtful.” He’d keep some of it until she got back, so that he could share the dishes he’d grown up with — or maybe it would be better to comfort himself while she was gone, and find those stores she’d mentioned and restock. He’d show her someday. That was the important thing.
He set the crate aside and stepped to her with open arms. The noticeboard stood between them up to the waist, but he could still hug her well enough. “Thank you,” he said again. “I want to cook for you. I will, when you get back.”
She nodded against his shoulder. “I look forward to it.”
Agna: The Retreat
Each step followed the last. All of the decisions and plans had been made. She walked down the stairs, her back laden with what she could take. She had two stops to make, but she took her baggage because she could not return. Something would break her if she returned and tried to leave again — the smell of the kitchen, lemons and vinegar and spices, or the sound of the kittens’ paws on the floor. She would make excuses, reasons why she could wait a while, reasons why she didn’t have to go just yet.
One step followed the last across town to the bank, where she withdrew what she needed to pay her way, and arranged for her friend to make payments on their home in her stead. Keifon signed the contract and put his copy in his pocket and followed her. He trusted her so much, trusted her to make the right decisions. She wanted him to stop her if she did something wrong, but he never did. If she thought about him too much she would start to make excuses, too. She was glad to have him with her for a while longer. That was all.
At the dispatch office, where the carriage company sent wagons along the roads to Vertal and Laketon, she paid her fare for the next trip south, riding with the mail. Half an hour left.
The next half-hour dragged on for years. Keifon stayed with her. Of course. They sat side by side on a bench and waited. She had too much to say to him, too much that she couldn’t say in public, too much that she wasn’t willing to say. He was sad-eyed and uneasy, touching her arm as if to wake her from a bad dream. It wasn’t a bad dream yet, not quite; it was the sort of dream that could turn in an instant. She didn’t know. That was the worst of it. This might be the right thing to do, or it might not. Nobody would tell her whether she’d made the right decision.
“Write me if you think of anything else,” he said.
The thought of the list they’d left on the kitchen table slowed the spinning in her head. It was easier to focus on things like this. “All right. And my parents’ address is in my stationery box if you want to write, but I don’t know how long I’ll be there.”
“Take your time sorting things out,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
She formed something like a smile. “I know. I’m already homesick, that’s all.”
His eyes dropped away, and he squeezed her hand. Sometime in the last half-hour, she’d taken his hand and gripped it in her lap, while she could. She had so little time left with the man who was still her dearest friend, before she boarded a mail carriage and then a ship, back to her old life. For a while. Not permanently. She had to believe that her life would be here when she was done dealing with the agency.
A porter ope
ned the door to the waiting room and rang a bell. “Boarding!”
Agna stood, feeling sick. Keifon stepped in close to hug her, one arm around her shoulders over the backpack, one under it, around her waist. She held back for a second before his familiar touch broke her resolve. Fighting the noise rising in her throat, she held onto him and shuddered with silent weeping.
“Safe travels,” Keifon said. “Part of me wishes I could meet your family. Give them my well wishes.”
Agna swallowed and nodded, unable to trust her voice.
“If you could find me something to read in Nessinian, I’d love to practice more.” When she did not answer, he fell quiet and stroked her hair. Agna shook, grinding her teeth. The other passengers in the waiting room gathered their luggage and filed out the door. She was the last.
Keifon held on. “I’ll miss you. I love you. Alaste le. En da si. Be safe.” He’d repeated I love you in her language and in his, joining the two, like the life they’d begun to build.
Her breath tore into her lungs, and the tears escaped to soak his shirt. “I love you, too. I’ll miss you. Be happy, Kei. I know you can do this.” She lifted her head and kissed his cheek and pulled away.
There were four seats on the mail carriage for passengers. Three were occupied. Agna dropped into the last seat, hugged the backpack on her lap, and wept. She didn’t care, for a little while, whether she looked childish or unhinged. The carriage’s wheels turned, and she rode along the path she’d chosen.
Part Two ▪
Agna: The Scion’s Return
At dinner, the captain of the Southern Sky announced their imminent arrival. That night, Agna packed up her clothes, sorted out the notes she’d made to herself throughout the trip, and tried to read. Finally she doused her lamp and lay in the dark, watching the open sky through her little window for the last few hours. As her home silently drew closer, she felt an urge to write letters that wouldn’t be sent, to describe how the light looked, or how her nervousness and homesickness for Wildern didn’t negate the fact that she was glad to be back.
The Healers' Home Page 24