The ship pulled into Murio’s harbor as her window showed the tips of the distant mountains, frosted pink by the dawn light. At the sound of the sailors’ shouts, Agna slipped out of bed, dressed, and having left her coat in Wildern, grabbed the wool blanket from the bed to ward off the morning chill. With the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, Agna climbed up to the deck, leaned on the railing, and watched the light outline the vine-draped roof edges of the buildings on shore. She hadn’t been seasick when she’d gone to Kavera, and she wasn’t seasick now, but her stomach quavered all the same.
The ships’ masts and the bland faces of shipping warehouses made her fight back a lump in her throat. The air smelled like dead fish and seaweed, which also didn’t matter. She knew those mountains in the distance. One of the shadowed foothills was crowned by the Academy, behind its earthbreaker-sculpted iron gates. In the rolling hills between the Academy and the river was her own neighborhood, her own street, her own house, her book collection and her old bed and the walls that had held the first phase of her childhood. Her parents would still be asleep; she expected them to send Raffaele with the carriage, and maybe Tane, if their housekeeper had the time between baking bread and getting breakfast ready. Agna could go home and sleep late and enjoy a late brunch with her mother in Lina’s herb garden. They might have turned it over into a kitchen garden again, or into a series of flowerbeds, but the iron table and chairs would always sit right in the spot that caught the shade of the east wing in the morning.
She knew from her arrival in Vertal so long ago that the disembarking process would take some time. Back then she’d stomped and fumed, so this time she heeded her head’s achy insistence upon sleep and returned to her cabin. Fully dressed, Agna pulled the blanket over her head and dozed until they came to get her.
At the knock on her cabin door, she shook off the blanket, rubbed her eyes and buckled on her backpack. Out on the deck, the sunlight pierced her eyes. The ship had dropped anchor in the bay, and the sailors lowered the first boat full of passengers over the side. Agna joined the queue, yawning. Her room at home had thick green drapes; it would be lovely to shut out the sun for a few hours. After that, she’d enjoy Nessiny’s warmth. Sleep first.
She boarded the third rowboat, next to some Nessinian traders escorting their cargoes of rice and iron. Their shop talk interested her not at all, but she half-listened, letting her brain adjust to hearing Nessinian spoken as a matter of course. Even among the other healers in the hospital it had felt like a curiosity, like a secret code they’d developed.
The water gently rocked the boat as the sailors rowed it toward the docks. Agna soaked in the morning sun, ignoring the reeking water. A walk on the riverfront might be nice, later tonight — one of the more genteel sections on the west side, of course. Wildern ignored its canal as potential parkland; they had put up rails, but there were few businesses or houses close to the canal, and so few residents lingered there.
Of course, if Wildern developed the canal’s edges into waterfront parkland, it might drive out the encampment where Keiva and Bargi and the rest stayed. Agna balanced her body’s weight against her pack’s on the boat’s bench seat. She hoped that Bargi had gone to get a job with the pass construction after all. A project like that could provide a steady job for the next several months.
Agna shut down her thoughts of the pass construction before they could go any further. She’d find out when she got back how everything had gone for Keifon’s friends. There was nothing she could do about it in the meantime.
When the boat reached the dock, she let the passengers with weaker sea legs climb up first. Her fatigue caught up with her as she hauled her backpack up the ladder, trying not to overbalance. Her return home wasn’t exactly triumphant, but she would rather not begin by having to be fished out of the bay.
She walked off the dock to stand on Nessinian soil at last, unable to keep herself from grinning. The passengers careened in all directions, heading for their homes and hotels, and a few hugged their loved ones in happy clusters. A row of carriages and wagons lined the street. Agna scanned along them, hoping for a familiar carriage or driver, and finally spotted Raffaele by her parents’ carriage. His beard was fully white now, but he stood straight in his uniform. She waved, and he touched his hat in response.
“You’re looking healthy, young miss. Let me get that for you.” He indicated her backpack with a gloved hand.
“Oh, thank you.” Agna shed her backpack, more for the sake of her shoulders than anything else. “You’re looking well yourself, Raffaele. It’s good to see you.”
“This is all, young miss?”
“Oh — yes. I’ve learned how to pack light, I suppose.” Besides, she didn’t intend to stay here for two years. She’d packed a week’s worth of clothes and just one book.
The Despanas’ driver loaded her backpack into the cargo space under the carriage and opened the door for Agna. There had been a time when she’d been embarrassed that they only had one driver and no footmen, so that Raffaele had to open doors and load luggage himself. Now she was nearly embarrassed that she didn’t know how to drive a carriage herself. That was silly, though. Even in Wildern, she’d have no cause to ride around all day. And where would she keep a team of horses? In the courtyard? Renting space in a stable would only waste money. She’d let Raffaele drive, and be thankful for the favor.
Agna sank into the familiar cushions as Raffaele secured the door and climbed up to the driver’s seat. Shucking off her shoes — it was a luxury to have the carriage to herself, after all — she tucked her feet up on the seat and watched another boatload of passengers unload onto the docks. The carriage began to roll.
The waterfront was ragged at this hour of the morning; discarded paper cups crowded the gutters, and the shops and theaters were closed. Agna looked for signs in the windows as they passed out of the waterfront and into the more respectable shopping district beyond it. Maybe she could attend a play or two while she was in town. She saw a few names she recognized — one theater was doing The Princess’s Choice, always a classic.
Many of the fliers advertised debates, not plays. That might be even more interesting, depending on what they were debating. The little news she’d been able to get from Lina and Marco’s letters had suggested that the political situation was tenuous — and not just in the way that foreigners liked to joke about. King Ruga was over eighty now, ensconced in the middle of his army in Reguli, and he had yet to declare an heir. The Families would be beside themselves, jockeying for position and waiting for him to either turn over his power or die.
She shifted her attention from the window signs to the fliers wheat-pasted to the lampposts. Their lettering was enormous and easy to read from the street. Stability for Our Country, Safety for You! read one, wreathed with a printed garland. One said The People Shall Rule the People, clearly originating with the fringe that promoted Kaveran-style democracy. One poster read simply Remember.
Agna amended her mental checklist: sleep, brunch, then buy some newspapers. Catch up with Lina. Then meet with her father. Better yet, she would keep that for her second day, if not later.
The carriage missed its turn north, rolling west through the shopping district and toward downtown. Agna started and watched the stores rolling past. The traffic seemed light this morning; why was he going the long way? She uncurled from her comfortable perch on the seat, sliding her feet back into her shoes. The carriage seemed to be heading toward the great bridge and the city center. As they drifted further off course, Agna’s worry got the better of her. Kneeling on the forward bench, she slid open the window to the driver’s seat. “Raffaele? Where are we going?”
“To your parents’ apartment, young miss.”
Agna ducked to look out of the carriage window, frowning, as she gauged their direction. “The one by Papa’s office?”
“The same.”
“Why is that?”
“That’s where your parents have asked me to bring you,” he
replied.
She knew the sound of a person staying out of someone else’s argument. No use taking it up with Raffaele; he was only following her parents’ directions. “…Huh. Well… thank you.” She slid the window shut and returned to her seat. Her parents owned a few properties around town, and she remembered running through the apartment downtown as a child, when it was between tenants. Her father had lived there as a young man, working late at the agency and walking home in the middle of the night, but no one in her family had stayed there since her parents were married. It had always been rented out to younger agents in the Despana Agency or to well-vetted strangers.
If he’d chosen to take their meeting there, fine; it was a more comfortable spot than the office. She might be able to get some breakfast there before she went home, or even catch a nap, if it wouldn’t scandalize her father too much to have his eldest child sleeping on a couch like a vagrant.
She wondered what Keifon would think about a comment like that. Or what he’d make of the city, its climate, and the private carriage. Meeting her parents would kill him with self-consciousness; he’d be soft-spoken and polite and agonize later about his unfitness.
Even thinking about his aggravating qualities made her chest hurt. No doubt it was for the best to spend some time apart. The passage to Nessiny had taken six weeks, so even if she cut her visit short, it would be their longest separation since they’d met.
It had been strange to be alone for weeks on end. At first the solitude had been calming; she’d slept late and watched the sea through her porthole. After a week or two, she found herself wanting someone to talk to as she walked along the deck.
As Raffaele patiently threaded the carriage through the traffic toward her parents’ rental property, Agna found herself thinking about what she’d tell Keifon. If he were here, she’d fantasize out loud about a proper Nessinian breakfast, or admire the colors of the early-morning messengers’ livery against the stone walls and greenery. She’d point him toward the opera houses and the concert halls, so he could soak up some Nessinian music. Just having someone to talk to, someone to hear her worry, would be enough. Even though she would meet with her parents and find time to catch up with her sister, everyone she’d known from the Academy was gone, and she would travel back to Wildern alone. She could stockpile stories for him, but he could not experience it with her.
Setting aside the tickle of loneliness, Agna tried to gather her wits. It was inconsiderate of her parents to drive her right to the meeting, before she could rest and freshen up at home. Perhaps her father had made the decision unilaterally, intending to get right down to business, not conferring with her mother or with common sense. She wished she had gotten more sleep on the ship, and looked forward to getting back to her own room after the meeting. A good night’s sleep would soothe her irritations.
Raffaele pulled the carriage into the drive, next to the tenants’ unhitched carriages. Her parents’ property was on the top floor, with four other apartments on the other two floors. At least she or Raffaele wouldn’t have to haul her backpack up those stairs; she’d leave it till they were ready to go home. She’d make this as short a visit as she could, and talk her father into meeting tomorrow.
When Raffaele swung the door open, she jumped out onto the cobblestones and took a long breath. The city air smelled mostly like wet stone underlaid with notes of sewer gas and horse dung, but it was sweeter than the waterfront, scented by the flowers spilling from every windowbox. It was one step closer to home.
She turned to find their driver unloading her backpack. “No need for that yet, Raffaele. Thank you. I’d like to go on home as soon as I can.”
He warily shut the cargo doors, leaving her backpack on the driveway. “As you say, miss. I’d suggest speaking with your father first.”
“I will. I’ll see you soon.”
“Good morning to you.”
Agna headed up the stone staircase that zigzagged up the side of the building. It was open to the air, punctuated with windowboxes and neatly pruned trees in pots. One of the tenants nodded to her as he watered his balcony garden, and she nodded back. Her spirits were rising, despite the inconvenience. The air was mild, even this early on an autumn morning. It was a relief to encounter air that wasn’t trying to stifle her or freeze her.
The third-floor landing opened up into a small rooftop garden, with fig trees and herbs in pots bracketing the doorway. Agna pulled the bell cord and dipped her hands in the fount by the door. If she had been at home she would have burst through the door, but the unfamiliarity of this place reminded her of proper decorum. She smelled like a clump of seaweed, though, which was not so amenable to polite society. Whose fault was that, anyway, scheduling the meeting the instant she made landfall?
Agna’s mother answered the door, dressed in a silk dressing gown, her hair pinned up in a chignon. Gray had begun to thread through the black at the temples. “Oh, Agna, dear! So good to have you back.”
“Mama! What are you doing here?”
“We’ve been staying here, darling. Come in, Cook will have breakfast in a moment.”
Agna let herself be whisked across the threshold and enveloped in her mother’s perfumed embrace. Cook? Did they get a cook in addition to Tane? Why had Mama answered the door, instead of the housekeeper? Feeling as though she might still be on the ship and dreaming, Agna followed her mother out of the foyer and into the open, tile-floored central room. Two of the walls were glass, looking out over the city on one side and the rooftop garden on the other side. Morning sunlight flooded the room, broken up by the fringed shadows of houseplants and the curving bones of wooden chairs. One of her mother’s easels was set up near the garden-view wall, with a side table full of paints next to it.
Something else was wrong, more subtle than her mother setting up shop in her father’s bachelor apartment. Tane’s dog, Pumpkin, usually ran up to meet her, even if it wasn’t strictly allowed. Agna calculated. Pumpkin had been seven when she left; Daisy, the comforting mountain of fur she remembered from her childhood, was long gone. Nine or ten was a reasonable lifespan for a dog.
“Is… Tane here? I expected to see Pumpkin running up.”
“Oh, Tane retired, dear. She’s living in Shortrun with her family now. Would you like something to drink?”
“Uh, yes, water, please.” Agna tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear and left her hand at the back of her neck, biting her lip as her mother called for the cook who was not Tane. Of course, it was only fair that Tane should retire when she and Agna’s parents felt it was time. Their housekeeper had always seemed ageless, but no one really was.
She hoped it wasn’t presumptuous to feel cheated. She was happy for Tane, but missed her, too. She hadn’t gotten to say goodbye. She hoped Lina had been able to, at least. Nothing had come up about it in Lina’s most recent letter. But then… she’d been at sea for weeks. “Mama, when did this happen? Why haven’t I heard about any of it?”
“This? Oh, the apartment?” Her mother’s hand flicked toward the ceiling, and returned to steady the tray. She set it down on a side table that Agna recognized from the sitting room at home. Slices of lemon and sprigs of rosemary floated in a pitcher of clear water, and two tumblers stood ready. Agna’s mother turned them over and poured.
Agna warily took one of the seats. Her headache had begun to call in reinforcements.
“Just a month ago. I suppose you were at sea. Of course, by the time we would have written, the letter would have crossed you in the post.” Her laugh was musical but brittle, underlaid by something unspoken.
Taking a long drink of the cool water, Agna considered the facts at hand to keep her irritation in check. Her parents had abruptly decamped for her father’s old apartment, let Tane retire, and hired a new cook. They had brought at least some of the furniture from home with them. Her father had been stomping around like a mad bull for the last six months to get the matter of the company succession settled.
The water settled
uneasily in her stomach. “Mama, is everything all right? With you and Papa? I mean, your health and… everything.” She could hardly put any of the other calamities into words — divorce, bankruptcy, some elaborate health condition that even the best healers in Blackhall couldn’t cure.
Her mother’s lips pursed. “We’re fine, sweetheart. We’re only restructuring for the next phase of our lives.”
Why don’t you tell me anything? she wanted to yell, but that came from her headache and her fatigue and her long journey, and from living for so long without parental oversight. If she did protest, it would meet only an impatient sigh and a Really, Agna.
She took another sip and steadied her hands on the tabletop. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m exhausted from the trip, though.” From her seat she could see into one of the other rooms, where her parents’ canopied bed — the same bed from the master bedroom at home — stood in shadow. Even to her tired brain, the details added up. “I suppose going home is out of the question.”
Her mother laid a hand over hers. “We’ve rented out the house,” she said softly. “The two of us, knocking around that place alone? We decided to retire here. It’s easier for your father to get to his office, and the light is perfect for me.”
The light was perfect in her mother’s studio, too. Agna could have cried, remembering the smell of paint and solvents and the neat stacks of canvases. It was such a stupid thing to miss. She couldn’t curl up in the warm window seat in Tane’s kitchen, either, or have brunch in Lina’s garden. Her old room was gone, too, as thoroughly erased from her life as her old dormitory rooms. Her life belonged to someone else now.
She wrestled down the impulse to cry and squeezed her mother’s hand. “I’m glad it worked out for you.”
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