“I know,” Madelena said. “And you were not afraid to climb a second time.”
Afterward, Madelena spoke of other things. She concentrated on talk of the baby, news concerning the Évaristes, she even told Nina the cat had a new litter, six tabby kittens. On the way back to Oldhouse the next day, Nina thought again about the outcropping.
The leaves were changing color by the time she ventured to the Devil’s Throne, from green to reds and yellows. She knotted her gray shawl around her shoulders and left early. By then there were fewer comments from her relatives.
The Devil’s Throne was far from Oldhouse, but it was good to be outside again, following the familiar paths. She was surprised to see the world had not changed while she was sequestered inside her home. The trees remained rooted to their spots, the mushrooms were popping up in the patches where they could normally be found, the sheep roamed the fields they always roamed. The world remained and there was something remarkably comforting about this thought, since heartbreak often invoked images of cataclysms that would devour every speck of ground beneath one’s feet.
Montipouret could exist without Hector Auvray, and so could Nina.
When she reached the outcropping, she took off her shoes, as she did when she was a girl, and climbed to the top until she rested her back against the smooth rock and looked up at the sky. She had missed all summer and with it the evening flights of beetles, their metallic green carapaces catching the ebbing light.
The rains came fully to Oldhouse a week later, drenching the land. It was the season of storms, when lightning streaked the sky.
Nina no longer ate her meals in her bedroom, joining her family in the dining room each day instead. The mass of the Beaulieus had returned to their homes with the coming of the rains, and now only the core members of the tribe remained. Nina felt more at ease with fewer people staring at her.
Her great-aunts Lise and Linette wrote to her when fall was ending and frost decorated the ground, the earth grown hard. They invited Nina to visit them in the spring. It would be a welcome distraction for all of them, they said. Nina had not thought about Loisail, she had pushed it from her mind, and she did not reply when her mother read her the letter.
The morning when the first snow of the season fell was the same morning Nina practiced a complex card trick, assembling all the cards into a fan that would then be reassembled in the shape of a sphere. When she was done working with the cards, she went to the window and opened it, breathing in the cold air. Snowflakes began to accumulate on her windowsill.
She realized, as she stood there with her head bowed, looking at the flakes, that she had utterly forgotten to say Hector’s name that day. She had forgotten to say it for several days.
Nina went back to the Devil’s Throne. This time she took her heavy coat, her gloves, scarf, and boots. The rocks were tinted white and the snow crunched beneath her feet as she climbed the outcropping and surveyed the sky. She had an odd sensation, as if she were an insect newly emerged from its silk cocoon that must dry its wings in the morning sun.
With the coming of winter, Oldhouse grew even more quiet and sedate. Nina and her mother went to the Évaristes’ household for a party, and all should have been merriment and excitement, but a few of the younger Évariste boys, who had returned home during their winter break, must have heard the stories going around about Nina because they gaped. She was used to such things: the tale of how she’d shoved Johaness Meinard with her talent had been popular a few years before. Still, it hurt to know she was the object of blatant gossip. Everyone from Vertville to Dijou would likely spare a joke or two about the Witch of Oldhouse this winter.
Nina’s mother, sensing her discomfort, asked again about Loisail. Her great-aunts had written a second letter and said the girl ought to stay with them for a couple of weeks.
“Or perhaps you’d rather stay with Gaetan and Valérie?” her mother asked.
“No,” Nina said quickly. “My aunts have certain natural history materials that Gaetan does not trouble himself with.”
This was an excuse, but it was also true. The old ladies maintained an impressive assortment of books and monographs on birds, which Nina found interesting. It was not her passion, but it would be better to spend her time reading about species of fowl than to have to endure living under the same roof as Valérie.
“What do you think? You could take off for a week.”
“Perhaps I should go for the whole Grand Season,” Nina said.
Her mother seemed surprised at this. “Nina, you do not have to.”
“I want to.”
She had climbed back atop the Devil’s Throne even after she’d broken her arm, and Nina had decided Loisail would be a similar feat. She would not spend her life eternally avoiding the city. She wouldn’t give anyone more reasons to talk about her or look at her sadly.
They had likely expected her to die of heartbreak, to wither and grow gray, but Nina thought she would not give them the satisfaction. Not to the silly folk who made jokes about her, nor to Valérie and Hector.
She still grew sad when she thought about him. But the feeling washed away quickly enough: she willed it to wash away as she willed the cards to turn.
It was more difficult certain mornings when, in the semidarkness of her room, she forgot to raise her defenses and Hector would intrude, unbidden, into her mind. She’d recall the exact way his mouth curved when he smiled, and this memory was utterly painful, drawing forth the wretched longing she’d hidden away. She could not wash this so easily, and the memory remained in the dawn; it stained her heart, like the sap of trees, which clings to clothes, to skin, to everything.
Nina buried her face in her pillow and squeezed her eyes shut.
A sea roared inside her and made demands, but she waded it, she bobbed up, took a breath, and opened her eyes to the cold winter morning. Then she rose because the day was there, the world was there, and she wanted to be part of it.
PART TWO
Chapter 1
THE BEST BOOKSHOPS IN ALL of Loisail were located two blocks from the Square of the Plague. Its formal name was the Plaza Varnier, named after a war hero long dead, but most people remembered it because in the Year of the Plague, many centuries before, this had been one of the spots where pyres were set up to burn the dead. There was a legend that a house across the square, with distinctive yellow tiles decorating its façade, had been spared disease because the owners were pious. Thus, for a time, this had been an informal peregrination spot for the sickly who wished to be cured of impossible maladies.
Nina walked by the bronze statue of General Varnier and peered at his resolute face, arm stretched out toward the heavens, sword in hand. A pigeon sat atop the statue, unaware that it was lounging on the head of a historical figure who had helped topple cities.
“Miss Beaulieu, how do you do?” a male voice asked, and she turned her head.
It was Luc Lémy, dressed in a blue jacket that brought out his eyes. He took off his silk hat and pressed it against his chest. Nina extended her hand in greeting, and he kissed it.
“Mr. Lémy,” she said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise. What are you doing in Loisail? Have you come for a few days of shopping?” he asked.
“I’m staying with my great-aunts this spring.”
“Not with your cousins? I was thinking of paying your cousin Gaetan a visit this week.”
“No,” Nina said simply, and focused her eyes on the pigeons milling about the square, looking for crumbs.
“I understand completely,” he replied, smiling at her, a conspirator. “It is easier to give the elderly relatives the slip and seek excitement, is it not? Drinks and billiard games kept me entertained when I visited with my grandfather two summers ago. Have you been going to a good many parties?”
Nina had to admit her great-aunts were more lax than Valérie and Gaetan ever were. They did not go out often, most of the social functions Nina had been subjected to last sp
ring were out of the question, and though in theory they were supposed to accompany her as she went around the city, her great-aunts both complained of aches and pains and had let Nina do as she willed. There were also no reproaches about Nina’s clothing and shoes, which was how she was walking around Loisail in a simple cotton dress without the ruffles, flounces, and pearls Valérie adored.
“I’m sure I do not seek the same excitement as you do, Mr. Lémy. No, I haven’t gone to parties,” she said, but her voice was pleasant. She did not think she had any business chiding him, and Luc had a sunny disposition—it would have been difficult to chastise him even if one wanted to.
“No parties? During the Grand Season?” he said, frowning, as though this were an alien concept.
“I’ve been in the city only for a couple of weeks.”
“That’s plenty of time to go to parties. Do not tell me you are one of those women who spends her days at sewing circles and organizing charity bazaars? I detest such things, and you are far too young for that nonsense.”
A pigeon approached Nina’s foot, bobbing its head up and down, but a dog, let loose from its leash, began chasing it and sent it flying off. The pigeons atop the statue ignored the ruckus and stayed in their place.
“I sew poorly,” she said, watching as a heavyset matron in a heavy pink hat picked up the dog and shushed it.
“Good!” he exclaimed. “You ought to be dancing.”
Nina couldn’t help but laugh at that. He seemed to take games and balls rather seriously, Mr. Lémy. It was endearing.
“Where are you headed?” he asked.
“To look at books.”
“By the gods, surely not on a pretty day. Are there books around here, anyway?”
“Past the street of the perfume-sellers,” she said, glancing in the appropriate direction. “There are a dozen shops. You haven’t noticed?”
“No. I am headed to the Philosophers Club and I should warn you, despite the name, there are no philosophers there. It’s a drinking den.”
“Where?”
“Up there,” he said, pointing at a faded building, four stories high, its windows impenetrable behind burgundy velvet.
“Why do they call it the Philosophers Club?”
“After a few drinks, all men become philosophers.”
Nina nodded, and though she knew nothing of the Philosophers Club, she imagined it would be populated with men as bright and cheery as Luc Lémy, all in their finest jackets, drinking and smoking and laughing for hours on end.
Luc took out his pocket watch and slid the cover to the side, then looked at her. “I won’t be needed for another half hour. Do you want me to escort you to your bookstore? This is not the best quarter in the city.”
“It’s not the worst either. I’ve been here before.”
“Let me be gallant. It makes me feel better,” he said, offering her his arm. “I’m sure your great-aunts would approve.”
Nina draped her hand over his arm. “If you insist. But there are no drinks inside a bookstore.”
“How dreadful.”
They walked the scant two blocks necessary to reach their destination. The bookstores were all small and crowded. They occupied the first floor of each building, but the second and third floors either served as living quarters for the owners or housed restaurants. One could pick a favorite volume and then have an economical lunch.
Nina went into the Dandelion. It was not the best bookstore on this street, but it catered to geographers, nature aficionados, and those with scientific inclinations. It sold copies of the leading scientific gazettes and popular books, but also more obscure volumes.
The aisles were narrow and the books piled high. The trick at the Dandelion was that you needed to have been there before or you wouldn’t find a thing. Nina stood on her tiptoes and brushed her fingers along the spines.
“What are you looking for?” Luc asked.
“Coronel Oudevai has been publishing drawings of the species he has seen during his travels in the Ammunok peninsula. I’m looking for the third volume. It should be out now. Here it is.”
Nina grabbed the slim volume and opened it, turning the pages. She paused at a fine watercolor that showed an armadillo against a blue sky. It was the representative animal of Iblevad, found throughout most of the southern portion of the continent and therefore not so rare as other species, but she thought it a most delightful creature despite its being common.
“There are armadillos large enough, they might carry you on their back, did you know that?” she told Luc.
“I’m not even sure what I’m looking at, and you are saying it’s as big as a horse?” he replied.
“Not so large, perhaps a pony. And there are big turtles, too. I saw a photograph showing a man riding a turtle. I’m not sure if anyone would attempt to ride an armadillo.”
He peered over her shoulder at the book. The shop was stuffy and a bead of sweat slid down Nina’s throat. It was an uncommonly warm spring, her great-aunts had told her. She’d forgotten her fan at home and made a mental note to ensure she carried it at all times.
As if echoing her, Luc raised a hand and tugged at his collar, loosening his tie. “We’ll be cooked alive if we remain here, Miss Beaulieau,” he whispered. “How about we pay for this?”
Nina could have stomached an hour inside the bookshop no matter if it felt like resting inside an oven, but she decided to be merciful, and they headed to the front, where an attendant wrapped the book in brown paper and tied it with a string. Luc said he’d buy it for her, and even though she protested, he ended up paying for it.
“It’s the least I can do for being a nuisance,” he said, handing her the book.
“You are not a nuisance,” she replied.
“Don’t encourage me. I could believe you.”
When they stepped out, they both turned their heads, hearing the clock of nearby Saint Cecily strike three.
“Your club,” she said. “I’ve kept you for a long time. You’ll be late.”
“Who ever heard of a man being late for drinks? The later is always the better,” he said with a shrug.
“How kind of you to say that. Thank you for keeping me company,” she said, and extended her hand to bid him good-bye.
Luc Lémy, however, did not seem ready to go. He held her hand in the polite city fashion but did not release it, instead moving a step closer to Nina and giving her a mischievous look.
“Did I mention that my eldest brother has acquired a motorcar?”
“No. I think not.”
“He has. I’ve been learning how to drive it. I think I ought to take you for a ride in it. It’s entirely safe, I assure you.”
“Doubtlessly there are motorcar enthusiasts more suited for such pursuits than I,” she said.
“Well, you see,” he said, leaning down to speak in her ear, “I can’t think of a single one I’d rather have with me.”
“Mr. Lémy, I can’t imagine you don’t have a dozen names of a dozen other girls scribbled in your pocket book,” she whispered back, mocking him a smidgen.
Luc laughed and kissed her hand, finally releasing her. He reached into his jacket and produced a mother-of-pearl pocket book, the initials LL engraved on the front.
“Write your address in my awful pocket book, and I shall pick you up Thursday morning for a ride,” he said, also handing her a tiny black pencil.
Nina held the pencil between her fingers but did not scribble anything, aware that it was probably not the best idea to agree to the venture. Valérie would have had a fit and declared it improper on a number of levels, and she would have been correct. However, Nina had a hard time adhering to proper behavior, always keen to make exceptions for herself.
What held her back mostly was that Luc was part of Hector’s social circle. She did not think them the best of companions—she’d had the impression that Luc was included in the trip to Oldhouse because of his brother, and not because Hector was particularly friendly with him—bu
t they knew each other. She was sure they talked and dined on occasion.
But what if they did? She was nothing to Hector, and Hector was nothing to her. True, Hector had said Luc Lémy was a ladies’ man, a scoundrel in fine clothes, but she could have deduced that herself.
She scribbled her address.
“There, Mr. Lémy,” she said, returning the pocket book.
“I’m not ‘Mr. Lémy.’ If I have your address in my pocket book, you are bound to call me Luc now.”
Luc Lémy could probably get a bear to remove its own fur so he could make himself a coat, and she smiled, indulging him.
“Luc, then.”
“Thursday, Miss Beaulieu,” he said, doffing his hat and bowing low. The sun glinted in his hair, making it look golden, and she thought wryly that Luc Lémy was the kind of man who might never have known a sad day in his life.
“Nina,” she said, shaking her head, refusing to allow her thoughts to turn dark. “If you have my address in your pocket book, you are bound to call me Nina.”
“Thursday early in the day, after breakfast, Nina Beaulieu,” he said.
He was walking backward, facing her with his hat between his hands, with the result that he almost collided with a couple of people. That did not stop him, and he kept walking backward until the end of the block, when he promptly turned away from her, placed his hat on his head, and rushed off.
When she cut back through the square, she stopped to glance in the direction of the building where he’d said he’d be, and Nina waved at it even though she was sure he could not see her. She took a carriage nearby and headed back to her great-aunts’ home. The old ladies greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and immediately began to talk about the heat, how there had not been a spring this warm in ten years.
Nina removed her shoes and sat next to them, her book on her lap. She rested her palms on the cover for a minute, smiling to herself, before she opened it and showed it to her great-aunts.
Chapter 2
THERE WAS, ALL AROUND THEM, the murmur of the theater, the groan of pulleys and chains as they walked behind the stage, the rustle of costumes wheeled down corridors, and the talk of stagehands, milling about like bees. It was Friday and Hector had two performances. It was not a day to entertain a friend.
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