“Your mother and I love you, Lovisa,” he said again.
Then he left the room.
* * *
—
Alone, Lovisa lay on her bed, curled into a ball.
The queen was dead. Pari was dead. Katu was “traveling,” and Lovisa found herself unable to prod that thought any further for the moment. Her father was a stranger. Lovisa’s mind was blank, her body empty of instinct or feeling.
After a while, she got up and lit her stove. A soporific tea would make her sleep.
The tea didn’t help much. For a few hours, she passed back and forth from sleep to waking, but was afraid that drinking more of it would make her sick. It was Sunday. Sunday dinner at home was impossible; she couldn’t go home. She doubted her father would come to collect her. Just in case he did, Lovisa got up and went to knock on Mari’s door.
Mari’s room was full of boys lounging on the floor and bed, all of them reading or writing, all snacking idly on cakes from an expensive Flag Hill bakery.
Lovisa needed something physical, something to tire her out and distract her. “Anyone want to go to the ambles?” she said. “I’m bored.”
“I’ll go, when I finish this page,” said Kep Gravla, probably the last person in the room Lovisa would’ve chosen, because he was self-centered and insecure and never shut up. His family’s house was next door to Lovisa’s in Flag Hill and she’d spent her childhood avoiding him.
“Mari?” she said, because the most annoying people were more tolerable if Mari was there too. “You want to join us?”
“Which amble are you going to?”
“Any. I want some hot salted caramel. And maybe there’s some good music,” she added, knowing that Mari had a weakness for both of those things.
He gave her a look, and a smirk, because Mari knew what Lovisa thought of Kep Gravla. “I guess I could take a little break,” he said.
“Good. Anyone else?” said Lovisa, not really waiting for a reply. “I’ll get my coat.”
* * *
—
It was Lovisa’s second trip to an amble that day, but vastly different from her first. Once Mari agreed to go, most of the others did too, so that an uproar of obnoxious boys descended upon the nearest shopping area. The purveyors of certain shops—sweets, games, books—perked up at the sight of them, while other faces closed. Lovisa saw a man who sold fresh flowers drop a pile of roses with a glare in their direction as a woman who’d been dithering over them left, driven off by the raucous laughter of the boys buying hot drinks at the store next door.
“What’s on your mind, Lovisa?” Mari asked her, peeking over a steaming cup of salted caramel. “You’re standing there with your arms crossed like an angry professor.”
“Does Kep know that his crass mouth drove all the shoppers away from the flower shop?”
“Probably,” said Mari. “He’s probably happy about it.”
“Why are you even his friend, Mari?”
“You’re his friend too.”
“But you actually like him.”
“Doesn’t that make it more excusable that I’m his friend?”
“It makes me question your taste in human beings.”
With a quiet lift of his eyebrows, Mari went to the flower shop, still sipping his caramel. He was there for some time, while the boys continue to shout, then shove one another until one of them inevitably dumped his caramel onto another. Lovisa rubbed her aching head, hating this, but knowing that nothing better awaited her anywhere else. She wondered, briefly, what Nev was doing. Probably rescuing a needy animal from some needy animal fate, and feeling good about herself.
When Mari came back, his arms were full of lilies, pansies, and violets. “He grows them in a glass greenhouse he built himself, on the roof of the shop,” he said. “In winter, he pours water onto hot coals to make steam. Isn’t that interesting?”
He handed a bunch of flowers to Lovisa. Then he moved among his friends, passing a small bouquet to each boy in turn. Of course they found this hilarious, stuck them in their buttonholes and wound them into one another’s hair. One of them tucked a pansy behind Mari’s ear and kissed him. Some of the flowers fell, getting trampled and ground into the dirty snow. Lovisa understood that Mari had bought them as an apology to the flower vendor. She could see the flower vendor’s face, though, carefully blank, and she wondered if Mari understood that he might not enjoy watching a herd of rich boys destroying the flowers he’d grown, by turning winter into summer, with great care, in the glass greenhouse he’d built himself.
Without saying goodbye to the boys, she slipped away and went back to the dorm. She put her own flowers into a vase that she set beside a drawing she kept above her desk, one of Viri’s representations of the Keeper. Reaching into a drawer, she found a somewhat linty piece of samklavi candy someone had pressed on her a few days ago, sniffed it cautiously, then tried to eat it, thinking it might connect her to her uncle or at least shock her into a different state of mind. It was so vile that she spit it out, gagging.
Again, she tried to sleep. Again, it didn’t work. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her father and that guard carrying Pari’s body in a blanket. She heard her mother saying, “You created this situation, and every nightmare before it.” Every nightmare before it. How many nightmares were there? “We had a plan!” her mother had screamed.
What was their plan?
That night, in her soft pajamas and fur-collared robe, she snuck down the corridor and tapped on Mari Devret’s door.
He opened it immediately, a pen in hand, yawning and bleary-eyed, but awake. “Come in,” he said, returning to his desk and sitting down, not seeming particularly surprised. “You’ve had something on your mind today. Out with it.”
“I need a favor.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“Sleep with me,” she said.
Now he was surprised, his eyebrows shooting up. “Do you mean, have sex with you?”
“Yes.”
“As a favor?”
“I can’t sleep. I’m stressed out beyond anything. I can’t get my mind to stop spinning—”
“Why do I feel like this isn’t how you seduce other people?” he said indignantly.
“There’s nothing I can do,” she said. “I need a distraction. You don’t have to worry, I won’t confuse what it means. We can do it, maybe we’ll both like it, and maybe my mind will stop, and afterward I’ll sleep. I mean, I’m not assuming you want to. But if it sounds okay, would you please sleep with me?”
“Lovisa,” he said, his face still taut with surprise. “It’s a bad idea. We’ve been friends forever.”
“So? That’s why I came to you.”
“I want to keep being friends forever,” he said. “I don’t want to complicate things.”
“It’s not complicated,” she said. “I know you’re in love with Nev. You know I’m not in love with you. What’s complicated?”
“But I don’t want to change things!”
“If I don’t sleep,” Lovisa said, “I’m going to lose my mind.”
Mari studied Lovisa for a moment, like he was trying to diagnose a complicated case. He’d always played doctor when they were little, loved to treat stomachaches or headaches or remove a splinter from her foot with great ceremony, as if it were a dangerous operation. She’d always liked it too, though she’d never admitted it to him. Mari was gentle, careful. It was nice to feel focused on, cared for.
Then he went to a chest at the foot of his bed and fumbled around inside it for a while. His hands emerged with a large wooden box. Sitting on the rug, he pulled a number of folded wooden boards from the box. Unfolded, they hooked together to make a carved map of city blocks, some containing ambles, some containing school buildings, some with government buildings, some with residences, hospitals, a dock area, and so on.
/>
“Play City with me,” he said. “If you can’t sleep after that, we’ll talk about it.”
“You still have your City board?”
Dropping to the floor beside him, she fingered the pile of small, brightly clothed figurines that represented different kinds of people: shopkeepers, professors, sailors, guards, house staff, scientists, society figures, Parliamentary representatives, and so on. Their bodies were made of wood stained brown like her hands, their faces carefully carved, but their clothing was real fabric, their hair dark patches of felted wool. There was also a pile of carved wooden foxes.
“These are the same pieces we played with when we were six,” she said, fingering the worn silk suit of a society man.
“I’m sentimental, okay?”
“I don’t remember all the rules.”
“You want a straight, uninterrupted line of five of the right kind of person on the right kind of street,” he said. “You try to build your lines and interrupt my lines. Merchants, sailors, society people, and students can be shopping. House staff, foxes, and Parliament reps can go anywhere. Professors, students, and—”
“I remember all that,” said Lovisa.
“If one of us manages a line of five,” said Mari, “that person wins. But if you’re certain you’re losing, then it’s better to let me win, because if no one wins, then we’re not taking care of the earth and the Keeper rises up and crushes us all.”
“I never got that part,” said Lovisa. “If I’m going to lose, why shouldn’t you be crushed?”
“Cavenda family motto?” said Mari.
Lovisa tried hard for an amused expression. She didn’t think she succeeded, and she was pretty sure Mari noticed. But he said nothing, just divided the figurines between them. The foxes were plain wooden carvings with no fur or clothing, but tiny yellow gemstones made their eyes. One had a downturned nose and a quizzical expression and was stained darker than the others. Lovisa had always liked that one best in Mari’s set. She also favored one of the sailors who wore a bright pink shirt with a red scarf and one of the wealthy ladies who had a perfect tiny amethyst at her throat. But she wasn’t going to ask Mari for them. She wasn’t six anymore.
He remembered and gave them to her anyway.
“You want to start?” he asked.
“This is a weird alternative to sex.”
“Let’s just play, okay? And tell me why you’re so stressed out. Is it about Pari? I heard a rumor.”
Lovisa took a breath. “What rumor?”
“That he’s left for the Royal Continent,” said Mari. “He was failing a couple of his classes and decided he’d rather leave than fail out. A spontaneous adventure.”
“Without saying goodbye to anyone?” Lovisa said, because it seemed like what she would say, were this news to her.
“Yeah. Did he mention any of this last night?”
Lovisa focused on placing her pieces on the board. “There wasn’t a lot of talking.”
“Ew,” said Mari. “And again, you came here to seduce me? Your technique needs work.”
“I wouldn’t try to seduce you, Mari,” she said sharply. “If we have sex, it won’t be because I lie.”
“Seduction doesn’t necessitate lying, you know.”
“Whatever. Do you really like Pari?”
“He’s had a hard go of it. You know that. His mother is dead, his father is always abroad, and when he’s not abroad he isn’t a nice person.”
“Pari is a spoiled, rich, arrogant Ledra boy,” Lovisa said.
“So am I,” said Mari, with a small smile.
“But he’s mean.”
“Maybe I would be mean, if I had an unkind father.”
A tear was suddenly rolling down Lovisa’s face, fueled by exhaustion, confusion, and now, resentment at the ease with which Mari always inhabited kindness. His parents were kind. His life had been kind to him. He was handsome, and smart, and big, and popular, and everyone trusted and liked him. He had no ambition beyond what was expected of him, and what was expected of him was that he do what he liked. It cost him nothing to think kindly of mean people; it was instinctive for him. And his kindness made Lovisa feel like the lowest possible type of person, the kind of person who came from parents like hers. And now it was her fault that people were dead.
“Lovisa?” said Mari. “What did I say?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re crying. You never cry.”
“I’m not crying,” she lied. “I’m just tired. Leave me alone, Mari.”
“You never told me why you’re so anxious.”
How good it would feel to tell him everything, make him share her problems. But she couldn’t. There were no solutions, and even hints would endanger him. Pari was dead.
“Tell me what’s going on,” he said.
“Shut up, Mari,” she snapped. “Just back off.” The tears were making her furious, but they were also making her sleepy. She could feel herself sagging.
“Why don’t you get into my bed?” he said. “See if you can sleep. And I’m not having sex with you, if you think that’s what I mean.”
Lovisa was far too tired to have sex with anyone now, especially someone she resented for his perfect life and his perfect behavior, his perfect heart. Clutching her favorite fox and her amethyst lady in one hand, she climbed into Mari’s bed. Her other hand felt for the new attic-room key she’d had made in the nearest amble early that morning, guessing that her parents would confiscate hers. She’d decided to keep it on a string inside her clothing always, hanging low between her breasts, where she could control who found it. Of course, it was basically useless now, and sweaty against her skin. This one had a fake purple gemstone, even sharper and scratchier than the last stupid key.
A thought touched her. If the queen was dead, why had her father wanted the key back so urgently?
“Do you need anything?” said Mari. “A drink? Do you have enough blankets?”
“Stop fussing!”
She heard him snort. Then she heard him stand and start to walk away.
“Mari?” she said, frightened.
His voice came from the other side of the room. “Hm?”
“You’re not leaving, are you?”
“I’m just getting you another blanket,” he said, returning to her, unceremoniously dumping something warm and soft onto her back. “I’ll be right here. Go to sleep.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Lovisa woke the next morning needing proof that the queen was dead.
She bumbled through her classes, carefully avoiding her mother in the halls, trying to decide what to do. She couldn’t search the house during the day because her father’s schedule was unpredictable. A nighttime search was out of the question, because of her mother’s fox.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday night that week, she ran home after dark, snuck onto the property, and watched the attic window for signs of life. More guards were on duty than usual outside the house. If the queen was dead, why would the house need more guards? But though she hid behind a tree, shivered in her fur coats, and never shifted her gaze from the window, nothing ever happened. No movement, no light. This didn’t prove anything, of course. The window was too high to access from inside, and the queen, if she lived, certainly had no lamp or candles.
Could she get to that window? It was possible to climb partly up the outer face of the house, in theory. She and Mari had mapped it as children, identifying a stone’s sharp edge where a toe could balance, a crack where some fingers could brace. Protrusions of windowsills, areas of slanting roof, et cetera. They’d never tried it, of course, just as they’d never tried the tree-to-trellis route. The climbing route stopped a floor below the window, where the face of the house became perfectly smooth.
What if there was a way to climb partly up, then do something with a rope?
&nb
sp; It was when Lovisa found herself thinking along these lines that she would scramble over the wall again and push back to the dorm, fighting with herself, sometimes almost crying in frustration, over her wish to stop caring about whether the queen was alive or not. What did it matter? If she was alive, what could Lovisa do?
Every night, she tried to sleep in her own room; then gave up and tapped on Mari’s door. They played City, or did homework together. Then she slept in his bed, a beautiful, deep night’s sleep that her body only ever surrendered to if she was in this room, with Mari near. She woke in the morning when pink light touched her face, then opened her eyes to the sight of Mari on the rug, wrapped in blankets threaded with gold, his brown face slack and peaceful, snoring gently. In the morning light, his freckles were more noticeable.
“Okay,” she’d say, dropping her feet to the floor. “You can have your bed back. See you later.”
With a sigh and grumble, Mari would awaken. “When I’ll destroy you at City?” he’d say, smiling, his eyes still closed.
“Whatever,” she’d say, seeing the little boy with big ears and bone-thin face in that smile, the boy who’d been like a brother to her once, or like a brother was supposed to be, if brothers were allowed to be happy. Sometimes she knelt and kissed his cheek as she left the room, surprised by her rush of fondness, which felt an awful lot like sadness.
She could sleep in his room because Mari was safe. He wasn’t going to turn into a different person with no warning. Sometimes she woke in the confusion of a fading nightmare. The sight of him at his desk lit by a single lamp, the sound of his pen scratching, calmed her panic. Listening to him working, she fell asleep again.
They talked about sex sometimes, but only as a concept. They’d decided together that it wasn’t something they would do, at least not until they’d talked about it more.
“Do you remember that time at that party, when we were little?” he asked her once, grinning. “Listening to the women?”
Yes, she remembered. It had been one of the Varana parties, this one at Minta Varana’s house, maybe Ta’s sixth or seventh birthday. Mari, seeking Lovisa out, had found her in a dark library far away from the other children, where she’d been snooping on the mothers in the next room. They’d been talking about the sex they had with their husbands and wives, “and also not with their husbands and wives,” she’d whispered to Mari in a fascinated voice. “Put your ear to this wall.”
Winterkeep Page 24