I sigh. “I don’t know. What is man that God is mindful of him, and what is God that man can even begin to comprehend His ways?”
“We can see some of this,” Caryo says. “Queen Ysaya saw it, when she was alive. She was a cousin of mine, you know, the same as Ebony is. She told me once that freedom was found only in the missionaries’ god, because his love was able to set us free.”
“I can’t imagine how Ebony would feel, knowing this,” I say. I feel like a failure.
“God is also the only one who is able to keep us free,” Caryo says quietly. “He offers us freedom, and we must choose it—we must fight for it, and then we must fight to maintain it—by choosing Him.”
I put my hand on Caryo’s arm, careful not to bruise it further. “I will pray He will give us the wisdom to know what to do in this case,” I say. “While I know Dr. Merlacur and the rest of the Refugee Return Movement is suspect, I still don’t know why they would attack their own ship.”
“Perhaps we will find out before dinner tonight,” Caryo says with a mischievous grin. “I can get the men here drunk on Maruli wine. The fruit harvest has been very good in recent years.”
I smile at Caryo. “Let’s not be too hasty. I have a few other ideas I’d like to implement, and then we can worry about the ambassadors.”
“You are our leader, Prince Rion.” Caryo stands up. “We can make any arrangements you’d like.”
“It seems simple enough, to have the Mopana give us our people back.” I run through the small ideas I’d had while the representatives were yelling at each other and expecting me to be impressed by it. “In exchange, we can decrease our trade tariffs so they will be able to build better canals for their droughts.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“Yes. That will give them incentive for us to work together.” I grimace at the thought. “In the meantime, send a small pack of guards into Mopana and Baobabi regions and have them collect information on their war prospects and advantages.”
“What are your orders if they are attacked?” Caryo asks.
“I’m hoping they can be discreet enough that it won’t be an issue. But if they are, they’ll have to get away fast.”
“Understood.”
“Our people should have quick access to medical supplies. I doubt the Mopana or the Baobabi would attack us, especially after they agreed to meet here with us. But our soldiers should be able to help treat any wounds quickly,” I say. “Keep our supplies in smaller stocks, tucked away, so none of them become a potential target.”
“You seem to have it all planned out,” Caryo says.
“There’s one last thing I think we need to do,” I say. “I’ll need to talk to Dr. Merlacur himself. I have a feeling he’s not alone in his dark ambitions.”
Caryo and I exchange a knowing glance. We don’t want to talk about my mother’s possible interference. She had made Ebony into a servant when I was gone before; now that Ebony and I were engaged against her desire, I hated to think what she was doing now.
I have to get home, and quickly.
“We need to get this settled, Caryo.” I shake my head. “This is bigger than the matter of one ship and possible war.”
“I’ll have the guards keep a lookout for Dr. Merlacur,” Caryo says. “As for our quarrelsome guests, I assume you are happy with how I have been keeping them fat and happy while they are here?”
“Fat and happy and entertained,” I agree with a nod. “Sounds good to me. That might help their people, too.”
“Politicians have such a hard lot in life.” Caryo laughs, but I fall silent. He is correct, but what he says is also true about royalty and leadership. There is always a price to pay for your leaders, whether they bear it themselves, or their people are the ones who must carry the burdens.
I pull out the largely blank sheet of paper I’d been making blots on, thinking of Ebony again.
“Ebony would be pleased with how things are progressing,” Caryo says. His voice is softer and more understanding now, and I have a feeling he knows I am missing her.
“I hope so.” The thought of Ebony fills me with hope and courage like nothing else. I pray things will soon turn peaceful, so I can go back home to her again.
*21*
Ebony
RUSTON AND HIS FAMILY live outside of the busy docks, a good hour’s walk from the main port. I have a feeling he usually likes to see if he can ride with one of the other farmers or travelers passing by us on the dirt street, but he is reluctant to draw attention to us.
In Pommier, it is not proper for a woman like me to travel with a man, not without another’s company. Even now, he’s easily walking five or six steps in front of me, and it would be hard for the average passerby to deduce we are on the same trail together. No one has said anything to us yet, but I have gotten a few strange looks; Ruston has managed to scare those off with his own impressive glower.
Despite his obvious grumpy disposition, I am grateful for Ruston’s kindness.
For now, I have a place that will shelter me, and I have a job to work until Rion’s return. I don’t know yet if I will get a chance to send him a letter; I wasn’t able to do anything after Ruston agreed to take me on as his assistant the other day, and I am too worried the Queen might find a way to intercept my letter; there is no telling what she is capable of now.
It is almost nightfall when Ruston finally slows down and I catch up to him.
“There’s where I live, with my mother and the rest of our family,” he says, pointing to a small cottage just up around the next bend.
From where I stand, in the dying light of day, it does look like a very small house.
“I might be a doctor, but we’re not rich,” Ruston says. “My parents were not welcome in Pommierian society when they first married, and some of my siblings are more accepted than others.”
“Why?” I ask.
“You’ll see.” Ruston scoffs at me. “In the meantime, I’ve brought you here to help with my mother. She’s sick.”
From the way he says it, I know that isn’t the whole truth. It was more likely the woman was dying.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. If he had been Rion or Damaris, or any one of my other friends, I might have reached over and hugged him. But Ruston does not seem to be the kind of man who would appreciate such a gesture, even if we were friends.
As we approach the cottage, the front door opens up and a woman, clearly one of Ruston’s siblings, appears.
“Russ, what’s taking you so long?”
“That’s Verna,” Ruston mutters to me. “She dreams of being a writer, and she can’t be bothered to do any housework.”
“Ha!” Verna is a tall woman, even taller than me and Ruston, and, as she approaches us, I can see she is wearing a pair of breeches. Her hair, cut as short as it is, makes her look more like a man, but there is no mistaking the femininity of her voice and the delicate build of her hands and face.
“I’ve been at work all day,” Ruston says. “You could at least attempt to clean.”
“Says the man who gets to leave the house and never has to deal with the people inside it more than a few hours at a time,” Verna shoots back. “Do you know how hard it is to keep something clean that runs over with the Bonpette blood?”
“Probably not as hard as giving medicine to a mad hatter like yourself,” Ruston argues back. He looks at her with a hard expression in his gaze, but there is no sign of animosity.
“I’m sure I’ll learn to love her,” I say.
Ruston snorts. “More likely you’ll learn to hate her.”
Verna gives him a quick, sisterly peck on the cheek, and then extends her hand to me. “Verna,” she says, introducing herself to me. “Nice to meet you, but just fair warning: If you’re staying for dinner, it’ll be a while, since I have to go cut down more wood for the fireplace.”
“Again?” Ruston asks with a sigh. “Where’s Dommier?”
“Dom’s reading with Mama. He says h
e’s sick, and he’s been sneezing all day, so he just might be. Nothing you can’t fix though, I’m sure,” Verna says. “If you think he’s more apt to swing an ax than I am, you’re the one who’s mad, Brother Russ.”
“Vagarey?”
“She’s working on her knitting. We’ll need some more layers come winter, so leave her be.”
“Birdon?”
“He’s out hunting and fishing again. You know how he loses track of the time.”
“He’d lose track of his head if he didn’t have it attached to his body.”
I giggle. Their family reminds me of Damaris and her loud crowd of siblings, and it’s nice to find some semblance of comfort.
“So, are you going to tell me who you are?” Verna asks, as she turns to me.
“I’m Ebony,” I say. “Ruston is taking me on as his assistant for your mother.”
Verna’s eyes go wide and then she looks at Ruston.
“I’ll explain later,” he says. “Any chance someone managed to get dinner on the table?”
Verna shakes her head. “Mama wanted to cook, but I said no. So no one else did it.”
“I can cook some,” I offer. “If no one else is up for it.”
Ruston shrugs. “Fine with me. I’ll be in the den, Verna. Make Ebony comfortable in the back room, would you?”
Verna takes me by the hand. “Come on then.”
Ruston slides into a different part of the house, and Verna takes over. In some ways, she reminds me of Damaris, talking in a bubbly sort of way, as she leads me around the house.
After growing up in a palace, this place is small; the house itself might even fit entirely in the Queen’s kitchens. As I walk through, I see plenty of messes, with papers and books scattered around, dirty dishes and strange pieces of laundry draped over chairs and hanging off doorknobs.
Verna knocks on a small door. “Vagarey?” she calls.
Another girl stands up from behind a tower of yarn. “Here,” she says, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. I notice she has blue eyes, even though her skin is darker than mine. “Oh, I see we have company. Sorry for the mess.”
“How do you do?” I ask, stepping forward. “I’m Ebony.”
“Oh, that’s sweet,” Vagarey says. “Just like the Princess who died.”
Verna rolls her eyes, but I feel sick in my gut, as if Vagarey had hit me.
“I’m going to see Mama,” Verna says. “Ebony’s our new nurse for her.”
Vagarey lets out a loud laugh. She ends up shaking so hard her glasses fall off, and her hair, tightly balled up in the back of her head, starts to spring loose.
“Sorry,” Verna says, as she leads me to another room.
A second before we enter, a younger boy comes bursting out of the door, sneezing, and then he looks at me.
“Who’re you?” he asks between sniffles.
The boy is strange; his skin is light, like Rion’s, even though his hair is curly like mine.
“Hello.” This time I am much more unsure of what to say; he doesn’t seem interested in meeting me, or even being polite about it, as the others were.
“Hello and goodbye,” Verna says, as she pushes the boy away. “You really shouldn’t be in Mama’s room if you’re sick, Dommier.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He sticks his tongue out at her, and sneezes again. “You think Mama would turn me out? You know I’m her favorite!”
Verna yells at him, while I smile at their small spat.
When Verna is finished yelling, she turns to look at me apologetically. “Sorry about that,” she says. “He really should’ve been named ‘Dummier,’ if you ask me.”
“No one asked you!” Another round of spit and sneezes comes brushing by, and Verna jumps back in disgust.
I stand there, trying not to laugh, when a new voice calls out from the room Dommier had just left.
“Verna, what are you doing to your poor brother now?”
“Nothing he doesn’t deserve, Mama,” Verna replies, as she leads me inside. “And speaking of things that we don’t deserve, Ruston’s brought us a surprise.”
I walk into the room and I’m very aware of the delicate candles that are burning; there is a heavy feeling of sickness that clouds the room, and I have to breathe through my mouth to make sure I don’t gag.
A woman is lying on a bed, much as Drusilla had been positioned earlier. I see she is a Pommierian woman, with reddish blonde hair that is slowly changing to gray. I can see the blue of her eyes, and the weak, dimming light inside of them, and I almost run over to her and take her hand.
I’d been right before; she was not merely sick; she was dying.
“Ebony,” Verna says, “this is my mother, Prudence Bonpette.”
Verna introduces me to her mother, and then a moment passes before she sits up, pressing against her pillows to see me.
“I really wish my children would give me some notice when they’re going to be bringing guests into our house,” Prudence says, doing her best to make me laugh.
I oblige her with a smile. “I’m afraid I’ve always been quite the impolite child myself. I’ve gone wandering into places I know I shouldn’t go.”
“Well, no wonder Russ brought you home then,” she says. “So I take it you’re going to be my new nurse?”
“Yes. That’s what Ruston and I agreed on,” I say. “He’s home now, if you’d like to talk to him about it.”
“What would be the point of that? My son does what he wants, too, Miss Ebony.”
“Please. Just Ebony is fine.” Hearing her call me “Miss Ebony” reminds me too much of Vi. I glance around her room, suddenly grateful to find there is no mirror around.
“You must call me Prudence, then.” She grins. “It will help you remember to keep yourself moving as you work through this house. There are a lot of people underfoot or underway, and it’s best to anticipate trouble so you can work around it.”
“Your philosophy seems prudent,” I agree, and Verna smiles at me when her mother laughs.
She starts coughing less than a second later; her cough is loud, a hacking sound that rumbles deep within her chest. For a moment, I forget I am supposed to be the nursing assistant, and I just look around in terror as Verna grabs her mother’s hand and holds her through the spell.
“We’ll get you some tea,” Verna promises her, as she pulls me out of the room. “I’ll show Ebony where all the cleaning supplies are, too.”
Prudence shuffles into her quilt in response, and Verna quietly shuts the door.
“That’s Mama,” she says. “If Ruston’s brought you here to help, we can only be grateful. Mama is the one who makes us a family, and before she started to get ill she would make sure we were a clean, organized family.”
I look around the house, seeing the mess and the obvious love around. My heart aches for them, even though it is troubled for my own reasons. For a long moment, I hold onto Verna’s arm, and she puts her other hand over mine as we comfort each other.
That is how kinship is born; it is born of the same troubles, but also of the same blessings.
As a child, I knew the pain that came with losing a mother; I had my father’s light to keep me warm. Now, as I watch Verna’s face tighten with stress and love, I know I am here to be a light to someone else now.
“Well, thank you for introducing me to her.” I roll up my sleeves and grab hold of an apron that’s half-hanging on the back of a nearby chair. “Can you show me where the kitchen is? I’ll be able to start dinner.”
*22*
Rion
IT TAKES DAYS FOR THE Mopana and the Baobabi to make an agreement with each other and Marula, but when it is over, I feel as though a lifetime has passed.
I sit at the head of the dining room table in the Maruli palace, checking through the various lists of things to do.
“Don’t get too caught up in what needs to be done that you forget to do them,” Caryo warns me as he walks into the room.
“Ha.” I si
t back in my chair. “There’s no need to worry about doing things that are already done.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Caryo says, handing me a pile of letters. “Final drafts of the treaties are signed and sent out, several of our soldiers are still seeking out the Maruli slaves from Mopana territory.”
“Discreetly?”
Caryo nods. “Discreetly. If there’s any trouble, I’ve put some men in position to handle it.”
“Thank you.” I slump forward on my elbows. “I am grateful for your help, as always, Caryo.”
“The tribal leaders wish to thank you,” Caryo says. “In the past, war has always been the easier answer, for some reason. It’s good that you’ve come to investigate.”
“I still don’t have all the answers,” I say quietly. I don’t like to admit my failures, but if there is anyone I can admit them to, it’s Caryo. He is old enough and wise enough not to hold it against me.
“We might be able to do something about that,” Caryo says. “In addition to the mail, I have brought you one of the Mopana soldiers who was responsible for attacking the Pommierian ship.”
“You have?”
He nods. “If you’re ready, I’ll go and retrieve him. He insisted on making some trouble, so the guards have him.”
“I’ll see him.” I look through the piles of letters, searching for any sign of important messages. There were several from different tribes, asking for assistance for different projects or offering their congratulations for my decision to marry Ebony. Several of them welcome me into their families—usually the same ones asking for something—and I can’t stop myself from smiling.
Now that I have to speak with Dr. Merlacur and things here have been mostly taken care of, I can go home to Ebony.
I decide, as I reach for Mother’s latest letter, that I will marry her the day I get back. I can tell Mother it’s a matter of war and diplomacy, and she’ll have to get over her big fancy wedding.
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