The Emerald Sea

by Richelle Mead

  I wet my lips, ready to speak, but Vanessa had shaken off her shock. “Mine, sir.”

  Incredulous, I began, “No, it’s—”

  “It’s mine,” she said more loudly, shooting me a glare. “I wanted something to read.”

  Samuel gestured toward the mantel, with its multiple copies of scripture. “There are plenty of things to read.”

  “I just wanted something different to read.”

  “Vanessa—” I tried.

  “Quiet, Tamsin.” This time it was Samuel who cut me off. “Those books are the only things you need to read. Trash like this is prohibited.”

  Vanessa’s collected countenance faltered. “Did I break the law?”

  The dam on his anger burst. “You broke a moral prescript! You brought wickedness into this household!” Samuel spun around and hurled the book into the fireplace.

  Aghast, I made it halfway across the room before Gideon caught hold of my arm. “Tamsin, let it go.”

  My chest ached as I watched the burning pages. I felt like crying. “What a waste.”

  “Yes,” said Samuel. “A waste of paper and leather. A waste of time. A waste of your thoughts. Novels like that encourage recklessness and abandonment of principles. Now. Tell me where it came from.”

  Vanessa didn’t know, of course, but she answered promptly: “I found it.”

  “Found it?” scoffed Dinah. “You don’t find a book like that lying around here!”

  Her father held up a hand to silence her. “I’ll handle this. Spiritual discipline is my domain. But Dinah is right. You didn’t find that book here.”

  Vanessa lowered her gaze. “No, sir. I found it while I was walking home one day. There’s a half-built barn, over on the north road? I got curious and went to explore it. I found this in a bag there.”

  “I have trouble believing that,” he said. “I pray to the angels you aren’t adding lying to your list of transgressions.”

  Gideon shifted, his eyes growing troubled. “That’s the Erskin barn, isn’t it? He had those men from South Joyce working on it last fall. The ones that ran off? They weren’t really known for their exemplary behavior.”

  “Yes, but they also weren’t really known for reading either.” Samuel stared hard at Vanessa for a long moment. “If this really happened a few days ago, why didn’t you bring the book to us immediately?”

  When Vanessa didn’t answer, Dinah was all too happy to. “Because she knew it was wrong. She knew we’d take it away.”

  Jerking my arm from Gideon’s, I took a few steps forward. “None of this is true! It’s my fault. I found the book.”

  “Yes, you found it.” Vanessa looked up at me, her expression woeful but serene. “And you tried to tell me to do the right thing.”

  Samuel glanced between us. “What are you talking about?”

  “Tamsin found the book in the attic and wanted to take it to you. I begged her to wait and said that I’d do it myself. But . . . I didn’t. Now she’s trying to take the blame.”

  “Vanessa!” I exclaimed.

  Samuel’s eyes bugged out, his contempt filling the room. “You lied to her, were deceitful to us, and purposely concealed corrupt literature. This cannot be treated lightly.” He waved the rest of us toward the door. “Get to your jobs. I will not allow someone so degenerate to mingle with this good town’s citizens—especially its children. Tamsin, take over her duties at the school today. The laundry can be delayed.”

  “But—”

  Damaris practically dragged me out the front door as I tried to protest. “Vanessa made her choice, Tamsin.”

  “She’s being punished for what I did!” I hissed.

  “You didn’t leave the book out.”

  “It’s still my—”

  “You’ll just get both of you in trouble,” Winnifred interjected. “And we need you to get us out of here. She stepped up to take the fall—let her.”

  The anger and indignation burning in my chest distracted me all day as I tried to do Vanessa’s job: assisting at the town’s school. Normally, that duty would have been a pleasure, but my mind kept straying to Vanessa as I walked around the classroom, tutoring the children as needed and making sure they stayed on task.

  I missed spelling errors while proofreading compositions, and once, I showed a girl how to use addition for a subtraction problem. The schoolmistress gave me a disgusted look and muttered, “I hope Vanessa’s back soon. Or that we at least get a better scholar to fill in.”

  When I arrived home in the evening, Vanessa wasn’t there. We learned she’d been taken to town and was completing “solitary penitence” at one of the magistrates’ houses.

  “She’ll spend three days alone, in a room with modest amenities,” Samuel told us gravely. “She will speak to no one. Her only companions will be the holy books, and she will prepare a statement of atonement to be read aloud at this week’s service.”

  We’d heard a few “statements of atonements” in church. One had been from a woman accused of too much pride because she’d boasted about how her family’s cow was the most beautiful in Constancy. Another atoner had been a man who’d gotten hold of some contraband wine—probably from Jago—and accidentally walked into his neighbor’s house, thinking it was his. The man had apparently gone right to the kitchen table, sat down, and demanded dinner.

  My friends and I had tried not to giggle at the drama surrounding such silly-sounding confessions, but now, the thought of Vanessa having to stand in front of all of those judgmental faces and humiliate herself left us stricken. I longed to talk to Gideon, certain that he could help. This was a moral matter, not a domestic one. It was his domain. But he was swamped with work one of the other ministers had just given him, and all I could do was vent to Winnifred and Damaris at bedtime.

  When Vanessa returned on the third day, she looked as though she’d been away for three months. Her face was wan, and dark hollows shadowed her eyes. She hadn’t bathed or changed clothes, and she was thinner than when we’d first arrived in Constancy after a week of strict rations.

  She tried to put on a cheerful front, assuring the rest of us—especially me—that her confinement hadn’t been so bad. “It was a break from Dinah’s nagging! I might as well have been on holiday.”

  But Vanessa couldn’t leave the Cole house until her atonement in church later that week. I found out that in addition to her confession, she would have to arrive early and sit outside the square wearing a sign that said DECEIT. It wouldn’t be removed until after her humiliating confession.

  The more I heard about it, the more I seethed. The town that had been merely irritating before had become something sinister. We needed to get out.

  * * *

  After nearly a week with no word from Jago, I decided one afternoon to find out if he’d even made it home yet. Working in the school restricted the freedom I’d once had to wander town, and I had to wait until late afternoon before I could hurry off down the winding creek road. No one answered when I made it to his door, but as I turned to leave, a huge mountain of a man came ambling out of one of the barns. For a terrified moment, I thought some criminal was raiding Jago’s property, but the man casually held a rake against his shoulder and gave me a friendly wave.

  Hesitantly, I approached. After a few fumbled communication attempts, I learned that the man was Belsian and worked for Jago. He spoke little Osfridian, and the Lorandian I knew, though similar to Belsian, wasn’t enough for anything extensive.

  “Arnaud,” he said, tapping his chest. He had to be around seven feet tall. A grin split his bearded face.

  “I’m Tamsin. Is Mister Robinson here?”

  He pointed west. “Mister Robinson left away.”

  “Away from Constancy?”

  “Yes. To visit.”

  “When will he be back? How many days?”

  Arnaud
shrugged, but I couldn’t tell if he didn’t know the answer or just didn’t know what I’d said.

  “When you see him, can you tell him Tamsin came by? Tell him I’m desperate to talk to him?”

  “Yes, yes. I will tell him. ‘Tamsin is desperate for you, Mister Robinson.’”

  “Eh . . . that’s not quite what I had in mind, but if it gets him to me, it’ll do. Thank you, Arnaud.”

  “Goodbye, Miss Tamsin.” He returned to his chores, whistling.

  A bitter wind blew around me on the walk home, and I slipped on the black mittens. Even without a blizzard, it was always cold around here. Really, I felt as if I’d never properly warmed up since setting foot on the Gray Gull. Cape Triumph, rumored to be hot and balmy in the summer, seemed to be on the other side of the world from this dreary place. It was like Grashond was intent on wearing down both my body and mind.

  “I hope you’re as great a deal maker as you say, Jago,” I murmured to myself, “because I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

  CHAPTER 15

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, A LEAK IN THE SCHOOL’S ROOF forced us to relocate to the meetinghouse. Laborers were still finishing its interior, but the great building had more than enough room for us to work on our lessons. The cargo I’d raided with Jago had been pushed farther to the back and covered in tarps but otherwise appeared undisturbed. I couldn’t help but note the irony of having it right in front of me after the caper we’d had to pull off during church.

  The townsmen were installing shelves today, and we frequently found ourselves shouting to hear one another over the hammering. So, it wasn’t that shocking when the schoolmistress developed a headache so severe that she had to go home early. It was midafternoon by that point, and she instructed me to just read aloud from one of the holy books.

  I chose a particularly exciting passage I’d discovered in The Ruvan Followers about a woman who, full of devotion to Uros and the angels, successfully organized Ruva’s defense against invaders. I’d never heard it before, and judging by my students’ rapt faces, most of them hadn’t either. And as the hammering continued to interrupt me, it became unlikely they’d ever hear it. Finally, frustrated, I shut the book and was on the verge of dismissing them early when Gideon walked in the front door.

  “I passed Mistress Darcy as I was leaving the church.” His expression grew warmer as he looked over the children. “I thought maybe you’d all like to go sledding for the end of your school day.”

  Excitement rippled through them, and they quickly gathered their things. “Is that allowed?” I asked in a low voice.

  “What, playing? Having fun?”

  I gave him a pointed look. “Well, it’s not like I’ve seen very much of that in my time here.”

  He sobered a little. “Which is part of why I’m here. I wanted to talk to you. I know you haven’t been very happy recently.”

  “How can I be?” I asked as we walked outside. Gideon paused briefly to pick up some bark sleds leaning against the building. “One of my friends is being humiliated unjustly.”

  The children, freed of schoolroom formality, scampered around us, some running ahead to a location apparently known to all. Gideon watched them fondly as he contemplated his answer. “Is it unjust?”

  “She didn’t do anything wrong!”

  “She lied. She read a book she wasn’t supposed to—and hid it because she knew she wasn’t supposed to read it.”

  It took all my self-control to keep quiet about my role. “It’s just a book.”

  “A book that glamorizes many of the things we try to avoid. Gambling, drinking, stealing, vanity, infidelity, insubordination.”

  “But it’s not advocating them. Not exactly.” The book’s hero was a displaced prince who became the champion of an oppressed city and helped launch a rebellion. His ladylove was the wife of the city’s ruling tyrant—a cruel man eventually killed in a swordfight with the dashing prince.

  “Perhaps not,” said Gideon. “But some might not see it that way. It could give them ideas and tempt them into trying something wayward.”

  We’d passed outside of Constancy’s heart and now walked through a copse of snow-covered pines. “So you just get rid of anything that might make them think of doing something wrong? People don’t need an example to fall into bad ways. They can do it on their own.”

  “Oh, I know. But there are some who never would have had dangerous ideas on their own. Surrounding ourselves in only the finest behavior prevents straying and shows people that it’s possible to live in a righteous way.”

  He sounded so nice and reasonable, which made it hard to take my anger out on him. Also, he was dressed in a shade of gray today that brought out the blue in his eyes. It would almost have been a distraction if I weren’t so worked up over Vanessa.

  “Everyone’s overreacting,” I insisted. “And it’s really depressing that you can’t read fiction here.”

  “We can. There’s actually a small collection of acceptable books with stories that completely align with our beliefs.”

  “It must be a very small collection.”

  We stopped atop a high hill with a long, gentle slope leading down to a meadow scattered with more trees. The snow blanketing it all was smooth and unbroken, and the children excitedly prepped their sleds. Gideon studied them a moment and then turned to me, his face drawn. “Tamsin, I don’t want to argue with you. Not that this isn’t important, but . . .” He gestured to the kids. “Perhaps this isn’t the place.”

  I sighed. “You’re right. I don’t want to ruin their fun.”

  The children raced down the hill, some on sleds and some just tumbling down on their own. They’d laugh and help each other up, then trek back up the hill. Despite my woes, I couldn’t stop from smiling at the sight of those rosy cheeks and excited eyes.

  “I wouldn’t have thought those sleds could get such speed,” I remarked.

  “Too fast for you?” Gideon teased.

  “Hardly.”

  His lips quirked into a smile. “Is that so? Agatha! Winston! Bring that sled back up for Miss Wright.”

  “Wait a minute—” I began.

  My protests were lost in their whoops of joy, and I gathered it wasn’t common for adults to join their sledding. There was no way I could turn them down now. I took up most of the space on the sled they handed over, but one small girl managed to squeeze her way in front of me. We zoomed down the hill with cries of glee, though my weight threw off our balance at the end, and the sled tipped over. The girl and I flew off, with me hitting the snow headfirst.

  I brushed it out of my face, laughing, and helped her stand. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She regarded me with enormous eyes. “Are you? I’ve never seen a grown-up dive into the snow like that.”

  Although she was a few years older than Merry, the girl’s blue eyes and round cheeks reminded me so much of my daughter that I suddenly felt a searing pain in my chest, like some unseen hand was trying to tear my heart out. And when she shook the snow out of her brown hair, the sun spiked it with glints of gold, very much like Adelaide’s hair would do. The fist on my heart grew tighter and tighter. Where was Adelaide now? The star of every party? Already engaged? And what about Mira? Was she still going through the motions of the Glittering Court, always watchful for a way out? In my mind, my two friends had endless possibilities stretching out before them. And me? I was stuck.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I’ve got to get a grip, or I’m going to lose my mind. Focus, Tamsin. It’s the only way to get what you want.

  “Are you okay?”

  My eyes blinked open, and I forced a smile back on for my little companion. “Of course I am,” I told her. “And I bet you’ve never seen a grown-up do this either.”

  I put on my mittens and made a snowball that I promptly hurled into Gideon’s arm as he trudged do
wn the side of the hill. He peered around, shocked, trying to figure out which student had done it. By the time he realized it was me, I was already launching a second snowball. He was ready, though, and deftly dodged my throw. He quickly made a snowball of his own, and before long, our whole party was engaged in battle.

  “All right, all right,” Gideon said, when everyone was breathless and covered in snow. “Time to wrap up the warfare. We need to get back to town soon.”

  The eldest boy in the group ran up to him. “But Mister Stewart, can we please go see if the pond is still frozen first?”

  Gideon, kneeling to help a small girl shake snow out of her hood, glanced farther across the plain. I could see a large gray indentation in the snow, just before the forest really took hold. “I don’t see why not. But listen, nobody can go on the ice until Miss Wright and I make sure it’s safe. Do you understand?”

  Murmurs of assent answered him. We broke our way through the snow and reached the pond, which shimmered in the late afternoon sun. The girl who had sledded with me clapped her hands. “It looks just like silver!”

  “It sure does,” said Gideon, walking the pond’s circumference. He found a fallen branch and began tapping different portions of the ice. “No human artist can match the beauty Uros creates, especially with winter as a canvas.”

  “Did Uros use a paintbrush?” asked one small boy, eliciting giggles from others.

  Gideon stopped his inspection of the ice and regarded the group before him. All of them had gone quiet and serious as their little faces looked up at him. “Uros used something even better. His will. He used it to create everything you see around you—every bird, every snowflake, every wisp of cloud. Each one was created with meticulous thought and care. And do you know what Uros’s greatest, most perfect masterpiece is?” Gideon waited a beat. “All of you.”

  This brought astonishment to some of them, skepticism to others. “But not all people are great or perfect. Uros made a mistake,” said one girl.