Please give everyone my love and tell them how much I am learning to bring back to the island as a teacher. (I will not fail, and I will use everything I learn here to make Melei better.)
Your affectionate daughter,
Jessamin
A large black bird lands on the bench beside me, brazenly close. “Hello there,” I say as it considers me with flat, yellow eyes. “Where I am from, you’re known as an acawl for that awful noise you make.”
It cocks its head reproachfully.
“No disrespect, Sir Bird. You cannot help your harsh voice any more than these Albens can help their love of ugly words and sounds.”
A boy walks by, not bothering to hide his snicker at the quaint island girl talking to the local wildlife. Sir Bird caws sharply at him. I approve.
“Anyone who shares my distaste for the men of this country can also share my lunch.” I break off the stale heel of my bread, crumble it in my palm, and then toss it onto the bench next to my friend. If birds had eyebrows, I’d swear it was raising them at me. “Spirits bless you, you arrogant little thing. I suppose I wouldn’t eat it if I didn’t have to, either. Good day, Sir Bird.”
Unaware it has been excused, Sir Bird continues to sit and stare until I have to report for my next lecture. Even the birds here are strange.
Two days in a row of the sun breaking through clouds, and while it isn’t anywhere near what a rational person would deem warm, it feels as though the whole city has sighed in relief. Everyone is shedding their outermost layers of clothing to sit outside and soak in the light they can.
I elect to stroll through Haigh Park, a lonely jewel of green adjacent to my school. Humming to myself, I wander a twisting path and play with the lines in the park, tracing imaginary triangles between points and calculating their areas based on estimated lengths.
“Why, Jessamin, are you following me?”
I look up, shocked, to see Finn sitting on a slatted bench ahead of me, his arm draped over the scrolling ironwork along the back. The sun catches in his hair, hat discarded next to him, and I’ve never seen anything quite so lovely as those shades of gold.
I blink rapidly, feeling like I’m coming up for air from the swimming hole behind the village. Speak, Jessamin. “I could ask the same of you, sir.”
“Ah, but I was here first, which makes you the follower and me the followee.”
“Following requires intent, and I can assure you that I have none where you are concerned. Good day.”
I hurry past, my boots kicking up gravel, and pull my most recent letter from Mama out of my bag for something to do. A few seconds later, he appears at my side, matching my determined stride. I read with a scowl, hoping to communicate how busy I am.
“Bad news?”
“No.”
“You seem unhappy with the contents of the letter. What does it say?”
I glance over and my resolve to be distant drifts away. I really am a shallow thing if a handsome face affects me so. “It’s from my mother. She informs me of the minute goings-on of a man she had hoped I would marry.”
“Aren’t you a bit young for matrimony?”
“On Melei, I was an old maid. It’s safer to be married.”
His eyebrows draw closer together. “Safer is an interesting word for marriage. But you did not want to marry this suitor.”
I wave a hand, but he is not Melenese and will not understand that it’s an unspoken gesture for “it doesn’t matter.” “Henry was a friend I tutored. I do not wish to wed him or any other Alben on the island she had her eye on. That’s why I left.”
“So.” His face is solemn, but an amused tone undercuts his voice. “You left your home to avoid being married to an Alben man and came to a country entirely filled with them.”
I’m torn between offense and amusement. Amusement wins, and I laugh at myself. “It made sense at the time.”
“I’m certain it did.”
We walk in silence, and I go back to the letter, waiting for him to bid me good day. He doesn’t. “I’ve never been to this park before.” He swings his cane at the tip of a bush. “It’s rather filled with children, isn’t it?”
As if on cue, a small, round thing runs in front of us, legs flying to keep from falling forward with momentum.
“Charlie! Oy, Charlie, you get back here before I tan your hide!” A harassed nurse runs past us, skirts held in her hands.
“Do you dislike children?” I ask, entertained at the little one’s cleverness in dodging capture attempts.
“I don’t dislike them, nor do I like them. I’ve never understood why one must love children simply because they are children. I don’t love people because they are people; in fact, I rarely like any people at all. If a child is somehow deserving of admiration, I certainly won’t deny it, but why hand it out like candy on Queen’s Day?”
I laugh, surprising him.
“Do you think me terribly cruel, then?”
“Actually, I agree. It is another great fault of mine my mother endeavored to correct. Children in general I’ve never cared for, though individual children I love very much.”
“I knew you had taste. Though your lack of hat is rather shocking.”
“Oh, fie on this country and its inordinate affection for hats. I would sooner love every child alive than I would wear a hat. My head is perfectly covered by my hair.”
“But the sun! We Albens have a terrible fear of letting it touch more of our bodies than absolutely necessary.”
“Which would explain the dour and listless spirit that pervades this country. Perhaps if you gave the sun a bit more attention, it would be flattered and come out more often.”
“Perhaps.” He smiles, cane tucked behind his back as he leads with his angular shoulders and long strides. Everything about him is graceful, from the cut of his suit to the curve of his brow. “Jessamin, I should very much like to call on you.”
I stop in my tracks. He turns immediately with his sly grin, as though he’d anticipated my reaction.
“I—I’m sorry, I—”
“But,” he says with a drawn-out sigh, “I’m afraid I cannot, simply because I do like you, ever so much. I should not have stolen this moment as it is. And so I’ll wish you safe wanderings, an utter absence of distasteful suitors, and many more days of sunshine for your hatless head.” He takes my hand in his and bends at the waist. A spark flames through me as his lips brush against my skin. I barely stifle a gasp.
“If things were simpler,” he says. And this time in his smile I am shocked to see the same ache I feel for Melei.
With that, he turns and leaves. I watch, bewildered as he walks away, his shadow stretching longer than any others around him, like it wants to stay.
I press my fingers to my chest. What nonsense is my heart pattering out? I barely know him, and I’m almost certain I don’t care for him in the slightest.
What an odd, beautiful man. I will never understand the customs of this insane country. Frowning, I find the nearest bench to rest on and another bird, as big and black as Sir Bird, lands next to me and caws.
“I don’t have any food for you.” I feel strangely melancholic in spite of the sunshine. The last two conversations with Finn are the most personal I’ve had with anyone since I left home. “That’s that, I suppose. Just you and me, Sir Bird.”
The bird answers with another loud caw, then a clacking attack of wings as it flies in my face. I scream and throw my arms up, trying to protect myself as it scrabbles for a hold on my shoulders. Standing, I twist and turn, stumbling down the path, but the possessed bird continues its attack until I feel a sharp burning sensation in my bun. It flies away, a clump of my hair and the blue ribbon that held it back dangling from its claws.
There’s a strange note of regret in its fading caws. Feeling the back of my head with probing fingers, I find a tender spot where the hair was ripped out.
I do not accept that blighted bird’s apology. I collapse onto another bench, warm tears tr
acing down my face, less from the pain than from the shock of it all. I hate this wretched country.
Three
“WHAT’S GNAWING YOUR SOUL?” JACABO ASKS IN the soft, musical language of our home. Here everyone calls him Jacky Boy, but he’s rather less a boy than a man—a large man at that, with his head shaved bald and a pronounced limp. When I looked him up to deliver his parcel, he knew without asking just what the city was doing to me, and immediately offered work and lodging.
He’s the type of man I am proud to know.
I wave a hand in the air. He chuckles at the familiarity of the gesture. I wish I could bare my soul to him in Melenese with the same ease, but the sad fact is, thanks to my mother’s determination, I am more fluent in Alben. I don’t even think in Melenese, and most of my dreams are narrated in the harsher tones of this country’s language.
It makes a soul lonely when even your tongue has no home.
Last night’s dreams required no language, though. I dreamt of beady yellow eyes watching me from the darkness. The memory of claws and feathers and beaks has me on edge. Today I begged a hat from Ma’ati, a maid here sweet on Jacky Boy, and wore it to my classes. Partly to protect my hair, but mostly so I could resist the temptation to watch the sky.
“Thinner on the carrots.” Jacky Boy nods at my work, and wordlessly I follow his instructions. I helped with the cooking some as a child, but we had a woman from the village who bore the brunt of the meal-making. This, however, is nothing like what we supped on. All creams, heavy sauces, and meat, with vegetables nothing but an afterthought.
I work mainly with chopping. Jacky Boy likes consistency in his kitchen, and I am very good at creating even, calculated amounts. Then he adds the artful touches that turn a tenpenny cut of meat into a queen’s head dollar. The ways of the rich. They will pay ten times as much for a meal because it is served on a beautiful plate, just as they will pay ten times as much for a bed and a roof if well-decorated.
Though I do envy them the goose-feather down.
I’ll bet Finn sleeps on goose-feather down. I’ll bet his sheets are the finest and softest materials, and that—
“Jessa.” Jacky Boy nudges me with his elbow. “That’s enough carrots to garnish a full cow.”
I jump guiltily, as though Jacky Boy knows I was thinking of a boy’s bed. “Oh, sorry!”
“Delivery,” says an oddly familiar voice, and I look up to see a tall, young man, his sharp, almond eyes instantly recognizable though it takes me a few moments to connect them with the younger version I remember.
“Kelen?” I gasp.
His face breaks into a smile as he looks me up and down. His brown skin isn’t as tan as it was on the island, and his hair is cut closer to his head in the Avebury style, but there’s no mistaking him.
I drop my knife and run, throwing my arms around him. “Kelen! I thought I’d never see you again. I asked Mama if you were in Avebury, but she said your mother didn’t know.”
Kelen laughs, squeezing me so that my feet leave the floor. Kelen, Kelen! “That’s very odd,” he says, his Alben accent nearly as good as mine. “Since my mother writes me once a week.”
I huff and shake my head as he sets me down. No doubt Mama didn’t want me running off to Albion and giving my heart to a Melenese boy. But this boy already had my heart for a few summer months when we were fifteen. Seeing him makes me think of cool, hidden pools, fruit-sweetened stolen kisses, and the glorious freedom it felt like we’d have forever.
We didn’t, of course. Kelen feels utterly out of place in this kitchen, in a way that is both joyous and painful.
“This is my cousin, Jacabo.”
“Hello,” Kelen says, nodding. He picks up a large, brown parcel from where he dropped it on the floor and hands it to Jacky Boy.
I want to drink him up, reveling in the familiar comfort of a shared childhood. That dizzy summer aside, we grew up running wild together, Kelen, me, Nuna, all of the village children. It feels like more than a lifetime ago, and I want to live in those memories, if only for a few stolen minutes. “Are you staying nearby? What are you doing? How have you been?”
A shadow passes over his face and I remember too late exactly why he came here. Not all the half-Alben children were as fortunate as me. His mother had turned to prostitution after Kelen’s father left. Some soldiers hurt her, and Kelen beat them near to death. We never saw him again after that. It was the end of my childhood in many ways, and the end of our easy romance.
I take his hands in mine. “I’m so very, very glad to see you are well.”
He nods. “Likewise. Though I’ll admit I never expected to see Miss High and Mighty working in a kitchen.”
“Oh, I’m not—” I pause, about to deny that this is why I’m here, but realize Jacky Boy is standing right next to me. I won’t demean what he does. “I’m also a student.”
“That sounds more like you. I live near the docks—no, you shouldn’t come visit,” he adds, seeing me open my mouth. “It’s not very safe. I know where you are now. I won’t be a stranger.”
My whole face is a smile as I pull him close for another hug. The physical contact is a balm to my soul. No one touches each other here, not like on Melei, where no conversation passed without touching each other. “I’m so happy, it feels like home.”
Kelen laughs darkly. “You and I remember home very differently then.”
I pull away and he nods again at Jacky Boy. “I’ll be seeing you, then,” he says, giving me his smile that always felt like a secret as he walks out of the kitchen.
I hum quietly to myself as I finish plating the food. The world feels much smaller tonight, and I like it. Kelen will be part of my life. I can hardly wait to sit and talk with him of the people we know and the island we love.
Finished, I show the plate to Jacky Boy for approval before taking it up.
I’m the only kitchen maid allowed to deliver things with the day staff gone. The entire night staff is Melenese, but apparently I’m the only one the managers find acceptable to present to their distinguished guests. It does not endear me to those receiving the meals.
I carefully lift the covered platter, Jacky Boy makes sure my white cap is in place, and then I navigate around the tables and out of the steamy heat of the kitchen. “Go straight to bed when you’re done now,” he calls after me, and I nod with gratitude.
Though the hotel is small and operating at half capacity, of course the guest ordering food at nearly midnight would be on the third floor. I blame the electric lights newly installed. If you can make night burn as bright as day, how does the body know when to sleep? My arms are trembling by the time I’ve climbed the narrow stairs hidden in back of the building.
Sleep, sweet sleep, calls to me. I’m exhausted but happy after seeing Kelen again. I balance the tray on my hip and knock three times. So close to sleep.
“Yes, what?” an annoyed voice calls.
“Meal service.” If he doesn’t open the door soon, my arms are liable to drop off, and then I’ll be no good as either a kitchen worker or a student.
“I ordered no—” The door swings open, and I find myself face-to-face with an equally shocked Finn. He’s in a dressing robe, deep wine red and open at the neck. It’s obvious from his sharp, pale collarbones that he has nothing on beneath.
“What are you doing here?” I shout.
He grabs the tray and yanks it forward, pulling me with it into his room. Before I can back out, he spins me around and shoves me farther inside, the tray smashing against my ribs, then slams and locks the door behind himself.
“Open it right now!” I keep the food between us like it will somehow protect me. “How dare you follow me here! The entire kitchen staff knows where I am, and they’ll come looking for me.” He doesn’t know Jacky Boy told me I could go straight to bed.
“Lie.” His eyes are narrowed and his body is tense. He picks up his cane from where it rests against the wall. I knock the cover off my tray and grab the steak k
nife, dropping the rest—food and all—onto the thick, green carpet.
I force my voice to come out calmly. “I will kill you before I allow you to touch me.”
A ghost of a smile pulls at his lips. “Truth. Now.” He puts a hand into a deep pocket in his robe. “Who are you working for?”
“What are you on about? I work for this hotel, as you well know since you followed me here and trapped me in your room!”
“I never ordered food.”
“Humblest apologies, sir, it must have been the other maniac in room 312! Is he here? Because I’ll cut him if he comes near me, too!”
“More than one way to trace the path of a liar.” He pulls his hand out of his pocket. The crystal chandelier overhead gives dim light, and I cannot see what he has in his fist. He brings it to his mouth, blowing out. White powder, fine as chalk dust, billows and surrounds my head. I breathe it in and cough. It tastes like the harsh soap my mother used to wash the cleaning rags.
“Let me by, or I swear I’ll slit your throat.” My panic is rising. There is no safe way out of this situation. Either I fight my way free and am jailed for attacking a nobleman or . . . he does whatever he has planned.
I’ll take prison.
But how could I have been so wrong about him? I liked him. He never felt threatening.
“What do you know about my parents?” His voice pierces through me, and it’s as though I can feel it, tugging outward on the tender spot at the hollow of my neck.
“Nothing! Other than that they raised a madman.”
“Whom do you work for?”
“I work for my cousin Jacky Boy in the kitchen, you daft wretch.”
“I thought you were a student.”
“I am a student! How do you think I survive in this spirit-blasted city?”
“How did you get into the boarding school then, a simple girl coming from the colonies?”
“My father is a professor there, and I threatened to tell his wife about me if he didn’t secure my admission after I passed all the tests.” I gasp, bringing my free hand to my mouth. I’ve told no one this; not even Mama knows how I really earned my place here.
Illusions of Fate Page 2
