There was the crux of the issue. Grace’s throat went dry. She found herself worrying at the hem of her tunic again, tugging a thread loose. “I upset someone.”
The queen put her hands over Grace’s, and this time, she held on. “No one is upset.”
“Yet.”
“Darling, when you try, I know you can make us proud. Besides, you love visiting Picara.”
Picara was glorious in the summer. It was on the southernmost edge of the continent, carved out of the coast of Myriara when five boats crashed on the shore and their occupants put down roots into the sandy soil. No one knew how they’d survived the journey or where they’d come from. A few believed that they’d used magic, but the most magic that modern Picarans had was their technological wizardry, the mechanical marvels fashioned from stained glass and precious metals.
It was the newest country on the continent, and there were still some people who would refuse to do business with them because of the whole magic issue. Grace could identify with feeling out of place. Most people didn’t care about the magic any more, not when Picaran jewelry was prized across the continent.
The only down side of a visit to Picara was a largely fish-based diet. Grace, who was more used to plant proteins, had never gotten used to the scent or the texture. It was a small price to pay.
“I’ll try not to embarrass you, Mother,” Grace said at last, resigned to the trip. She would be back for her date, and perhaps they were right that Jack and Nell were fine.
She woke at dawn and slung her pack over her shoulder.
The docks were busy, as they always were during bazaar season. She could see the packet boat they’d be taking: it was painted in bright murals and therefore impossible to miss. An efficient staff had just begun to ready the boat to set off.
Oxen milled about, always cheaper than horses and able to pull heavier loads on the river-going barges. On particularly hot days, the stench of dung was awesome.
It was early enough that the air was still relatively fresh. Grace breathed in deeply. It was better, she decided, that she would have something to occupy her. Now that she was faced with something to do, she could admit that she’d been stuck.
It also occurred to her that this meant she could keep Alex secret from Petra.
It was so strange to keep secrets from Petra. Her sister had made it clear she didn’t care for the rogue who had so captured Grace’s interest, though, and Grace didn’t want to be soothed out of her worry about Jack and Nell. So a secret it would stay, at least until Grace figured out a better way to communicate what she needed.
“Grace! You’ve made an early start!”
Grace startled back, turning her head to see William striding toward her. “William. Hello.”
He approached and slung an amiable arm over her shoulders.
She tried not to wince. His enthusiasm was just a little bit too much to handle.
He was already talking how excited he was about the trip.
Grace braced for the rest of the trip. It would be a long one.
Several days later, Grace left the last meeting carefully. Storming out of the building in the political arena tended to offend. They had successfully renewed the trade agreements, and would leave first thing in the morning. Thank goodness: Grace’s patience was shot, and she couldn’t wait to be back home. She’d eaten more fish in the past two days than she preferred to eat in a month.
“We're going to get a drink,” Grace told William as soon as they were safely out of earshot.
William gave Grace a long look. “All right,” he said, after a while. “It would be nice to meet some of the people.”
Grace kept her opinions on that to herself and turned into the nearest likely-looking doorway.
The lights shone dim over roughly-hewn tabletops. Patrons slouched in chairs and hunched on stools, alone or in small groups. She ordered, letting the noise of voices in private conversations drown out her irritation.
The respite lasted for about ten minutes, until she heard William's bright voice over the crowd and glanced over. He was trying to strike up a conversation with a man dressed in heavy denim who hunched farther over his drink with every word that came out of William's mouth.
Oh no, she thought, about four seconds before the man gave up trying to ignore William and hit him in the face instead.
She sighed, mourning the loss of the rest of her drink, and managed to push William out of the way before the man could hit him a second time.
“Hey,” she said, trying diplomacy with very little hope. “You don't want to start this.”
“You don't want to be telling me what I want to do, little lady.” The man tried to shove past Grace and looked very surprised when Grace proved difficult to brush aside.
He looked even more surprised when Grace shoved him back out of her space. “Back off, and we can go back to our drinks.”
Grace concluded that the diplomatic approach was not going to work when, instead of going back to his beer, the man snarled. She ducked just in time to avoid the blow, which hit the man behind her instead.
Sensing entertainment, the rest of the room hushed as the man with the spilled drink began to roar at the man who had hit William. As he shoved back from the table, Grace could see the light reflecting on the puddle. She gave a quick prayer of thanks that the bar used metal mugs. She hated picking shards of glass out of her skin after a fight.
The moment of stillness ended as the second man swept his stool off the floor, converting bystanders into participants. Grace raised her arms, ready for the coming onslaught. She could feel a circle opening centered around her and hoped she'd shoved William far enough away that he wouldn't be caught in the middle of it, because he had no idea how to handle himself here.
The bar stool caught her firmly on her raised forearm. Pain vibrated along her bones as she absorbed the force of the blow. It would be smarter to disengage, but it had been a long day and this was a lot more fun than trading pretty words with diplomats.
Besides, she hadn't started a thing. She let the blood rush in her ears and let the fray wade into her.
The man made an unlikely anatomical suggestion and swung the bar stool again. Unsurprising, thought Grace, as she reached for a chair of her own.
Both chair and bar stool splintered when they collided. Grace winced a bit. She’d hoped it would be a sturdier defense. Now there were jagged splintery bits to avoid. She ducked as the man kept coming. He swung straight into a table of three women, all with lean muscle and tanned skin. From their water-resistant clothes and general demeanor, Grace guessed they ran a fishing boat. When their table slammed back into them, they all shoved back from it and advanced toward the man who had instigated the whole thing.
With the man occupied, Grace disengaged from the melee looked for William. She found him huddling in a corner, looking shocked.
“For the love of,” she began, and gave up. Hauling William up with a firm grip under his armpits, she dragged him from the bar.
“So much angry,” mumbled William, stumbling along in Grace's wake.
The walk wasn’t far, and she was still half furious, riding high on adrenaline, when they got back to the embassy. She would have bruises the next day, she thought, running her fingers over the tender spots on her arms.
She pointed at the door and tapped her foot while she unlocked it, letting it slam open. She shoved him through it and closed the door with a harsh snap.
She didn’t trust herself to speak. Instead, she pulled out the first aid kit and rummaged. Fortunately, it was well-stocked with analgesics.
Silently, she tilted his face up. That was going to leave a mark.
William turned piteous eyes on her, breaking the silence as she put the poultice on his swollen eye. "He was lonely, Grace, have you no heart?"
Grace adjusted the poultice and taped it securely in place. Her face must be speaking volumes, but William probably couldn’t read them. He was so used to relying on the connection.
When it became clear she didn’t intend to respond, he traded in the woe-is-me act for irritation. “You don't need to be like that, just because you don't like normal human interaction.”
That did it. Grace rocked back on her heels and glared at him. “I like interaction just fine when it's not useless prattle for the benefit of diplomatic buffoons.”
“Would it kill you to try to help someone?” William touched the poultice over his eye gingerly, and winced when he found the spot still tender.
“That kind of help might kill you,” Grace snapped. She rubbed a bit of salve over her bruises, mostly because it was there. “Not everyone wants to fix every little thing that goes wrong, and even fewer people want some stranger mucking about in their lives. So the guy was lonely! He obviously didn't want you to fix it, and you should have left him be.”
“But--”
“God knows you're better at dealing with people who want to be dealt with, but at least I can leave people alone. It may not win me many friends, but…” Grace shrugged and rubbed the last bit of ointment in with ill humor. She didn't wait for his reaction before she slammed out of his room.
The next morning, Grace lingered in her room, checking and double-checking her light bag. She had everything and she knew it, but she wanted to avoid William. She glanced at the clock in her room, a marvelous golden contraption with a stained-glass mechanical fish that leapt joyfully over the top of the device on the hour. The time meant she couldn’t put it off any longer. Swinging the bag over her shoulder, she went to catch the boat.
William popped out from behind the corner as soon as she walked out of the front door. “I'm sorry,” he said.
“Great,” said Grace, elbowing by him.
“No, really.” He reached out to grab her elbow, but let his hand drop, thinking better of it. “I need to learn how to deal with people who don't have any reason to want to deal with me.”
“You're good at what you're good at.” Grace turned away from him and hurried toward the boat. She definitely did not want to be stuck in Picara for another day.
William shook his head, keeping pace with Grace. “I need to be good at what I'm not good at, too. I need to be at least competent.”
Grace winced and stopped dead. “I'm not going to teach you.”
William looked appalled. “Of course not.”
It must have shaken him, then, Grace mused. He didn't usually insult people accidentally, and he used a lot more vitriol when he insulted people deliberately. That was all right, then. “Well then,” she said. “We have a boat to catch.”
William caught her again. “Do you mind-- not mentioning this to our parents?”
“Why would I?” Grace loved her parents, and loved them better the less they spoke about things they thought Grace should care about but didn't. Discussing the bar fights would not be an amusing conversation.
“It would look bad,” said William, “if people found out I'd caused a fight in a bar.”
Of course that was what William cared about. Future kings did not start fights in bars. Grace suddenly felt incredibly grateful that William wanted the job.
“I promise I won’t say anything as long as you don’t make me miss our boat,” Grace replied. “Race you.” She grinned and broke into an undignified run. The sea breeze in her hair felt like freedom, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that William had even joined in.
The trip back to Coura was deep enough into summer that the towpaths billowed thick clouds of dust as they got closer home. It stuck to the sweat sheened over their skin, and no one wanted to delay the trip long enough to scrub.
With each mile that slipped away, across the coast and up the river, it felt like Grace’s heart beat a little harder. She’d be back in Coura.
She played cards with William and lost badly, thinking of her friends. Maybe Jack and Nell were trapped somewhere, hurt and in need of help with no one near their solitary mountain home. Maybe Alex had changed her mind about wanting to go on a date.
After the fifth lost game in a row, she shoved back from the table and asked the ship’s captain how she could help.
Hauling on tow lines kept her mind busy better than the card game. Her muscles sang, and water splashed up from the river as they came in and out of ports.
By the time the Couran capital city appeared on the horizon, Grace felt like she could crawl out of her own skin.
She had her pack on her shoulders and had to take several deep breaths when the other passengers on the ship did not seem as eager as she did to depart.
Grace burst off the boat and reminded herself very strictly that she was not to mow people down in the streets by running home. The sun had sunk alarmingly quickly as she’d waited to disembark, and she had a date that night.
Her clothes were saturated with dust and sweat from the travel, and she was desperate to change out of them. Once she passed through the doors, she gave serious thought to making an inappropriately indiscreet dash for her room, to fresh clothes and to a shower.
Before her legs could carry her away, Grace's mother caught up to her in the hall. Her face was a study in the conflict between irritation and diplomacy. “Grace,” she said carefully, glancing up and down the hallway for prying eyes.
Grace didn't know what she'd done this time. She’d even almost decided not to run through the hallways. “Yes?”
“When I said you should ingratiate yourself with the Picaran locals,” her mother said, “I did not mean that you should do it by fighting in bars.”
“I wasn't--” Grace began.
“I know you weren't trying to cause trouble,” her mother went on, “but you could try to be a little bit nicer.”
Grace had no idea what William had told their mother about the fight. She fought to keep her face neutral. “I'm sorry. I'll do better next time.”
“Perhaps sending you with William was a mistake,” her mother went on, which Grace took as her mother's apology in return. “I know you two haven’t gotten on in years, and I had hoped--”
Grace got the vague sense her mother was trying to send her pictures of things she couldn't quite articulate in words, but she couldn't make it out.
“It's all right, mom,” she said. “William and I are fine now.”
Her mother laughed dryly. “Still,” she said. “The next time I need you to fill a slot on an errand of diplomacy, I will send you with Petra.”
She cleaned the grime from her travel off of her body as quickly as she could, ignoring the simple creature comforts of hot water and soap. She dressed quickly, refusing to allow herself to overthink it. There was a weird feeling in her chest, and the conversation she’d had with her mother meant she was nearly late.
Rushing through the crowded streets, she sought out the bar where she was meant to meet Alex. The only thing that kept her from running through the crowd was the idea that she didn’t want sweat to cool on her skin while she was trying to impress someone.
The weird feeling in Grace's chest abated when she saw Alex tucked into a corner, toying with a glass of wine. She waved, casually as she could, and tried to pretend she wasn't scared Alex would run before she reached the table.
“Hey,” she said as she reached the table.
Alex had stood to pull out a chair for Grace, and Grace blushed as she sat.
“There goes my moment of good manners for the evening,” said Alex. “How are you?”
“I'm all right,” said Grace. “How was your trip?”
“Cold and wet,” said Alex, grinning at her. “More boring than you'd think.”
Grace glanced down at the wine list and ordered the first thing on it. It would be good enough, whatever it was, and she didn’t want to be distracted. “Try me.”
Tilting her head to one side to study Grace, Alex went on. “So, standard bank job. I try to break in, and they figure out whether it's worth it to fix whatever vulnerability I find.”
Grace nodded. “Breaking into places, always dull
.”
Alex visibly schooled her expression into line until it reeked sincerity. “It does wonders for your reputation, too. Better than a juice cleanse.”
Grace had bitter herbal memories of the charlatan who had sold Petra several bottles of elixir meant to make one glow. “So, how did you break in?”
“The first thing to do is to look like you belong there.”
Her wine arrived, and Grace settled in. It felt a little bit odd, to be enjoying company when Jack and Nell might be in trouble, but the open window let fresh evening breeze spill into the summer-warm seating area. The dark walnut wooden accent beams were barely lighter than Alex's unfashionably dyed tunic and let her blend into the background. It made her hands and face light up as she told the story, glowing bright and pale in the light of candles that cast everything into tones of honey. It even muted the colors everyone else was wearing, making them stronger and warmer as it fuzzed everyone else's faces and conversations into the background.
She leaned back against the wall, comfortable with it solid at her back and the room spread out before her. The room teemed with tourists and overflowed with gimmicks like the candles-- when there were perfectly good electric lights-- but that was summertime in Coura, wine and warmth and people. Grace could blend into wall and watch the startling white of Alex's teeth flash behind lips that couldn't quite contain a smirk.
The server stopped by with another wine-- a different one, for variety-- and Grace wondered if notorious Alex enjoyed the anonymous contact as much as she did. They were there, and didn't need to be anyone but themselves, women enjoying wine and conversation.
The wine was too bland to be so dry, and it distracted Grace. Jack and Nell's wines always had something special: a spicy snap under sweetness or depth to support dryness. She watched the candlelight play over the glass stem, all the warmth gone from the room in the face of her worry. It tugged at the back of her mind every time she sipped the too-dry wine, though Alex's enthusiasm never flagged.
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