Terravin was just around the next bend—at least that was what Pauline had said a dozen times. Her excited anticipation became mine as she recognized landmarks. We passed a massive tree that had the names of lovers carved into its bark, then a little farther along, a half circle of stumpy marble ruins that looked like loose crooked teeth in an old man’s mouth, and finally in the distance, a shining blue cistern crowned a hill with a court of junipers surrounding it. These signs meant we were close.
It had taken us ten days to get this far, but we would have made it sooner if we hadn’t spent two days going out of our way to leave false leads in case my father had trackers hunting us down.
Pauline had been appalled when I bundled up my costly wedding dress and threw it into a thicket of blackberry brambles, but she was positively mortified when I used my dagger to pry the jewels from my wedding cloak and then sent the mutilated remains downriver tied to a log. She made three signs of penance for me. If the cloak was found by anyone who recognized it, I hoped the presumption would be that I had drowned. For wishing that horrifying news on my parents I should have paid penance of my own, but then I remembered they were not only prepared to send their only daughter away to live with a man she didn’t love, but also to a kingdom they themselves didn’t fully trust. I swallowed the knot in my throat and said nothing but good riddance as the cloak that my mother, my grandmother, and their mothers before them had worn floated away.
We used the jewels to trade for coin at Luiseveque, a large town about two hours’ ride out of our way—three blue sapphires thrown in for the merchant if he forgot where they came from. It felt deliciously evil and exciting to trade in such a way, and as soon as we were down the road, we burst into laughter at our audacity. The merchant had looked at us as if we were thieves, but since the transaction was in his favor, he said nothing.
From there we backtracked, and a few more miles down the road, we traveled east again. On the outskirts of a small village we stopped at a farmhouse and traded the surprised farmer our valuable Ravians for three donkeys. We also slipped him a good amount of coin for more silence.
Two girls arriving in Terravin on grand steeds with the distinctive brand of the Morrighan stables were sure to draw attention, and that was one thing we couldn’t afford. We didn’t need three donkeys, but the farmer insisted the third would be lost without the other two, and we found he was right, as it trailed close behind without even a tug from the rope. Otto, Nove, and Dieci the farmer had called them. I rode Otto, the largest of the three, a big brown fellow with a white muzzle and a long mop of fur between his ears. By now, our riding clothes were so filthy from the hundreds of miles we had covered and our soft leather boots so caked in mud, we were easy to ignore. No one would want to look upon us for long, and that was just the way I wanted it. I wouldn’t have anything interfere with the dream of Terravin.
I knew we were close now. It was something about the air, something about the light, something I couldn’t name, but it streamed through me like a warm voice. Home. Home. Foolishness, I knew. Terravin had never been my home, but maybe it could be.
On this last stretch, my gut suddenly jumped with fear that I’d hear something else—the thunder of hooves behind us. What Father’s trackers would do to me was one thing, but what they might do to Pauline was another. If we were caught, I already planned that I’d tell them I had forced Pauline to help me against her will. I just had to convince Pauline to stick to that story too, because she was nothing if not true to the core.
“There! Look! Through the trees!” Pauline yelled, pointing into the distance. “The sliver of blue! That’s the Bay of Terravin!”
I strained but couldn’t see anything except thick stands of pine, a scrabble of oak, and the grassy brown hills between them. I urged Otto on, as if such a thing could be done with an animal that only knew one speed. Then as we turned the bend, not only the bay but the whole fishing village of Terravin came into view.
It was exactly the jewel that Pauline had described.
My stomach squeezed.
A half circle of aquamarine bobbed with boats of red and yellow, some with billowing white sails, others with large paddle wheels churning up the water behind them. Still others splashed a trail of foam as oars dipped at their sides. They were all so small from this distance they might have been a child’s toys. But I knew people manned them, that fishermen called to each other, cheering their day’s catch, the wind carrying their voices, sharing their victories, breathing their stories. On the shore where some of them headed was a long wharf with more boats and people as small as ants moving back and forth, up and down, busy with their work. Then, maybe most beautiful of all, surrounding the bay were homes and shops that crept up the hills, each one a different color: bright blue, cherry red, orange, lilac, lime, a giant fruit bowl with the Bay of Terravin at its heart, and finally dark green fingers of forest reached down from the hills to hold the multicolored bounty in its palm.
Now I understood why it had always been Pauline’s dream to return to the childhood home she had been uprooted from when her mother died. She’d been sent to live with a distant aunt in the north country and then, when that aunt became ill, handed off to yet another aunt she didn’t even know, my mother’s own attendant. Pauline’s life had been one of a sojourner, but at last she was back in the place of her roots, her home. It was a
place I knew with one glance could be my home too, a place where the weight of who I was supposed to be didn’t exist. My joy bobbed unexpectedly. How I wish my brother Bryn were here to see this with me. He loved the sea.
Pauline’s voice finally broke through my thoughts. “Is something wrong? You haven’t said a word. What do you think?”
I looked at her. My eyes stung. “I think … if we hurry, we might be able to bathe before dinner.” I slapped Otto’s backside. “First dip!”
Pauline was not to be outdone, and with a wild cry and prod in his ribs, she got her donkey to race ahead of mine.
Our reckless license was checked as we turned onto the main thoroughfare that wove through town. We tucked our hair into our caps and pulled them low over our eyes. Terravin was small and out of the way, but not so isolated that it couldn’t be a stopping point for the Royal Guard—or a tracker. But even with my chin held close to my chest, I took it all in. The wonder! The sounds! The smells! Even the clap of our donkeys’ hooves on the red-tiled streets sounded like music. It was so different from Civica in every way.
We passed a plaza shaded by a giant fig tree. Children jumped rope under its enormous umbrella, and musicians played a flute and a bandoneon, puffing out cheerful tunes for townsfolk who conversed around small tables that lined the perimeter.
Farther into town, merchandise spilled from stores onto neighboring walkways. A rainbow of scarves billowed in the breeze outside one shop, and at another, crates of fresh shiny eggplant, striped squash, lacy fennel, and fat pink turnips were displayed in neat, vibrant rows. Even the tack shop was cheerfully painted in robin’s-egg blue. The muted tones of Civica were nowhere to be found. Here everything sang with color.
No one looked at us. We blended in with others who were passing by. We were two more workers on our way home after a long day at the docks, or maybe just tired strangers looking for a friendly inn. In our trousers and caps, we probably looked more like scrawny men. I tried to keep from smiling as I eyed the town that Pauline had described so many times. My smile vanished when I saw three Royal Guards approaching on horseback. Pauline spotted them too and pulled back on her reins, but I whispered a hushed command to her. “Keep going. Keep your head down.”
We proceeded forward, though I wasn’t sure either of us breathed. The soldiers were laughing with each other, their horses moving at a leisurely pace. A cart driven by another soldier lumbered behind them.
They never glanced our way, and Pauline delivered a relieved sigh after they passed. “I forgot. Dried and smoked fish. They come once a month from an eastern outpost for supplies, but mostly for fish.”
“Only once a month?” I whispered.
“I think so.”
“Then our timing is good. We won’t have to worry about them again for a while. Not that they’d know me anyway.”
Pauline took a moment to survey me and then pinched her nose. “No one would know you, except perhaps the swine back home.”
As if on cue, Otto hawed at her remark, making us both laugh, and we raced for a warm bath.
* * *