Winterkeep Read online

  “Good morning, Lovisa,” she said, turning the force of her attention upon her daughter. She raised a hand to touch her husband’s chest as he kissed her on one brown cheek. The students still remaining in the room slowed their movements, watching discreetly. Everyone always like to watch Ferla and Benni Cavenda when they were together, for both were members of the Keepish government, but they represented parties that were bitterly opposed. Ferla was a Scholar. Benni was an Industrialist. Ferla was also the nation’s current president; though, with a few important exceptions, that position was mostly ceremonial. Benni was an elected representative of Parliament. Ferla and Benni agreed on hardly anything politically, and made a spectacle of it sometimes while Parliament was in session. It turned out you could make yourself famous, even successful, powerful, by marrying the enemy and having your wars in public. Yet there were no political fights at home. It had always been that way: At home, her parents had no differences.

  “Good morning, Mother,” said Lovisa.

  “How is your paper coming along for Politics of Trade?” asked Ferla. She was a small woman who never seemed small, not even beside her big husband, for her chin was high and her face proud and certain. Her dark hair was pulled severely back from her forehead, streaked with white at the temple like Lovisa’s. All of Ferla’s four children shared her smallness of stature, but only Lovisa had the white streak.

  “It’s going well,” Lovisa said.

  “Good,” said Ferla. “I’ve asked Gorga to share it with me.”

  A screw tightened in Lovisa’s throat. Her professor, Gorga Balava, was a forgiving grader, whereas Ferla had an eye for reading Lovisa’s work and detecting exactly where she’d been lazy. She’d written a section of the paper just this morning, and maybe it had been too easy. She’d have to take a closer look.

  “Say hello to the boys for me,” said Lovisa as her parents moved toward the door.

  “Come home for dinner and say hello to them yourself,” said Ferla, speaking with the kind of friendly challenge she accorded to her students and her colleagues, and her daughter when they were in public. This was why Lovisa always came to class early. She wanted the sense of belonging bestowed by her public mother.

  Ferla and Benni left the room together. Then Gorga Balava pushed through the door, a small man with a ring of graying hair, a bonded fox of his own at his heels. Lovisa didn’t like anyone’s fox, because all foxes snuck and hid and she hated not knowing if a conversation was happening right in front of her that she couldn’t hear. But Gorga’s fox was less annoying than the others, because their relationship seemed based less on secret communication and more on the professor’s indulgence. For example, this morning his fox was prancing around in little fur booties, sparkling with gems. Ridiculous.

  “Nice to see you, Lovisa,” said Gorga.

  “You too, Professor Balava.”

  “Was that a union of rivals I saw leaving just now?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I don’t suppose you overheard any of their conversation?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d tell me if you had?” said Gorga, with a flash of a smile that contained warmth, a kind of teasing. Almost every teacher in the academy’s school of politics and government also worked in the Keepish government in some capacity, large or small, and Gorga was no exception. He was an elected representative of Parliament, like Benni. An Industrialist, also like Benni. And everyone in government, regardless of their party, was nosy.

  “I saw them exchange meaningful glances,” Lovisa said, making a joke of it, but remembering the look that had passed between her parents. Her mother’s face had contained a question, and her father’s, an answer, one that had caused Ferla to light up with curiosity. Lovisa was adept at reading silent conversations. Maybe that was why foxes made her so irritable. Their conversations with their humans were uninterpretable.

  “Are you ready to talk about the upcoming zilfium vote?” asked Gorga.

  Lovisa sighed. “I knew there was some reason I didn’t bother to do the reading.”

  “I don’t believe you didn’t do the reading, Lovisa.”

  And he was right. Lovisa always did the reading, because that was the path to perfect grades. But Lovisa couldn’t care less about the upcoming vote scheduled for December on whether to legalize zilfium use in Winterkeep, because there was no point. The results were already certain. The Industrialists, who were the pro-zilfium party, did not have enough votes to win. It was too bad, because Lovisa had a feeling she’d like the zilfium trains that the other Torlan nations enjoyed. Her uncle Katu, who was her mother’s baby brother and a world traveler, had told her all about them. He’d once ridden a train across Kamassar and Borza, then on into Mantiper. For all Lovisa knew, Katu was on a train somewhere right now, for Katu had set off again a few months ago on a new adventure. Maybe he would write soon, and tell her where he was. Lovisa hoped he would. Katu was so much younger than his sister—in his mid-twenties, really closer to Lovisa’s sixteen than to Ferla’s ancient grown-up-ness—and so different from Ferla that he’d always felt like more of a cousin than an uncle.

  “Zilfium trains smell like burning and excitement,” Katu had told her once as they climbed aboard his boat. When Katu was home, he often took Lovisa and her three little brothers sailing.

  Lovisa had snorted, whacked his shoulder idly, and demanded to know what excitement smelled like.

  “Like the sun on metal,” he said, “and a saltwater wind.”

  “You’re just saying that because you’re wild about boats.”

  A smile had transformed Katu’s face into light. Lovisa’s brother Viri, who was five, had repeated, “Wild about boats!” Then Viri had stood up straight as a soldier, tiny, brown, and freckled, waving his arms around as the boat moved under him, repeating it again, chanting it to the sky. “Wild about boats! Wild about boats!” The other boys, Erita and Vikti, seven and nine, had joined in the chant. Being with Katu made the boys hyper, silly. They always seemed a little drunk around him. Katu, who thought life in their household was grimmer than it needed to be, did nothing to discourage it.

  “I’m wild about my niece and nephews,” Katu had responded as he began to check the winches; then, rolling his eyes good-humoredly at the boys, “Or maybe they just make my head spin.” And Lovisa had wished, if he was so wild about them, that he would take them the next time he ran off. Or at least take her. She wanted to climb the mountains of Kamassar and hug the coasts of Borza in a big, long metal contraption that sounded like grinding steel and smelled like excitement.

  “Make my head spin!” the boys began chanting, while Katu, laughing, worked around them. He hoisted Erita onto his shoulder so he could reach the dock line and Erita broke into delighted squeals. Katu was compact and strong and looked like Lovisa’s mother, especially the white streak in his hair, but he was so easy and friendly, so much less serious. The ruby on his thumb sparkled as he unhitched the dock line. He’d once, in Ferla’s hearing, called the ring “the only nice thing our father ever gave me,” which was ridiculous, for their father had given him a zilfium and silver mine he shared with his sister, not to mention the house that sat above it. But Katu spoke that way sometimes about the father Ferla idolized—called him a tyrant, a bully, and a bore—impressing Lovisa with this person who said what he wanted, did what he wanted, and wasn’t afraid of Ferla’s temper.

  The other students in Politics of Trade were filtering into the classroom, glancing at Lovisa, greeting their professor, finding their seats. Lovisa took a breath. Then, deciding that she wanted to know the real reason her father had come looking for her mother, she asked to be excused to the restroom.

  * * *

  —

  Inside a particular restroom on the second floor, Lovisa reached her hand up and felt along the marble ledge of one of the privy stalls. Finding the small wedge of
wood she kept there, she jammed it hard under the door so that no one, person or fox, could come in. Then she bent down under the long sink basin and put her ear to the heating grate in the floor. Lovisa had a way of noticing what was on the other side of ceilings, floors, and walls. Two years ago, on one of her first days at the academy, she’d figured out that this restroom was directly above her mother’s office.

  Immediately, she heard the rumble of her parents’ voices below, the sound rising through the heating pipes with a tinny distortion. Hot air gusted into Lovisa’s face, making her eyes water. But her mother’s voice was clear.

  “I admit it’s not a terrible plan, Benni,” she said. “But it has a lot of variables. You tend to assume things you can’t be sure of yet. You’re rushing.”

  Her father’s voice rumbled, his words imperceptible.

  “That will be up to you,” said Ferla. “I can’t solve your storage problems. Come over here, would you? Stop fidgeting.”

  Benni’s voice rose more audibly through the grate. “Could I store it in the attic room? It would be in a banker’s box. No one would look twice at it.”

  A banker’s box was a small safe with a combination lock; Benni had two, which he used for categorically dull things. Usually cash.

  “I don’t love that idea,” said Ferla. “When the time comes, you can stash it in your library. Even better, my study.”

  “It would only be for a short time. We don’t have a good place in the house for these kinds of valuables. I think the attic room is best.”

  “We’ll discuss it later,” said Ferla. “The issue is unlikely to arise for quite a while. Why are you here, Benni? I don’t believe your future storage problems brought you here from Flag Hill.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “I think we should accept an invitation for dinner tonight at the house of Quona Varana.”

  “Quona Varana!” said Ferla, her voice resonant with both disbelief and scorn. The Varanas were an important Ledra family—Sara Varana, a Scholar, was currently prime minister, which meant she led Parliament and directed most of the actions of the government’s executive branch. Minta Varana, sister to Quona and Sara, was Winterkeep’s foremost airship engineer. Varane, the gas that kept airships buoyant, was named after their family.

  But Quona was something else entirely. In a family of Scholars and inventors, she’d first become a doctor of animal medicine, then decided to live by herself in a house on a cliff above the sea with about a dozen cats. She had no interest in politics. She was a professor in the school of animal medicine at the academy and floated around campus wearing skirts covered with fur.

  “Why does that woman keep inviting us to dinner?” said Ferla.

  “Who doesn’t invite us to dinner, my dear?”

  “Why would you want to go to her house for dinner?”

  “Because she also invited the envoy from Estill,” said Benni.

  Briefly, Ferla was silent. “Why should I care that Quona invited the Estillan envoy?”

  “It might matter,” said Benni.

  “To whom?” said Ferla. “Maybe they’re just friends. Maybe he’s a cat fanatic. It’s Quona. Anyway, I just invited our daughter home to dinner tonight, Benni.”

  “Lovisa will survive,” said Benni.

  “Are you ever going to tell me the real reason you’ve crossed town?” said Ferla, her voice beginning to sharpen. “You’ll never convince me it’s because you want to have dinner with Quona Varana.”

  “You’re right, as usual,” said Benni, his voice growing both warmer and quieter. Lovisa shifted uncomfortably, trying to press her ear more firmly against the grate, because something told her that whatever her father said next was going to be the puzzle piece that connected everything.

  “I’ve had a letter,” Benni said. “The Queen of Monsea is coming to Winterkeep for a visit.”

  This time, Ferla’s silence lasted longer. Lovisa wished she could see her mother’s face. She wondered if it was lit up like her own.

  “You don’t say,” said Ferla, surprise in her voice. “When?”

  “Now. She’ll be on the sea already. She expects to arrive in three or four weeks.”

  “Well,” said Ferla, who was beginning to sound as happy as Lovisa felt. “Do you think Parliament will agree to let us host her?”

  “They must,” said Benni. “You must use your influence on Sara Varana, for we simply must have her at home. It’s such an opportunity for diplomacy.”

  “Yes,” said Ferla, her voice deepening. And then Lovisa heard muffled noises, a series of murmurs, then a gasp, and sprang away from the vent so fast that she cracked her head on the marble of the sink’s underside and had to suppress a cry of pain. Ugh. Her parents. It was disgusting how often their conversations randomly turned into things she did not want to hear.

  She pushed herself up from the floor, pressing her fingers under the tight twists she wore in her hair, trying to rub the sore spot. In the mirror, she saw a young version of Ferla, which depressed her. She also saw a pattern of crisscrosses and circles embedded in her cheek from the grate, and sighed. She was stuck in here until that mark faded.

  But the news was worth it. The Queen of Monsea was coming to Winterkeep, and might even stay in her house! Important delegates invariably ended up at the Cavenda house. That was because Lovisa’s parents represented opposing parties. Placing someone like the Queen of Monsea in the Cavenda home would leave neither the Scholars nor the Industrialists feeling at a disadvantage.

  The Cavendas had also hosted Prince Skye for part of his visit, the one who was the Queen of Monsea’s cousin. Lovisa had found herself going home for dinner often, wanting to sit across from the man with the Lingian accent, the gold in his ears and on his fingers. He’d said that his father, a king, lived in a palace that sat atop a spire of rock. He’d said that he had a brother who was a Graceling, Graced with fighting. He’d had a Graced boyfriend too, a man named Saf, the first Graceling Lovisa had ever met. Saf had had blond hair like no one Lovisa had ever seen before, skin paler than his hair, eyes of two different purples, and the Grace of giving people dreams. He’d asked her once, over dinner, if she wanted a dream, and she hadn’t known what kind of dream to ask for. While she’d stalled, thinking, her little brothers had asked him for dreams of the Keeper, who was the undersea hero in the fairy tales the silbercows told. Then the conversation had turned to explaining the Keeper legends to the guests, and Lovisa had never gotten her dream. The boys had, though. They dreamed of the Keeper every night now, if they wanted.

  A visit from a queen of the Royal Continent would be a real adventure. Wouldn’t it? This was the sort of thing that happened in a life like Katu’s. In fact, Katu knew the Queen of Monsea personally. He’d visited the Royal Continent not long ago; he’d told Lovisa about Gracelings. About the little queen who lived in a castle, spending her days in a soaring tower that rose above the city bridges. About Royal Continent magic.

  From her parents’ overheard conversation, Lovisa hadn’t gotten the puzzle piece that made everything clear. She still didn’t understand about Benni’s plan, the banker’s box, or Quona Varana’s friendship with the Estillan envoy. But she would file those tidbits away, in case they became useful later. You never knew what detail might fit perfectly into a future puzzle.

  It did occur to her to notice that her father, like her mother, had invited Lovisa home for dinner as well, even though he’d never intended to be there. That stung a little.

  But Lovisa would forgive him anything to have the Queen of Monsea living in her house.

  Chapter Five

  Bitterblue had forgotten how seasick she got. Had it always been this bad? She was certain that as a child, her head had stopped spinning after just a few days. Now her sickness kept going away, then coming back; going away again, then always coming back.

  When the first ten days of the journey to
Winterkeep had passed like this, she’d suddenly become terrified that she might be pregnant, a fear that had not reduced her nausea. It would’ve been the baby of a young lord named Pella from central Monsea who was intelligent and funny and attractive and whose child she absolutely, positively did not want.

  Once the scare had passed, she understood that she needn’t have worried. Bitterblue was always careful to take the medicines. Still, it had frightened her, and made her remember how angry Pella had been when she’d broken things off with him.

  “You’re cold,” he’d said to her in a sudden, harsh voice, surprising her, because Bitterblue was quite sure nothing but warmth had passed between them. Pella had a warm, grinning mouth and the most beautiful shoulders and arms, the warmest hands. She knew that he’d known, for she’d made sure that he’d known, that their affair was temporary. He’d told her it was what he wanted too.

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “You know I’m not cold.”

  He pushed to his feet, curled his lips with contempt. She’d never seen him do that before and it was stunning. They were alone in Bitterblue’s sitting room. It was late; the lamps threw their reflections against her windows. Bitterblue, confused, stood up too, and saw her mirror-self rising across the room.

  “You pretend you’re giving your heart,” he said.

  “I never pretend,” she said, really hurt now, because she was always honest with lovers; it was a lesson she’d taken to heart long ago. “I think you’re the one who’s been pretending something!”

  “Well, you see the truth of me now,” he said, and she did. “You use people,” he said. “You never give.”

  “That’s unfair!” cried Bitterblue, who’d loved exploring his body, learning what made it sing. “I am a generous lover!”

  “You never give your heart,” he said, then swept away through the big doors, visibly upset, probably giving the guards outside her rooms plenty to gossip about.