Chapter 56 #2
Elio was right about Damien’s response to my invitation, of course. Despite his gracious words, he did not visit our tea circle.
The divide between his world and ours remained exactly where it had always been, reinforced now by the weight of a new debt that neither of us knew how to discharge without making the other uncomfortable.
Meanwhile, the city of Neapolis Capitola began preparing for Midsummer. On our weekend outings to the city by ferry, my sisters and I watched the imperial palace grounds being transformed for a huge public festival.
Colorful pavilions sprang up on the expansive lawns, banners hung from every light post, and the gardens’ wide walkways were lined with market stalls and performers’ stages. The breeze carried the sound of hammering and shouting and the occasional burst of celebratory music as bands rehearsed.
Inside the academy, most of the students were focused on the coming end-of-year examinations, which would determine whether we would advance to the next year or be forced to transfer to a less demanding provincial academy.
The Western Tower’s common room was filled with study groups that met late into the night, and the central library had extended its opening hours from dawn until midnight.
I and the second- and third-year members of the Open Hand anchored the first-year study groups.
Mira and Juno and I drilled each other on runes and spells until we could reel off Sancola’s formulae in our sleep.
I quizzed them on historical dates and important events for our History of Magecraft and the Dominion and Magecraft final until their answers came automatically, without the hesitation of thought.
Elio studied as hard as the rest of us, but still materialized during study breaks with treats he’d purchased in the city: candies, expensive nut-stuffed dates, and candied figs wrapped in waxed paper.
We took study breaks to kiss until we were both breathless in the stacks of the library’s least-frequented section, surrounded by the dusty books no one had opened in a decade.
He kissed me goodnight at the door to my suite every night, his fingers raising shivers as he caressed my neck and traced the shell of my ear, and each time our lips met, it felt like a promise.
We talked about our summer plans in Baleares and Bernswick, but tried not to dwell on the upcoming separation planted at the end of Sixth Month like the edge of a cliff.
And then there was the silence from home.
Papa’s letter had arrived over a month ago, and there had been nothing else from him. No replies to our letters, no word about travel arrangements, no letter of credit for our fares and meals on the journey home.
Mama had always handled these arrangements for our family.
Whenever we’d traveled to other islands to buy herbs or precious mineral salts, she’d been the one who booked our passages on the inter-island ferry and arranged for our meals and lodging at our destinations.
She had done it with the same quiet efficiency she brought to everything, and her absence felt like a missing tooth.
“Papa must have forgotten,” I told Mira and Juno when they asked, yet again, why Papa had said nothing about our journey home. “You know how he is with details. I’ll write him again and ask him to book our passage.”
They accepted this because they wanted to believe it, and because the alternative—that Papa had decided bringing us home was too much work and was procrastinating like he did with mending the broken furniture in our attic—was too painful.
I couldn’t help blaming Narcissa for the prolonged silence. Was she jealously rearranging Papa’s priorities to focus on his new wife and new family?
On Midsummer Eve, the fireworks from the festival at the imperial palace burst in great blooming flowers of blue and gold and crimson in the sky high above the city.
I stood at the window of our sitting room with Mira and Juno pressed against either side of me, and watched the fiery display in the distance.
It did nothing to dispel the sinking feeling now that the solstice had come, and the two-month silence from Bernswick remained unbroken.
∞∞∞
Three more days passed. Each morning, I listened to the breakfast mail call with dwindling hope and watched Juno’s face grow sadder and Mira withdraw further when the clerk failed to call our names.
On the fourth day, I stopped waiting and walked over to the Bursar’s Office.
I recognized the clerk. He was the same friendly man who had been on duty the day I paid my fines and deposited the rest of my Champion’s Grant for safekeeping.
I presented my deposit receipt.
“I’d like to withdraw this sum,” I said. “In cash.”
The bursar clerk examined my draft and frowned.
“Miss Bernswick. This is quite a substantial sum to withdraw all at once. May I ask the purpose?”
Alarm raced through me. Is he going to deny my request? Block me from withdrawing my money?
I’d been at the Academy long enough to brace myself for the worst. “Why do you need to know?”
He cleared his throat. “I worry that someone might be extorting you or pressuring you for money…”
Oh.
“It’s nothing like that. It’s for travel expenses,” I reassured him, smiling. “For myself and my sisters. We’re returning home to the Western Isles for the summer. But thank you for asking.”
“Ah, that’s all right, then.” He sounded relieved. Opening a drawer somewhere below, he began piling gold and silver coins on the counter.
When we had both counted the coins, and I’d signed a form acknowledging I’d received the funds on the withdrawal receipt, I put the money into my fancy velvet purse and tucked it securely into the inner pocket of my skirt, which I’d reinforced with a double layer of fabric and extra stitching.
My next stop was the Imperial Ferry Service’s ticket booth at the academy dock. Elio had told me I could book passage on a mail ship through the Imperial Ferry Service, saving me a trip to the city.
I purchased the lowest-cost tickets to the Western Isles for my sisters and me, even though the journey would take three times longer.
Instead of sailing the direct Felicitas Victoria-to-Port Herrewick route, His Imperial Majesty’s Mail Ship, the Sea Spray, would travel along the Frankish coast north of Felicitas Victoria, with many stops before crossing the Caelrith Straits to Herrewick on our home island of Abbonay.
The entire transaction took less than fifteen minutes.
Afterwards, as I walked back to the Western Tower with the tickets securely tucked away next to my remaining money, I told myself that Papa’s failure to book our passage home didn’t mean anything bad had happened.
Papa has always been absent-minded. He’s forgotten about making the travel arrangements; that’s all. And maybe our letters haven’t reached him yet.
When I got home, I would sit down with him and Narcissa—the thought of her sitting in our parlor made me grimace—and we would sort it out.
Mira was waiting for me on a bench outside the Western Tower, a textbook open across her knees. She looked up when I approached.
“Did you get the tickets?” she asked.
I nodded and showed her the rectangles of cheap, printed cardstock embossed with the official seals of the Imperial Ferry Service and the Imperial Mail Service. They represented the difference between being stranded here for the summer and going home.
Mira studied them and said, her voice almost too low to hear: “Mama would’ve been proud of you.”
My eyes stung with sudden tears, and my vision blurred.
Mama, who had handled everything for everyone all my life. She had never once forgotten a birthday or a travel date or paperwork or the way Juno liked her porridge—with honey, no milk.
Mama, whose absence was a hole in my world that nothing could ever fill.
Mira threw her arms around me. “I miss her so much.”
I hugged her back and noticed she’d suddenly gotten taller. Her skirt-hems now hovered well above her ankles. She’d need new clothes when we got home. “Me, too.”