“What do you think? You could take off for a week.”
“Perhaps I should go for the whole Grand Season,” Nina said.
Her mother seemed surprised at this. “Nina, you do not have to.”
“I want to.”
She had climbed back atop the Devil’s Throne even after she’d broken her arm, and Nina had decided Loisail would be a similar feat. She would not spend her life eternally avoiding the city. She wouldn’t give anyone more reasons to talk about her or look at her sadly.
They had likely expected her to die of heartbreak, to wither and grow gray, but Nina thought she would not give them the satisfaction. Not to the silly folk who made jokes about her, nor to Valérie and Hector.
She still grew sad when she thought about him. But the feeling washed away quickly enough: she willed it to wash away as she willed the cards to turn.
It was more difficult certain mornings when, in the semidarkness of her room, she forgot to raise her defenses and Hector would intrude, unbidden, into her mind. She’d recall the exact way his mouth curved when he smiled, and this memory was utterly painful, drawing forth the wretched longing she’d hidden away. She could not wash this so easily, and the memory remained in the dawn; it stained her heart, like the sap of trees, which clings to clothes, to skin, to everything.
Nina buried her face in her pillow and squeezed her eyes shut.
A sea roared inside her and made demands, but she waded it, she bobbed up, took a breath, and opened her eyes to the cold winter morning. Then she rose because the day was there, the world was there, and she wanted to be part of it.
PART TWO
CHAPTER 1
The best bookshops in all of Loisail were located two blocks from the Square of the Plague. Its formal name was the Plaza Varnier, named after a war hero long dead, but most people remembered it because in the Year of the Plague, many centuries before, this had been one of the spots where pyres were set up to burn the dead. There was a legend that a house across the square, with distinctive yellow tiles decorating its façade, had been spared disease because the owners were pious. Thus, for a time, this had been an informal peregrination spot for the sickly who wished to be cured of impossible maladies.
Nina walked by the bronze statue of General Varnier and peered at his resolute face, arm stretched out toward the heavens, sword in hand. A pigeon sat atop the statue, unaware that it was lounging on the head of a historical figure who had helped topple cities.
“Miss Beaulieu, how do you do?” a male voice asked, and she turned her head.
It was Luc Lémy, dressed in a blue jacket that brought out his eyes. He took off his silk hat and pressed it against his chest. Nina extended her hand in greeting, and he kissed it.
“Mr. Lémy,” she said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Likewise. What are you doing in Loisail? Have you come for a few days of shopping?” he asked.
“I’m staying with my great-aunts this spring.”
“Not with your cousins? I was thinking of paying your cousin Gaétan a visit this week.”
“No,” Nina said simply, and focused her eyes on the pigeons milling about the square, looking for crumbs.
“I understand completely,” he replied, smiling at her, a conspirator. “It is easier to give the elderly relatives the slip and seek excitement, is it not? Drinks and billiard games kept me entertained when I visited with my grandfather two summers ago. Have you been going to a good many parties?”
Nina had to admit her great-aunts were more lax than Valérie and Gaétan ever were. They did not go out often, most of the social functions Nina had been subjected to last spring were out of the question, and though in theory they were supposed to accompany her as she went around the city, her great-aunts both complained of aches and pains and had let Nina do as she willed. There were also no reproaches about Nina’s clothing and shoes, which was how she was walking around Loisail in a simple cotton dress without the ruffles, flounces, and pearls Valérie adored.
“I’m sure I do not seek the same excitement as you do, Mr. Lémy. No, I haven’t gone to parties,” she said, but her voice was pleasant. She did not think she had any business chiding him, and Luc had a sunny disposition—it would have been difficult to chastise him even if one wanted to.
“No parties? During the Grand Season?” he said, frowning, as though this were an alien concept.
“I’ve been in the city only for a few days.”
“That’s plenty of time to go to parties. Do not tell me you are one of those women who spends her days at sewing circles and organizing charity bazaars? I detest such things, and you are far too young for that nonsense.”
A pigeon approached Nina’s foot, bobbing its head up and down, but a dog, let loose from its leash, began chasing it and sent it flying off. The pigeons atop the statue ignored the ruckus and stayed in their place.
“I sew poorly,” she said, watching as a heavyset matron in a heavy pink hat picked up the dog and shushed it.
“Good!” he exclaimed. “You ought to be dancing.”
Nina couldn’t help but laugh at that. He seemed to take games and balls rather seriously, Mr. Lémy. It was endearing.
“Where are you headed?” he asked.
“To look at books.”
“By the gods, surely not on a pretty day. Are there books around here, anyway?”
“Past the street of the perfume-sellers,” she said, glancing in the appropriate direction. “There are a dozen shops. You haven’t noticed?”
“No. I am headed to the Philosophers Club and I should warn you, despite the name, there are no philosophers there. It’s a drinking den.”
“Where?”
“Up there,” he said, pointing at a faded building, four stories high, its windows impenetrable behind burgundy velvet.
“Why do they call it the Philosophers Club?”
“After a few drinks, all men become philosophers.”
Nina nodded, and though she knew nothing of the Philosophers Club, she imagined it would be populated with men as bright and cheery as Luc Lémy, all in their finest jackets, drinking and smoking and laughing for hours on end.
Luc took out his pocket watch and slid the cover to the side, then looked at her. “I won’t be needed for another half hour. Do you want me to escort you to your bookstore? This is not the best quarter in the city.”
“It’s not the worst either. I’ve been here before.”
“Let me be gallant. It makes me feel better,” he said, offering her his arm. “I’m sure your great-aunts would approve.”
Nina draped her hand over his arm. “If you insist. But there are no drinks inside a bookstore.”
“How dreadful.”
They walked the scant two blocks necessary to reach their destination. The bookstores were all small and crowded. They occupied the first floor of each building, but the second and third floors either served as living quarters for the owners or housed restaurants. One could pick a favorite volume and then have an economical lunch.
Nina went into the Dandelion. It was not the best bookstore on this street, but it catered to geographers, nature aficionados, and those with scientific inclinations. It sold copies of the leading scientific gazettes and popular books, but also more obscure volumes.