“You think he was lying?”
“Hardly, no. I think he had attached himself to a falsehood so completely he thought it was the truth—that a man of noble birth could not possibly lead a new Galitha.” Sianh paused and set his knife and fork down, balanced with gentle precision on the rim of his plate. “I do not think it likely the jury will find him innocent of the charges.”
Hanging, then. And another man would be dead, a casualty in the Galatine Civil War. Even if hanging was just, even if the guilty verdict was well-earned, I wasn’t sure I could stomach any more death. I nudged my plate away from me. “I would rather not talk about it any further.”
Sianh complied with the dexterous conversation that had made him a success in the Warren in Isildi, though I would never have told him that. He produced a set of silver dice from his pocket and taught me a simple game of wagers, and kept me distracted enough until late in the evening that gallows and juries were the furthest thing from my thoughts. The next day, I started a new gown from fabric Kristos had left for me and had the bodice nearly complete before I thought to wonder if the jury had come to a decision late in the afternoon. When I met Kristos at the door, he didn’t need to say anything—the painful peace in his bearing told me Niko was guilty.
Penny finally made her way into the city, wearing the still-unnamed infant in a neatly wrapped cocoon as she bustled around the house. She threw herself into making it as homey as possible. Though a grand estate in the classical Galatine style, and far larger than anything Penny, Kristos, or I had ever lived in, it was a victim of the war, too. Its three stories were almost bereft of furniture, the curtains had been torn down for fabric, and several rooms’ rich wood floors and silk walls were marred with claw marks and stains where a pack of dogs had gotten inside.
Penny prodded me into helping her with friendly jokes and frequent nagging, though I didn’t tell her that the main reason I consented to leaving my rooms was because I felt guilty watching her try to strip wallpaper and polish floors while tending the infant.
“I wonder who lived here,” Penny mused as we tore down a ruined panel of silk. She teetered on a stepladder but refused to stay firmly on the floor. The baby slept soundly in a basket nearby.
“One of the Ladies Pommerly,” I said, ripping a section of the silk as we fought with it. “Which is why I don’t feel badly at all living here,” I added.
“The Pommerly family was one of the worst, wasn’t it?” Penny rolled a length of stained fabric around her arm. “Along with—oh, what was that admiral’s name?”
“Penny, you just lived through the single most historic event in centuries of Galatine history, and you can’t remember that admiral’s name?” I laughed. It felt strange, rusty and thick, yet welcome. “Merhaven. His name was Merhaven.”
“That’s right.” She hopped from the ladder. “Well, they certainly left in a hurry. The larder is a mess.”
“The dogs didn’t leave much,” I said. I didn’t add that I knew that this particular member of the Pommerly family had not escaped the city.
“What are we going to do once we get this down?” Penny asked. “We haven’t the same fabric lying around, I’m sure.”
“No. We’ll have to have the walls painted. Maybe verdigris,” I said with a sly smile.
“I don’t care how stylish it is, that green is far too bright for indoors! It would make a fine calash or pair of shoes, but to be surrounded by it? Ugh!”
“Alice specifically suggested verdigris,” I said, another laugh working its way to the surface.
“She did not!” Penny giggled.
The baby roused and began to cry, her little face red with the exertion of so much sudden volume. “She’ll be hungry again,” Penny said, deftly lifting the little bundle and pulling her breast over the top of her gown in one motion. “Greedy little thing,” she cooed as the baby latched hastily.
“She’s nearly a hundred days old. Isn’t it time she had a name?” I asked, gathering the scraps of soiled wall covering into a bin.
“We were thinking about that,” Penny said softly. “We’d like to have a little party here for her naming, the way Kristos said Pellians usually do.”
“Kristos has never been interested in what Pellians usually do before,” I said. Perhaps having a baby changed that, and now there was something about himself he wanted to capture and save for her, before it was too late. “Emmi could help with the arrangements, if you like. Oh, Lieta would be over the moon to come, too. She loves babies.”
“That would be wonderful,” Penny said. She paused, then pressed on. “We picked a name, but I want your blessing. If it’s not all right with you, we’ll pick something else.”
I stopped picking up stray bits of silk. “Of course,” I said, confused.
“Theodora,” Penny said quietly. “We’d like to name her Theodora.”
The room looked suddenly tight, too bright and too condensed, and I realized it was because my eyes were overflowing with tears. “Yes,” I said softly. “That would be perfect.”
67
WE MANAGED TO PAINT THE FRONT PARLOR AND THE FOYER IN time for Penny and Kristos to hold a naming party for Theodora. Emmi spent all morning in the kitchen with Penny, teaching her to make sweet almond pastry and gami, which translated roughly as glop in Galatine but was a fragrant paste made of herbs, nuts, and oil that Emmi paired with dainty charred flatbreads.
“This is delicious,” I said, wiping some gami from my chin. “To think, I never liked Pellian food. I’m beginning to think my mother didn’t know how to cook.”
“She definitely never made anything like this,” Kristos agreed. “Remember that spinach pie?”
“That was terrible.” I laughed.
“She probably didn’t salt and towel off the spinach,” Emmi said. “Here, have a pastry.”
“The baby would like to eat again,” Lieta said, finding us in the kitchen. She had spent all morning holding the infant, who took to Lieta’s bony arms like she’d been born there. “And your first guests are arriving.”
Penny took the baby to nurse once more before the party, and Kristos and I greeted Viola and Annette, who arrived early with arms full of gifts. More guests arrived, from the council members Kristos felt obligated to invite to the old friends from the dockyards he used to work alongside. Lieta had coached Kristos and Penny in the simple ceremony, and now sat keenly attentive to the proceedings.
Penny presented the baby, whom she had changed into the red silk gown I had made for the occasion, its long skirts hanging to Penny’s knees when she held her. A matching quilted cap tied under still milk-damp double chins. She slept soundly in her mother’s arms.
“This is my daughter,” Kristos said, for once stilted formality taking the place of his easy banter. Lieta nodded, encouraging.
“I have named her Theodora,” Penny said, to a quiet murmur of appreciation from the gathered crowd. I saw Annette wipe her eyes and Sianh swallow, very deliberately.
“It is a good name,” Kristos recited, his eyes bright and his voice quavering. The rote words of the simple ceremony finished, they paraded her around the room, introducing her by name to each guest.