“It’s the lemonade,” Kristos said, clasping his hand as if meeting again for the first time in years, though we had spent the last week together. The Republic Military School was closed for the weeks surrounding the national holiday, and he had come north to try his horses at the first annual National Races.
I poured myself a glass of lemonade and sat on a blanket in the shade of a sprawling flaxwood poplar. A strand of seeds settled in my cup, and I plucked it out. Thea dashed toward me, intent on the lemonade. Instead, I drew a charm from the ether and strung it in front of her. She laughed and grabbed at it, letting me twine it around my fingers and then swing it between them, dancing like a marionette of light.
Annette and Viola dealt a hand of Pepper with Artur Hysso, now a representative for Pellia in the Council of Country. Kristos and several councillors toasted with cups of lemonade some accomplishment I couldn’t hear. Sianh sat next to me, watching Thea tug at strings of light invisible to him.
“She is gifted as you are,” he said.
“Sometimes I wonder how many of us are, if only we trusted ourselves to see it.” I pulled the strands of light and crossed them as though playing cat’s cradle with string, and Thea giggled. “And these little ones trust what they see better than grown-ups do.”
“It may be. Or it may be you are still unwilling to accept the unique nature of your gifts. Even after—what? Teaching dozens of pupils, writing influential Galatine policy on magic, effecting international accords on the use of casting? And all in three years as special advisor to the council?”
“Three very long years,” I said. “Pass me a fig?”
Sianh obliged and took several for himself, as well. “I have much I want to discuss with you, on matters of teaching and pedagogy in our unusually utilitarian fields. And you must meet my horses—fine Galatine beasts.”
“I should like that.” A wadded napkin pelted the side of my face, expertly lobbed to fly under the brim of my hat, and I looked to Annette, who jerked her thumb toward the podium.
“I take that to mean we are to silence ourselves and pay attention to the speeches,” Sianh said.
“I believe so,” I said, passing the napkin to Sianh with a narrow-eyed nod suggesting its next target: Annette’s feather-trimmed hat. He nodded and tucked it carefully away, saving it for an opportune moment.
The governors faced away from us toward the open expanse of Fountain Square, crowded with people whose voices dimmed and silenced as the first of the three governors took the podium. Hamish Oglethorpe, tired of criticizing the missteps of political function, had run for a vacant governor’s seat. He and Kristos butted heads nearly daily, as Hamish had an uncanny habit of pinpointing the precise weaknesses in Kristos’s ideology-rich and pragmatism-poor proposals, but Kristos respected him. They balanced one another, in some of the same ways Kristos and Theodor had.
Sitting behind the governors meant that we couldn’t hear most of what they said. I sat politely, the sun growing stronger as it traced its arc over the city and the shade of the flaxwood poplar next to me shifted. I watched Thea play with her doll, carved of wood and named, inexplicably, Florence. I had made the poppet a complete ensemble out of remnants from Alice’s shop, and anticipated teaching Thea to sew by helping her make more miniature gowns and petticoats.
There was a burst of applause and cheers from the crowd, and Hamish paused. Even if I couldn’t hear his speech, I knew it was a summation of our successes in the past three years since the conclusion of the Civil War and an optimistic view toward addressing the challenges we still faced. The government was secure, between the regional councils and elected mayors throughout the Republic of Galitha, and the national Council of Country in Galitha City and its three governors. Though we had been plagued by practical challenges to voting policy, resulting in riots during the first elections after the war, the subsequent elections had run smoothly. After long arguments, that right was extended to women, as well, and I had cast my first ballot alongside Emmi and Alice.
More, international trade and relations were nearly restored to prewar confidence, even with West Serafe, which had grudgingly committed to treaties on the use of magic that I had taken no small part in writing. Fen’s workers’ strikes continued, but we tactfully threw our support in the form of trade agreements behind those rylkfen who had come to amenable terms with their workers. Money spoke clearly, and more and more mill owners and factory investors pressured the government to codify workers’ rights.
More applause for Hamish, and I caught snatches of what he said—discussing the sewer system of Galitha City. I laughed—improving the health and sanitation of Galitha City had been his pet project, and it was well underway. Already there were fewer outbreaks of ague and dysentery, which he insisted had to do entirely with improved flow of water. Commerce continued to progress in the city, with renewed energy and democratic efficiency for opening new businesses. I allowed myself a contented sigh. So much destruction and death, but it had made way for this—a country with a bright future.
Sianh mistook my sigh for boredom and raised an eyebrow. “Kristos said that the speeches would be short.”
“He said his speech would be short,” I said. “Hamish made no such promise.”
Sianh laughed quietly. “Apparently not. He is—what does one say in Galatine? Long-winded. Though to be honest, I could appreciate some breeze right about now.”
I passed him a glass of cool lemonade as Hamish finally concluded his speech to cheers and shouts from the crowd. Emmi, Parit, Venia, and my other Pellian friends were likely there somewhere, folded into the crowd. With the too-familiar pang of loss, I remembered Lieta, absent in our gatherings since early spring, when she had passed on peacefully in her sleep. I still met with the others, now inviting them to my too-large offices at the university. I had expected Emmi to want to keep working for Alice, but she had come to me to be included in tutelage in casting alongside the Kvys sisters and others from Galitha, and eventually, West Serafe as well. She was not as gifted as some of the others—Tantia had a remarkable ability for casting strong magic into solid material, and the nuance of some of the Serafans was extraordinary. Still, Emmi was eager to learn and now held an assistantship under me in my post at the university.
The inclusion of Pellia as a province of Galitha had made for uncertainty among some Galatines at first, but I had noticed a change recently, accepting our Pellian immigrants to Galitha City with more generous attitudes than before the war. There would still be challenges; I was sure Hamish had skipped mentioning the small but vocal Galatine Nationalists who had sprung up from disaffected Royalists and Red Caps alike, their newfound political alliance formed on rejecting the inclusion of Pellia. They circulated pamphlets and ran, typically unsuccessfully, for office, but did not seem inclined to disrupt national peace to further their aims.
Kristos took the podium. Sianh made a show of taking his pocket watch from his waistband, marking the time Kristos began to speak. I hid my grin at his joke behind my hand as Kristos unexpectedly hopped down from the podium and began to cross a corner of the square. The crowd parted for him as he strode toward a raised platform next to the new statue that had been placed in the square a week prior, carefully covered and wrapped in layers of tarps.