His sister wouldn’t like the servant part, but she’d be happy about the pants. “What about Sera?” he asked.
Vada’s brow furrowed. “If anyone sees her skin or her hair it will cause a fuss and we are not needing fusses right now. . . .”
They passed down the line of tents and stopped abruptly at a pair of Misarros with golden suns on their chests patrolling the outside of the fanciest tent in the whole row. Ofairn’s Fine Gowns, Leo translated as he read the sign above it, right before Vada pulled him back. But there were Misarros behind the tent as well. Vada cursed under her breath and, in a movement so fluid Leo barely registered it, sank to grab a knife hidden in her boot and cut a long, delicate slit in the tent. She slipped inside and pulled him in after her.
The dresses that hung on the walls were shimmering things of lace and silk, all expertly tailored, some with long sleeves, some strapless, some adorned with shells or beads, others with what Leo realized were river stones, pebbles in shades of periwinkle and slate and olive. The tent itself was empty except for a lone girl, maybe fifteen, with brown skin, copper-colored hair, and big doe eyes. She was clearly in for a fitting, wearing a dress that covered her completely in head-to-toe lace.
To Leo’s surprise, Vada made a sort of choking sound and then fell to one knee, nudging him with her elbow to do the same.
“Princess Rahel,” she said. “We did not . . . I am sorry . . . we were just . . .”
Leo had never seen the sailor so out of sorts; at the same moment his mind was registering her words. Princess?
“You may rise,” the girl said, then she giggled. “That’s not the door to the tent. Did you get lost? Don’t you know what doors look like?” They stood, and she wrinkled her nose. “You smell. Are you sailors? Have you ever been to Kaolin? My mother said it’s full of heretics. And their clothes are all rather drab. Don’t you like this gown? Mistress Phebe designed it herself. I’m getting married in a month, isn’t that exciting?” Her eyes turned to Leo and he saw a flash of recognition and also something he used to get all the time from the girls in Old Port—desire.
“You look like a Byrne,” the girl said.
“I am one,” Leo replied because Vada was just kneeling there, dumbstruck. “My sincerest congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.”
Rahel grinned. “I thank you, sir,” she said, making a low, elegant curtsy. Then she leaned forward and whispered, “My family hates your family.”
If there was one thing Leo was good at, it was flirting with rich girls. “My family hates your family,” he said with a wink, and was rewarded with another giggle. “But since our families are not here at the moment, can we remain friends?”
Rahel looked delighted. “As long as we keep it a secret,” she said.
“Of course,” Leo said, bowing. It occurred to him that the Misarros guarding this tent were actually guarding the princess. The golden sun on their tunics meant she was the daughter of the Renalt. “I’m surprised you traveled to Arbaz in such dire times.”
Rahel clapped her hands together. “I know, it’s so exciting isn’t it? Though I don’t understand why Mother had to vote to close the ports. Ithilia is so much more thrilling with all the new people. She didn’t want to let me come here but of course I had to have a dress by Mistress Phebe, didn’t I? She’s the best in the whole country! And who cares about silly old Kaolin ships? I hear they barely sail at all in Kaolin and ride around in big honking machines. Are you here for new clothes as well? Those ones aren’t very fitting on you. Why is a Byrne dressed like a common sailor? Is she your girlfriend?”
Vada snorted at the suggestion and Leo shook his head.
“No, she’s my servant,” he said. Rahel looked very pleased to hear that.
Just then the tent flap opened, and a woman entered carrying a very elaborate headdress. “I have found just the one, princess,” she was saying, then stopped short at the sight of Leo and Vada. She was probably in her late forties, with wavy black hair and brown skin, her curvy figure hugged by a gown of iridescent blue-green scales, and while Leo was absolutely positive he had never seen her before, there was something familiar about her face.
“Look, Mistress Phebe, a Byrne has come to see you!” Rahel declared. “But he didn’t use the door. He certainly needs new clothes, doesn’t he?”
Leo’s knees locked together, wondering what this woman would do as she stared at him, but then she turned to the princess with a wide smile. “Yes, he does,” she said. “And we have finished our fitting. You may change next door and I will be with you shortly.”
Princess Rahel did not seem eager to leave Leo’s company, but she acquiesced. Once they were alone, Leo felt his heart pounding in his ears. Vada struggled to her feet as the woman folded her arms across her chest.
“Leo McLellan,” she said, and Leo felt a shock run through him.
“No,” Vada protested weakly. “He’s a Byrne, he—”
“Oh, he’s a Byrne all right,” the woman said. “Those eyes, the nose, the chin . . . my god, he even has her hair, if not the same color.” She cocked her head. “But this Byrne was not raised on the estates of Culinnon or in the majestic streets of Ithilia.”
“I . . .” Leo didn’t know what to say and from the looks of it, neither did Vada.
The woman smiled and extended a hand to him. “My name is Phebe Ofairn. I believe you know my brother, Eneas.”
3
Agnes
THE SUN WAS SETTING, AND LEO AND VADA STILL WEREN’T back.
Agnes paced the length of the captain’s cabin as Sera stared out the porthole window over the bed, fascinated by the sights and sounds of Arbaz.
What was taking the two of them so long? Agnes fingered the letter in her pocket, the one her grandmother had sent her. She kept it on her at all times, right next to the photograph of her mother. They were touchstones reminding her of who she was and of her purpose. She took the letter out now and read it for the millionth time.
My dearest Agnes,
I hope this letter reaches you. I have friends at the University of Ithilia and received surprising (and welcome) news. Come find me when you arrive. I will say no more here except that I have longed to meet you.
Your loving grandmother,
Ambrosine Byrne
The date for Agnes’s interview with the Academy of Sciences was already set and mere days away. Agnes didn’t want to miss it—she couldn’t miss it; she had been waiting her whole life for this opportunity. But Sera needed to get home. Agnes felt terrible asking her friend if they could delay the journey even for just a day.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Sera’s voice made her jump. Agnes quickly put the letter back in her pocket.
“I was just worrying about Leo,” she lied.
“No you weren’t. You are thinking about that school, the one you are hoping to attend. You have an interview there soon, don’t you?”
Agnes was confused and surprised—she had barely spoken about the university, as if that would make real the possibility of failure.
Sera smiled. “Leo is more impressed by you than he lets on.”