The other students in Politics of Trade were filtering into the classroom, glancing at Lovisa, greeting their professor, finding their seats. Lovisa took a breath. Then, deciding that she wanted to know the real reason her father had come looking for her mother, she asked to be excused to the restroom.
* * *
—
Inside a particular restroom on the second floor, Lovisa reached her hand up and felt along the marble ledge of one of the privy stalls. Finding the small wedge of wood she kept there, she jammed it hard under the door so that no one, person or fox, could come in. Then she bent down under the long sink basin and put her ear to the heating grate in the floor. Lovisa had a way of noticing what was on the other side of ceilings, floors, and walls. Two years ago, on one of her first days at the academy, she’d figured out that this restroom was directly above her mother’s office.
Immediately, she heard the rumble of her parents’ voices below, the sound rising through the heating pipes with a tinny distortion. Hot air gusted into Lovisa’s face, making her eyes water. But her mother’s voice was clear.
“I admit it’s not a terrible plan, Benni,” she said. “But it has a lot of variables. You tend to assume things you can’t be sure of yet. You’re rushing.”
Her father’s voice rumbled, his words imperceptible.
“That will be up to you,” said Ferla. “I can’t solve your storage problems. Come over here, would you? Stop fidgeting.”
Benni’s voice rose more audibly through the grate. “Could I store it in the attic room? It would be in a banker’s box. No one would look twice at it.”
A banker’s box was a small safe with a combination lock; Benni had two, which he used for categorically dull things. Usually cash.
“I don’t love that idea,” said Ferla. “When the time comes, you can stash it in your library. Even better, my study.”
“It would only be for a short time. We don’t have a good place in the house for these kinds of valuables. I think the attic room is best.”
“We’ll discuss it later,” said Ferla. “The issue is unlikely to arise for quite a while. Why are you here, Benni? I don’t believe your future storage problems brought you here from Flag Hill.”
“You’re right,” he said. “I think we should accept an invitation for dinner tonight at the house of Quona Varana.”
“Quona Varana!” said Ferla, her voice resonant with both disbelief and scorn. The Varanas were an important Ledra family—Sara Varana, a Scholar, was currently prime minister, which meant she led Parliament and directed most of the actions of the government’s executive branch. Minta Varana, sister to Quona and Sara, was Winterkeep’s foremost airship engineer. Varane, the gas that kept airships buoyant, was named after their family.
But Quona was something else entirely. In a family of Scholars and inventors, she’d first become a doctor of animal medicine, then decided to live by herself in a house on a cliff above the sea with about a dozen cats. She had no interest in politics. She was a professor in the school of animal medicine at the academy and floated around campus wearing skirts covered with fur.
“Why does that woman keep inviting us to dinner?” said Ferla.
“Who doesn’t invite us to dinner, my dear?”
“Why would you want to go to her house for dinner?”
“Because she also invited the envoy from Estill,” said Benni.
Briefly, Ferla was silent. “Why should I care that Quona invited the Estillan envoy?”
“It might matter,” said Benni.
“To whom?” said Ferla. “Maybe they’re just friends. Maybe he’s a cat fanatic. It’s Quona. Anyway, I just invited our daughter home to dinner tonight, Benni.”
“Lovisa will survive,” said Benni.
“Are you ever going to tell me the real reason you’ve crossed town?” said Ferla, her voice beginning to sharpen. “You’ll never convince me it’s because you want to have dinner with Quona Varana.”
“You’re right, as usual,” said Benni, his voice growing both warmer and quieter. Lovisa shifted uncomfortably, trying to press her ear more firmly against the grate, because something told her that whatever her father said next was going to be the puzzle piece that connected everything.
“I’ve had a letter,” Benni said. “The Queen of Monsea is coming to Winterkeep for a visit.”
This time, Ferla’s silence lasted longer. Lovisa wished she could see her mother’s face. She wondered if it was lit up like her own.
“You don’t say,” said Ferla, surprise in her voice. “When?”
“Now. She’ll be on the sea already. She expects to arrive in three or four weeks.”
“Well,” said Ferla, who was beginning to sound as happy as Lovisa felt. “Do you think Parliament will agree to let us host her?”
“They must,” said Benni. “You must use your influence on Sara Varana, for we simply must have her at home. It’s such an opportunity for diplomacy.”
“Yes,” said Ferla, her voice deepening. And then Lovisa heard muffled noises, a series of murmurs, then a gasp, and sprang away from the vent so fast that she cracked her head on the marble of the sink’s underside and had to suppress a cry of pain. Ugh. Her parents. It was disgusting how often their conversations randomly turned into things she did not want to hear.
She pushed herself up from the floor, pressing her fingers under the tight twists she wore in her hair, trying to rub the sore spot. In the mirror, she saw a young version of Ferla, which depressed her. She also saw a pattern of crisscrosses and circles embedded in her cheek from the grate, and sighed. She was stuck in here until that mark faded.
But the news was worth it. The Queen of Monsea was coming to Winterkeep, and might even stay in her house! Important delegates invariably ended up at the Cavenda house. That was because Lovisa’s parents represented opposing parties. Placing someone like the Queen of Monsea in the Cavenda home would leave neither the Scholars nor the Industrialists feeling at a disadvantage.
The Cavendas had also hosted Prince Skye for part of his visit, the one who was the Queen of Monsea’s cousin. Lovisa had found herself going home for dinner often, wanting to sit across from the man with the Lingian accent, the gold in his ears and on his fingers. He’d said that his father, a king, lived in a palace that sat atop a spire of rock. He’d said that he had a brother who was a Graceling, Graced with fighting. He’d had a Graced boyfriend too, a man named Saf, the first Graceling Lovisa had ever met. Saf had had blond hair like no one Lovisa had ever seen before, skin paler than his hair, eyes of two different purples, and the Grace of giving people dreams. He’d asked her once, over dinner, if she wanted a dream, and she hadn’t known what kind of dream to ask for. While she’d stalled, thinking, her little brothers had asked him for dreams of the Keeper, who was the undersea hero in the fairy tales the silbercows told. Then the conversation had turned to explaining the Keeper legends to the guests, and Lovisa had never gotten her dream. The boys had, though. They dreamed of the Keeper every night now, if they wanted.