All of which existed outside her mother’s sukiya.
“Evelyn, you are late,” the Lady Hasegawa said by way of salutation. “Again.”
“My apologies.” Evelyn bowed low, trying her best to look properly conciliatory. Then she took her seat, accidentally nudging the table with her knees. The preponderance of small dishes clattered.
A quick exhalation through the Lady Hasegawa’s flared nostrils was all Evelyn needed to be reminded of her mother’s perpetual disappointment in her. How wearying it must be, Evelyn thought, to bear the burden of such ceaseless inadequacy. Still, at least she knew her mother, could recognize the moods — mostly displeasure — that flitted across her face. Her father was as unfathomable to her as the bottom of the sea, and nearly as distant. Once she had asked him if he loved her or not. In response he had drained his drink wordlessly and left the room.
The Lady Hasegawa motioned for the tea to be poured, which was done in silence. Evelyn did her best to handle her teacup with grace. She’d broken two already and been banned straight out from using the heirloom porcelain, a humiliating rule enforced even in company.
“As has likely become clear — even to you — our family has come upon some hard times,” the Lady Hasegawa said.
Evelyn nearly dropped her cup. Her mother never admitted to the financial woes of the Hasegawas, even though they were glaringly obvious. How strange it was to hear their truth so plainly stated. For once.
“Yes, Mother.”
“As such, Lord Hasegawa has decided it’s time for you to wed. You’re nearly sixteen years old. And, thanks to the Emperor, your father has found you a suitable match. One who does not demand too much in the way of dowry.”
Evelyn put down her cup gracelessly. Hot tea sloshed over the lip of the cup onto her hand. It burned until it was cold. Evelyn made no effort to brush it away, instead focusing on the gift of distraction it gave her in this terrible moment.
“You should be glad to know,” the Lady Hasegawa said loudly — loud enough so that the few servants they still had left in their employ could hear her — “that your father has done quite well for you, despite your many faults, thanks to his high connections within the Emperor’s ranks. Your husband may be new money — garnered in the silk trade — but he’s achieved something for himself and even served in the Imperial Guard. I hear he was most gallant in the service. He’s made quite a name for himself. All of which, let’s be frank, is substantially better than I ever dreamed for you.” She took a sip of her tea. Her manners were perfect, of course, her hands cupped delicately around her cup just so. “You shall be joining him at his residence.”
“Is he . . . is he here?”
“My goodness, no,” the Lady Hasegawa said brusquely. She deftly picked up a piece of squash in her chopsticks and elegantly deposited it in her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, as if imagining the relaxing, daughter-free future this arrangement promised. She was smiling, Evelyn realized. Triumphant. “No, he’s in the Floating Islands.”
The Emperor had many armies and navies, consulates and ambassadors, all over the Known World. Nearly all of that world was colonized by the Nipranites now, though some colonies were younger, still rough around their edges. Iwei was, of course, the oldest colony. If only she could be sent there! It might be the smallest of the many island nations that made up the Known World, but it boasted famously temperate weather, and all the best wines were imported from there. Even Quark would have been better. It was a new colony, certainly, but it was so close to Crandon, only two weeks’ sail on a clinker. Culturally different. Life was a little cheaper there, which lent it a frightening air. But if she were in Quark, she could still come home now and again.
The reach of the Imperial Guard stretched far beyond casual travel, however, and the Floating Islands were proof of this. They were a several-months-long voyage, and an expensive one. With so many days on the open sea, it was risky enough not to be taken casually. If she went to the Floating Islands, Evelyn realized, she’d likely never come home.
“Yes,” the Lady Hasegawa said dreamily. “Your father has done quite well.”
Like all the children of Crandon, Evelyn had been reared on the tales of the savagery and magic of the Floating Islands. It was said they housed the Known World’s last witches. Actual practical witches. It was only thanks to the Emperor that witches were finally all but extinct, and the world was safer for it. And while Crandon, as the capital of the Nipran Empire, was cold and orderly, the Floating Islands were notoriously a nation of vagabonds, baleful merchants, and danger. But then, that was what Imperials said about basically all of the colonies. The ruling classes imported the colonies’ goods and prayed that the people who supplied them would stay upon their native shores.
A shiver raked down Evelyn’s spine as she tried to imagine herself riding the infamously dangerous wood-and-rope elevators that rose from the Islands’ craggy cliffs.
If one thing was for certain, it was that Evelyn’s parents had finally found the most expedient and honorable way to be rid of her. What a small cost her dowry must have seemed to them.
She would leave with her belongings packed into her casket, as so many Imperial girls had done before. It was a tradition born of the most calculating kind of practicality, serving the dual purpose of showing the husband that the girl would be truly with him until death did they part, while also providing, at her family’s expense, a means for her burial. It was macabre, and Evelyn’s skin crawled, thinking of her kimonos and her corsets crammed into the vessel that would one day house her corpse. She had often thought of casket girls with pity — that their parents would be so crass, that their lives would be so transparently close to death, that their futures would be so bindingly arranged.
And now she was one of them.
Evelyn was to depart for the Floating Islands within a fortnight. Without the expense of housing and keeping a daughter, the Lady Hasegawa would be taking on two new kitchen girls and an additional valet. Though it was customary for a lady’s maid to accompany her lady, Keiko would not be going with Evelyn. Instead, Keiko had been offered either a demotion to the laundry or a letter of reference.
It was a cruel thing the Hasegawas were doing to Keiko, and it infuriated Evelyn as much as did her own fate. For Keiko’s part, she’d held herself together admirably under the circumstances. She padded into the room, her footfalls nearly silent on the tatami mats, in the way that most practiced servants’ were.
Keiko was, Evelyn reflected, too good for the Hasegawas. She resolved that she would tell her so before she left.
“Are they asleep?” Evelyn asked.
“Lord Hasegawa has taken his wine for the evening.” Keiko hardly met Evelyn’s eyes. Instead, she persistently averted her gaze to an imperfectly tied curtain or a speck on the vanity mirror that needed polishing. Keiko had been Evelyn’s personal maid since they were both children, and her best friend for nearly as long. Evelyn knew Keiko’s face as well as her own; tonight it was wrought with despair.
“Come on.” Evelyn pulled the blankets aside, making enough room so that Keiko could lie beside her. Keiko sniffled but obeyed, finding her place in Evelyn’s arms.
Evelyn stroked Keiko’s hair, which was soft and familiar to the touch, the dark and lovely brown of good soil. Keiko was not Nipranite, though she bore a Nipranite name. Most servants did. The Cold World name her mother had given her had been long and complicated, too much for the Imperial tongue. Evelyn could not remember it. She could remember every freckle on her face, though.