I barely sleep all night, afraid I’ve done the wrong thing, worried that Zerah will be gone before I can explain. But here she is at breakfast, sitting as always on her own, sipping coffee from a porcelain teacup with an ornate gold-and-cobalt trim. Her sip is so brief, so delicate, it’s as if she isn’t really drinking it, just absorbing its warmth while she still can.
She wears a moss green dress with long, balloon sleeves. The color is lovely on her, bringing out the green in her hazel eyes. Her hair is pulled back into a fussy low bun, with several tendrils stubbornly out of place. I want so badly to tuck that loose hair back into the knot, but I fear that if I touch her, she might actually jump out of her skin.
“Sleep well?” I ask as I approach, and she starts.
“Yeah, sure . . .” she says, chuckling into her coffee. “You?”
“Like a baby,” I say. She snorts and shakes her head, the loose strands sweeping against her cheeks.
“Babies sleep like crap.”
“I know,” I say, and she laughs and nods, lifting her thin brows toward her hairline.
“Are we really going to have to listen to Fiona prattle on all day about whether she should wear her aquamarine dress or her cerulean gown?” I ask, leaning back in my seat as I slowly sip the mild, Swendish roast.
“Well, it’s a good question. I mean, the aquamarine really does highlight the prominent flecks of entitled brat in her eyes,” she says. I spit coffee onto the white tablecloth, and she snort-laughs. I grab a napkin to wipe it up, but it’s too much. I cringe at the stain, feeling bad for the staff member who will clean it.
“Good morning, ladies. What’s so funny?” I look up, and Declan is there, all business and charm in his vest and pressed shirt. I shake my head, still laughing, but Zerah calms faster, resuming a serious pallor more befitting of the present company.
“Nothing,” she says, a stray giggle breaking through. “Inside joke.”
“I see,” he says with a broad, affable smile. It’s so genuine, I nearly miss the slight strain in the lines around his eyes. “Um, Zerah? I wondered if I could speak with you?” His words are light enough, but they sober me in an instant, and I stop mid-laugh.
“Um, sure,” she says, polite smile and ladylike posture returned. As they leave, Declan looks at me and mouths, “Don’t worry.” But I do.
Zerah’s not in the classroom when I arrive, and she doesn’t meet us for luncheon. When she doesn’t return in the afternoon, my heart races, and I keep looking from the door to her neat stack of notebooks next to her brass nameplate. Surely she wouldn’t have left without her nameplate? It’s a stupid thought, even if it does give me something to hold onto.
But then, there she is, following Declan and the minister as they walk through the door and stand in front of the classroom. My stomach aches. I try to get her attention, but she stares straight ahead, her eyes vacant.
“We have some wonderful, exciting news!” The minister is all business and energy, his cheeks pink with the joy of a job well done.
“Zerah has been offered a position with the delegate for the Espancian region of Frencia.” Gasps are mingled with claps and a general feeling of excitement. I feel neither. It feels like someone’s poked a dart into my lungs. Air escapes me, slow and painful.
“This is an especially exciting opportunity, as the delegate has just launched a new organization to bring our ideals across Osterstanian borders. Zerah will have the opportunity to bring life to these efforts. Of course, it means we will be saying goodbye to her for now, but she will always be welcome back as an alumna.”
I can’t move, can’t think. Zerah won’t look at me. Neither will Declan. What has he done? What have I done? This is my fault. I should never have said anything. He’s shipping her off to Espanica? No, Osterstan? She’s going to Osterstan, a place that has such an awful history with Nordania, it has literally been censored from the library.
They walk out of the room, and the door closes, and before I realize what’s happening, I’m on my feet and Dean Edina is repeating something.
“Arden?” she says, her voice frustrated, the word over enunciated. My feet move of their own accord, each step harder to refuse than the next, until I’m through the door and breaking into a run.
Zerah is frantic as she tears items from her closet. It doesn’t take her nearly as long as her anger requires, and she shoves the scant tumble of fabrics into a frayed, tweed-covered trunk with unnecessary violence. I’ve never been to her room. It doesn’t look like mine. It’s smaller, though only slightly, and much darker, paneled in dark woods and lit by dim milkglass lampshades, the furniture upholstered in deep greens. It’s a room for hibernating.
“This has to be a mistake,” I say, blocking the door.
“Nope. No mistake,” she says, sniffling. She wipes at her tears with her clenched fist. “He was very clear. He doesn’t see a future with me, and he’s letting me go, but instead of going home, I’m going to Osterstan to marry a royal advisor who was ‘quite taken with me’ during his visit.”
“Wait, what?” I ask, unable to meld her words with the official placement described by the minister.
“William Whitey,” she says, spitting the name. “Remember? From the dinner? You were busy talking to that drunk lumberjack-pirate, and I was stuck with the drunk delegate to the Espancian region of Frencia, with too many ostriches and recently appointed, long-term mission in Osterstan.” I shudder at the memory of his chins retracting beneath his pink, bald forehead as he poured himself more wine.
“Marry? But that’s—”
“I knew it was a possibility, but to be forced to be with him, to be completely cut off . . . I’ll never be happy. He will never make me happy. It’s impossible.” She pauses and looks at me, her eyes glassy and defiant, as if to say, look at me—this is who I am. I cannot love this man. My heart breaks. I don’t understand how someone could do this to her.
“I can’t believe Declan would do that . . .” She glares at me and my words wither, fading into nothing.
“Don’t tell me what he would and wouldn’t do. It’s done. I’m leaving within the hour.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense . . .” I say.
“What would you know about it?” she asks, glaring. My stomach roils.
“I’m so sorry, Zerah. I was just trying to help.”
“What? What did you do?” Her voice is low and angry, her shoulders tight and her arms eerily still.
“I told him you weren’t safe with your benefactor. That’s all, I swear.” The space between us is so thin, so tense that if even one of us exhales, I think it might collapse and suck the contents of the room into a tiny, impossibly dense stone. But then she exhales, and her body slumps into a slight heap on the edge of her trunk.
“Well, what’s done is done.”
“Let me talk to him. This is a mistake, and it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, you shouldn’t have. But it’s a fitting end, really. I came here for a new life, and that’s exactly what I’m getting.” Her panic evolves into a fit of laughing sobs. She brushes her wrist with her fingers and hesitates, running them along her bracelet, as if remembering what it’s supposed to mean. She undoes the clasp and hands it to me.
“Here, wear mine for me. Fiona would probably piss herself if she saw you had two.” I stifle a laugh, but push it back at her.
“No, you keep it,” I say, curling her fingers around it so she holds it safe in her palm. “Dean Edina said it’s supposed to represent balance, right?” Zerah snorts, fisting the cheap trinket. “Maybe it’ll be a reminder to find balance in your new life? Or at least, not to forget your old one?” I blink up at her, and her chin quivers.
“I’m happy to know you,” she says. She brushes her fingers along my cheek, and then drops her hand, as if the gesture is as useless as the bracelet. Still, she refastens the bracelet around her wrist and shrugs. “Maybe Osterstan is short on brass things?”
“Then that’s two priceless things they’re gaining,” I say, and she wraps her arms around me.
I hate this so much, hate that this is even an option. A small part of me is grateful that she’ll have a whole sea between her and her crap benefactor, but this isn’t how it should work. And Declan will have to answer for that.