NINA HAD SENT HECTOR A short, polite missive, asking if he wouldn’t be available to have tea. He almost wanted to say, I’ll cook you dinner instead, but that was impossible—she could not visit him in his home, her journey to the theater had been bold enough already. It was not that he disliked tea, but it had occurred to him that it would have been nice if it were the both of them tangled in conversation, as in Oldhouse, when they went by the stream and gathered insects. The world had felt small, and he thought of what she’d looked like in the tower with her hair cascading down her shoulders.
He dismissed that memory, the kiss they’d shared. He did not wish to overstep boundaries. He also didn’t like the way his pulse stirred when he remembered her.
Hector donned his overcoat with the black velvet collar and stepped outside. A light spring drizzle fell upon his shoulders, and by the time he reached the café, raindrops nestled in the folds of his coat. He ought to have taken his umbrella. He eschewed a hat, and when he walked into the tearoom, he ran a hand through his damp hair.
The tearoom was one of those narrow establishments found along Acadia Lane, right across from the river that divided Three Bridges Quarter. The tearoom occupied the ground level, a seamstress operated on the second one, and living quarters were found on the third and fourth levels. Hector made his way inside, past the gleaming counter showcasing scones and biscuits, and spotted Nina.
She had tucked herself in a large, comfortable chair and held up a book between her hands, absorbed in her reading. In front of her there was a low table, and on top of this a yellow teapot and two cups, slices of lemon, and sugar cubes set in blue-and-white dishes.
“Good day,” he said.
“Hector,” she said, and smiled at him. “You are never tardy, are you?”
“Should I be?”
“No, it’s … Luc is always ten minutes late,” she said. She blushed and put the book aside, gesturing to the teapot. “Do you fancy a cup?”
He nodded and he watched her hands, the slim wrist with a silver bracelet, as she poured the tea and then with a hint of mischief, made a sugar cube rise and roll into his cup with a tiny plop.
“You do it well now,” he said.
“Sometimes,” she said, “and sometimes the talent has a mind of its own, but less so these days.”
She stirred her tea, looking melancholic, the splash of rain against the windowpanes amplifying the effect. What’s on your mind, Nina? he wanted to ask, but he was afraid to know the answer. He raised his cup to his lips.
“I’m thinking of leaving Loisail,” she said, as if she’d perceived his silent question.
“The Grand Season has not ended,” he replied.
“I know. I may cut it short.”
Hector nodded. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing. Anyone, looking from the outside in, would say everything is perfect.”
The rain made the street hazy; it distorted it. The shop was empty save for a man who was half-asleep in a corner and the employee behind the counter. In this cocoon of warmth, they sat close.
He took off his gloves. “I think I’d miss you if you were to disappear,” he said in a low voice.
“I could write to you,” she replied.
He realized they’d had the exact same conversation the previous spring, but their roles had been inverse. He chuckled, and likely noticing the irony, she laughed.
“Don’t worry, Hector. I won’t take off yet, and I wouldn’t leave without saying my good-byes first.”
“I’m grateful for that,” he said, trying not to sound hurt, trying not to cringe, and he managed it.
She’d leave him.
It was to be expected.
Nina turned her head, in profile, to look out the window. Her hair was pinned up carefully in place, the collar of her pastel-colored dress high. He thought she was imitating another girl, a wealthy heiress out on society calls. She didn’t look like Nina that day. But then, she was a wealthy girl, and he was, likely, one of her calls, even a charity case. By now, Luc Lémy must have taken her to the right parties, introduced her to all the Beautiful Ones in Loisail.
“I try to imagine sometimes, what it must have been, for you to leave for Iblevad. To take that leap, without knowing if you’d fail or succeed,” she said. “Weren’t you afraid?”
“I was terrified,” he said. “But I couldn’t have done anything differently.”
The engine of his actions had been his belief in love, in happiness. The mention of his voyage obliquely included Valérie, and perhaps that was why Nina looked down at the slices of lemon, her brow furrowed.
“Nor would I have wanted to. I am glad of who I am now. You don’t know that when you begin a journey, and looking back the picture is not always pretty, but I wouldn’t take any of it back.”
“Not even your heartbreak?” she asked, stirring sugar cubes with her mind.
“I doubt the tree complains about the arid seasons and the overwhelming rains as it counts its rings.”
“You are wiser than I, then.”
“A little older,” he said. “Not much wiser.”
She was looking outside again, did not seem able to remain with him even if they sat together. Her index finger slowly traced a sliding drop of water against the glass.
“I do not understand what I want. Do you think that changes as you get older?” she asked.
She had turned her face toward him again, expectantly. Hector, who was accustomed to being observed by multitudes, felt shy under the scrutiny of those hazel eyes. He demurred because he realized there was another question under the question, and he did not know what the hell to say.
“I think it is always difficult to determine that,” he said. “And mistakes will be made.”
“Yes,” she said, sipping her tea.
If the day hadn’t been gloomy, perhaps their conversation wouldn’t be tinged with this pensiveness. And she’d been happy in Oldhouse, and he’d been happy, too, when she smiled. Although she was the one who provided their merriment, he decided it would fall upon him this time to distract them.
“Here, now, do you think we can build a house out of these sugar cubes?” he asked, and as he spoke, the blocks assembled themselves into a box.
“We wouldn’t have enough.”
“If you pilfer a few more from the table next to us, we might.”
Nina reached toward the other table, with its matching porcelain jar full of sugar cubes. She set it down, and Hector made the lid slide off and the sugar cubes trailed out at his command, heaping themselves into place.
“I always find it harder to control small pieces,” she said. “But you make it look easy.”
“It is harder. But when I was about twelve, I was already earning my living doing things like this,” he said, reshaping his creation, making a horse out of the cubes.
“When did you handle large props?”
“I was about fifteen. I joined a traveling show. The owner was an ogre. He overworked us and did not pay on time, but I honed my skills during that time.”
“What is your favorite trick?” she asked, resting her chin on the back of her hand as she watched him.
“Chipping a block of ice until it acquires a specific shape. When they advertised it, on the posters, they said SPECTACULAR, twice. In big letters, so you’d get the point.”
Nina smiled and then she blushed, although he had no idea how he’d caused that reaction. She had rested her free, ungloved hand against the table, and Hector thought of leaning forward and capturing that hand between his own. But like her, he did not know what he wanted, and he was afraid because he always knew what he desired, it was all atrociously simple, until now it wasn’t.
“I have a busy day ahead of me,” Hector said, lifting himself from his seat. “But it is always good to see you. Please, if you leave the city, let me know.”
“I … Yes, I will let you know,” Nina said.
It was still raining, but he stuffed his hands in his pockets and rushed off, mindless of the weather. She was leaving! And, why not? Why would she stay? Perhaps he might have asked … but he had already said he would miss her, and he did not believe there was anything else left to say.