“Oh, it would be an honour. My father is looking forward to meeting Carlotta, too.” Seff’s eyes sparkled.
We walked in companionable silence for a bit, through the city streets which were now mercifully dry. On the southern side of the River Sequana, the cobbled streets were lined with cafes, restaurants and bistros. Dotted between the many food establishments were florists, dressmakers, barbers and clothing stores. The streets were home to all kinds of performers, musicians or artists painting portraits for a fee. On the northern side of the river stood a towering limestone and stained-glass monstrosity: the largest cathedral in the city belonging to the Church of Scion. The northern side was beautiful in a different way, filled with ancient structures dedicated to the angry god who was worshipped by adherents of the Church of Scion.
It had not always been this way. During war times the streets were subdued, filled with the homeless and destitute. Darkness had spread over the whole continent of Ereba. But now, three years later, the city was alive again with light, art and music. And even though the whole continent was under the control of Scion’s strict theocratic authority, the solemn bells of the cathedral still added to the vibrant thrum of the city. The economy had bounced back in the wake of Scion’s victory, and people had jobs again. There was once again money to be spent on art, performance and entertainment. The city was alive. Times were good, if you could look past the sinister shape of Scion’s authority encroaching on all areas of life.
As we walked, we approached a young woman strolling along the cobbled street. She wore a sleeveless black dress befitting the fashion and the warmth of the early spring afternoon. It was cut low to the small of her back and revealed her shoulders and upper back, which were completely covered in tattoos. Small markings, whose origin I did not recognize, took up every available space on her arm. Running down her spine, betweenher shoulder blades, were four larger tattoos—a knife, a cup, a coin with a star in the centre and an arrow. She was stunning, her wavy chestnut brown hair cropped tight to her neck, in the masculine bob style that Carlotta and so many others currently favoured. Her dress swung to her knees, and her well-heeled shoes clacked on the cobblestones. She had deep brown skin, and her dark eyes swooped up at the corners. She was breathtaking. She turned and sneered as she saw Seff. His own face arranged in a distasteful scowl.
“Why do they have to do that?” he muttered.
“What? Who are they?” I asked, my eyes lingering on the woman. What did her tattoos signify? Why were they so important that she felt the need to ink them on her body permanently?
“Witch.” He spat on the sidewalk, shocking me.
“What do you mean?” I had never heard him speak like this before. There was a coldness, a cruelty, in his voice.
“She’s a witch. Didn’t you see the runes and symbols on her? She made sure to dress slutty enough to show them off.”
That was a serious accusation. Not that I believed in any of the “heretical magic” and “witchcraft” that Scion fundamentalists liked to go on about. Buttheytook it seriously. And witchcraft was a crime punishable by death—burning at the stake. It was one of the most horrible ends I could imagine. Since the war had ended, the war on “witches” had only just begun.
It was more and more common to see smoke on the horizon, a black smear hovering over the northern side of the river. But the women they burned there were not reallywitches, to my understanding. They were most often women who had tried to end a pregnancy. Sometimes, they were women who had merely lost a wanted pregnancy, accused of using dark magic to cause the miscarriage. That lack of personal autonomy was one of themore unsavoury aspects of living under the strictures of Scion’s theocracy.
Because while the Church of Scion had been the most popular religion within Ereba for hundreds of years, the complete integration of Church and State had been the result of the war that raged on across most of the continent. The Church of Scion, with all the power and authority they had, fighting the meagre yet scrappy resistance movement. Those who fought for the separation of Church and State, my father among them, had lost. Now, even though the governing body was still elected democratically, the head of state was the archbishop, and he had final say on any and every law. The only higher authority was the god that Scion worshipped so fervently.
“Maybe the tattoos were for a performance piece. This square is always full of street performers.” I had to change the subject. This was far too uncomfortable.
“No. Those were runic tattoos. She’s a witch. Probably a whore too,” Seff hissed. I didn’t know what to make of it. I hated to get political. I wasn’t fond of the tactics of either side in the war. My father had been killed in a reckless battle that was organized by resistance leaders who didn’t care about the casualties that ensued. In my mind, both sides were to blame. But Seff was a believer. He had always followed the Church of Scion. I tended to change the conversation whenever the subject of religion or politics arose.
“How long are your parents in town?” I asked.
Seff’s shoulders lowered as we drew farther ahead of the tattooed woman. Aside from that first sneer at Seff, she made no indication that she even noticed us.
“For a few months—at least until summer. My father has business here to attend to.”
We didn’t speak muchfor the rest of the walk, but Seff seemed less on edge by the time we arrived back at the modest apartment I shared with Carlotta. Even though Carlotta was the prima donna and made a much higher salary than I did, we still couldn’t afford a luxurious home. This place was quite a bit nicer than anything I could have afforded on my own, though. And it was in a prime location, so close to the opera house. As we hardly spent any time here, I don’t think either of us minded.
“Are you hungry? I’m starving after that rehearsal.” I groaned as we made our way into the little kitchen. It was small, but cozy. We had mismatched plates in several different colours. The curtains were a cheerful red gingham pattern and the walls were decorated with a floral border that had tiny flowers in the same shade as the curtains.
Seff shook his head, sitting at the kitchen island that served as our table. I gave asuit yourselfshrug and opened the chestnut cupboards looking for something to eat. I winced at how messy the little kitchen was. My dishes were still stacked by the sink from breakfast. I shouldn’t have brought Seff here when it was in such a state. I rummaged around for a bit, finding two croissants wrapped in brown parchment paper that Carlotta had bought the day before. I grabbed them and some strawberry preserves, and I started to dig in.
“You must be hungry,” he noted, watching me scarf down the first croissant. “I didn’t think girls ate that much—or that quickly.”
It wasn’t exactly a dig, but it made me self-conscious as I eyed the second croissant, my stomach growling.
“Yes, well, I guess you haven’t known many ballerinas.”
“I have known a few, but they were usually pretty conscious about their figures,” Seff responded. Again, I eyed the second croissant. I was still famished, but I didn’t want Seff to think I was a glutton as well as a slob, so I changed the subject again.
“What business does your father have in Lutesse?”
“He’s made a large investment. I’m not supposed to talk about it before it is announced officially. I’m sure you’ll hear about it soon enough.”
Fine. If he wanted to be cryptic, that was fine. Talk of investments and wealth made me uncomfortable anyway. My upbringing was not as financially well-off as Seff’s.
“What are you going to wear tonight?” Seff, taking a page out of my book, also changed the subject, interrupting my train of thought. He probably wanted to ensure I impressed his father when he introduced me. Feeling emboldened, I brushed some errant croissant flakes off my shirt, crossing the tiny kitchen to stand in front of him.
“Hmmm, I was thinking about wearing some skimpy little flapper dress. Maybe a plunging neckline?” I leaned in, pressing a light kiss to his lips.
Seff’s eyes widened. He looked scandalized.
