BRIONY
Music spills from the horn of my phonograph, flooding the room with a beautiful melody. “One, two, three, one, two, three,” I repeat with the beat, sweeping through the room alongside the dozen giggling girls. They dance with invisible partners, much like I used to do in my glade. The smallest girl trips over her feet. I catch her before she falls and help her synchronize her steps with the song. “One, two, three, one, two, three. Light on your feet. Now turn.”
The children follow my instruction, but the dance lesson is more like play than anything. Their grins tell me each girl is enjoying herself, their happy faces illuminated by the glittering night sky I’ve cast over the parlor at the convent.
Over the past year, I’ve learned I only need strong emotions to cast dreamscapes that others can see. While arousal certainly works, as I discovered with Thorne the first time it happened, and anger, like it did when I came to his defense at Nocturnus Palace, I find love and joy are equally as strong. Minka has told me I should hone my ability and apply it in some impressive way, but I find this suits me far better—using it to make the students at the Celesta Convent School for Girls smile.
The waltz comes to an end and I exchange the cylinder on my phonograph for another. A new song begins to play, one with an exuberant beat. The girls immediately begin bouncing on the balls of their feet in anticipation of the gallopade. It always seems to be a favorite. I guide them into the frolicking dance, skipping side to side, then turning. The corners of my lips stretch wide, and my dreamscape grows even brighter.
I catch sight of a figure standing at the edge of my illusion. It’s Sister Marsh, and since I can only see half of her, I assume she’s peeking through the doorway from outside the hall. Her usually stern lips are pressed into a tight smile as she watches the joyful display. Our eyes meet, and she gives me an approving nod before disappearing back into the hall.
When I first visited my former teachers to deliver my proposal—that I’d volunteer at the convent once a month to teach dance lessons to the girls—I thought Marsh would be the most difficult to persuade. But she agreed before I said another word. What she did balk at was my request that the girls be allowed to wear colorful dresses during the lessons. She eventually conceded that they could wear colored pinafores over their gray dresses, but they all needed to be the same color. That sparked a war between Agatha and Spruce as they fought over blue and pink. I didn’t see how their argument ended, but I assume it was in some magical mishap, for by the time I returned for my first lesson, each girl was outfitted in a pinafore splattered in haphazard blotches of both colors. The children were thrilled, and though the final result was a bit messy, it fulfilled Marsh’s term that they all be the same color.
I’m out of breath by the time the lesson comes to an end, as are all the girls, but a little fatigue isn’t anything cake can’t cure. After the girls hand over their pinafores and we store them away for next time, I lead them into the kitchen where a two-tiered cake rests. It’s from Blackwood Bakery, of course, for I wouldn’t dream of visiting the convent without a gift from Thorne.
Spruce and Agatha greet me with warm smiles and kisses on the cheek before doling out slices of cake. Tilly, the little white bunny fae who was always so fond of me when I was a student, climbs upon my lap. A pang of nostalgia strikes me, but it’s a pleasant sort of pain. I glance around the room filled with both familiar faces and new. Lina, of course, is absent, as she has returned to her parents. I was able to get her address from my teachers, and we’ve been exchanging letters. As she’d so smugly declared a year ago, she snagged a husband by the end of her first social season. We plan on reuniting at Blackwood Estate when she and her husband come to visit next month.
Dorothy is absent as well, as she officially took her vows as a sister and is likely tending the Starcane fields right now, but I’ll be sure to visit her before I leave.
As soon as we finish the cake, it’s time for hugs and tearful goodbyes. It’s always hard to leave the convent, for these girls and my teachers are very much my family. But I have more family waiting for me elsewhere and much to look forward to at home.
* * *
Homehas become a revolving location,and travel has become a staple in my life. With so many bakeries under Thorne’s care—and the stringent expectations that go with said care—I find myself staying in a new city for at least a week out of every month. This week,homemeans the city of Lumenas. It’s a lengthy train ride from the convent, despite being in the same court, and I don’t arrive until the following evening. The bright lights of the city greet me as soon as I step off the train platform. I hail a hansom cab and give the coachman the address.
Our progress is slow, the streets crammed with other horse-drawn carriages and even the occasional automobile. That’s no surprise, for Lumenas is a city famed for its busy nightlife. Music blares from every corner while street performers crowd the sidewalks, drawing curious spectators.
I fell in love with this city back when my three teachers took me and the other older girls to see the ballet. I grew even more enamored when I stayed here an extra week for the bridal pageant I participated in. And I love the city still. It is that love that convinced Thorne to open his newest branch of Blackwood Bakery here, despite this being the absolute last place he wants to be.
I chuckle to myself as I watch brightly lit marquees and storefronts pass my window. Thorne may have changed quite a bit since we first met, but he’s still fond of his long stretches of silence and reading his broadsheets uninterrupted. I do my best to give him that time and not pester him with conversation. It is a challenge, however, for I still don’t like being bored. More than that, I still very much enjoy annoying him.
My cab finally rolls to a stop on one of the quieter streets in the city. Here only a few of the storefronts are lit, as most others are closed for the day. I pay the fare and enter the front door beneath a sign that readsModest Minka’s. The room is dark and moody, lit by strings of glowing bulbs that hang from the ceiling. The scent of fae wine and ale fill the air, along with the sound of raucous laughter. The public house is crowded, but I spot Minka in her feline form strutting across the long countertop at the far end of the room.
Near the bar, I see a familiar figure slumped on a stool, his curly blond head bowed as he nurses an overfull cup of ale. What the hell is Monty doing here? While his and Thorne’s relationship has begun to improve over the last year, we don’t see him often. Not as often as we see Angela, whom we visit at least monthly. After being expelled from the Phillips family, Monty had to debut in the workplace. I hear he now has a job in journalism or publishing. Still, he seems to be in quite a mood, and I’d rather not provide an ear for his problems. That’s whatModest Minka’sis for.
I’m about to scurry into the kitchen before Monty can spot me, but curiosity draws my eyes back to the bar. Upon the counter rests a long row of tumblers filled with some golden liquid. Smaller glasses containing a different liquid are interspersed between the larger ones, balanced on the cups’ rims. I pause, wondering what in the name of the stars Minka is up to. It doesn’t take long to find out, for she saunters over to one end of the row, bats the first tiny glass with a paw, and sends it tumbling into the larger glass. Her actions have a domino effect, as the rest of the tiny glasses fall into the next cup over, one after the other. The patrons cheer and gather up the strange cocktail. Minka catches my eye and greets me with a meow. I smile back and make my way toward the kitchen. Just when I reach the door, Mr. Boris rushes out. He’s in his seelie form, a rag in his hands. He brightens when he sees me. “Oh, Highness! I mean…Miss Rose. You’re back.”
“I am.”
“How were the children?”
“They were—”
“Oh, night above.” Mr. Boris stomps away, a horrified look on his face. I follow him with my eyes to where he frantically wipes up a spilled drink at a table of particularly inebriated patrons. Why he chose to work at Minka’s pub is beyond me, for his nerves don’t seem cut out for such a boisterous atmosphere. He’d probably be more suited to working for Thorne at the bakery.
I catch him flashing a glare at Minka, who’s already lining up another row of glasses, but I know there’s no malice in the look. In fact, I’m starting to suspect there might be tenderness growing between them. I know an adoring glare when I see one.
I enter the kitchen, and the sound of frivolity is cut in half. The kitchen is large and dimly lit, a space shared betweenModest Minka’sandBlackwood Bakery. It’s an oddly efficient pairing, with the bakery only open in the morning and afternoon and the public house opening after nightfall. I cross the kitchen to the door at the back, pausing when my eyes land on the small shelf that hangs next to the door, one designed for organizing letters. I find the compartment reserved for me holds a single envelope. I lift it from the shelf and find my name scrawled in a familiar script. Conflicting emotions tighten my chest as I see my mother’s name as the sender.
We’ve exchanged several letters over the last year, and while I wouldn’t call our relationship warm, I can tell she and Father are trying. After finally losing the throne to Trentas—thanks to the debt my family was never able to scheme their way out of—the Briars have had to reenter society from the bottom up. I haven’t seen them in person since I left the palace that fateful night, and I won’t until I’m certain they are worthy of a true relationship with me. If they manage not to fall back into organized crime, I might give them a chance.
I return the envelope to its shelf, resolving to read its contents later, and scan the compartment reserved for Thorne’s letters. It’s empty, but I wonder if he’s had any recent correspondence from his mother or sisters. Morgana has succeeded in reclaiming a place in society, especially with the support of Trentas, the new Seelie King of Lunar. Like my parents, she too has attempted to make amends with Thorne. Neither of our families have engaged in violence, so there’s hope yet that the feud is at an end. Regardless of anyone else’s efforts, Thorne and I are committed to discarding our birth names and keeping the identities we’ve chosen. The new lives we’ve built.
Thoughts of Thorne have my heart fluttering and I can’t wait a moment longer. I open the door and enter the dark storefront of the bakery. There I find Thorne behind the counter, stocking the display case with crescent bread.
He turns at the sound of the door opening and greets me with a soft smile. “Welcome home.”
Stars, I’ll never get tired of that sound. The wordhome. The sight of him. He’s in his seelie form, his horns and wings nowhere to be seen. Though he no longer has to hide his past affiliations with Morgana and the Lemurias, he claims horns and wings make for tedious baking, so he saves his unseelie form for times when he gets to fly. His hair is tied back the way I like it, while his spectacles lie on the counter, unneeded in such a dark room. I stroll to the front of the counter and prop my bottom on the countertop.
