“You must have very weak friends, if a little bit of your sadness can ruin their whole day. Do you think your friends are weak?”
A thoughtful frown tugged at his mouth. “No, I don’t.”
“I’m not weak, either.” She nodded at him, then stared into the fire as she bit into the apple.
“No, you’re not,” he whispered to himself.
Lizzie has always been strong. She was strong enough to survive Alfred, strong enough to make it all the way to Norditch on her own, and strong enough to take marriage to a stranger completely in stride.
And I think she’s stronger than this curse.
The Kystan shore was a sight for sore eyes. Though Freddy had found beauty in the icy fields of Norditch and the green, blooming forests of Anura and Nedra, the bright blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds and the wide expanse of cerulean water called to his soul. He longed to walk on the soft sand of the beaches and wade into the cool waves, but first there was the matter of finding his housing.
Lizzie had withdrawn a little more the closer they came to Kysta, and though Freddy longed to throw his hot, scratchy hat to the wind and tell her everything, he waited. The last week of travel had provided him ample time for soul-searching, and he had come to some very clear revelations.
He also had a plan.
The sun beat down on his shoulder through his shirt. He was still dressed for the north, and beads of sweat started dripping down his back as they walked through the familiar streets of Mereton, the capital city. He smiled as he walked, trying to appear as casual as possible, though he knew from the many double-takes and long stares that it would be long before word of their arrival traveled through the city. He might still be unrecognizable in his disguise, but Lizzie was not.
For better or worse, every resident of Kysta knew Lizzie’s face almost as well as they knew their own queen. Seeing her in Mereton was not unusual; what was unusual was seeing her in dirty, ragged clothes in the company of a bearded beggar.
If she noticed the attention, she seemed unbothered by it. She walked with a graceful poise, despite the sad state of her clothes, and her expression betrayed nothing.
“Where are we going?”
Freddy shielded his eyes with his hands as he peered through the buildings in an attempt to get a glimpse of the palace. He had written ahead at one of their last stops, explaining his situation to Hadrian and giving him instructions to secure temporary housing with Mrs. Pearce. Their ship captain, being aware of his identity, had delivered her response when they arrived at the dock. The housekeeper had offered her own small cottage, which was separated from the palace by a small, rocky inlet. It was just far enough away to afford Lizzie privacy, should she wish, but close enough that he could easily travel back and forth for business.
“Home first, because I think we both deserve a long bath, and then I’m off to perform. Do you want me to arrange for a meeting with Mrs. Pearce tonight, or would you rather wait for tomorrow?”
She was quiet for a moment, and he could see the briefest flash of sadness in her eyes. “I can wait for tomorrow.”
Chapter Eighteen
Freddy
Freddy was a fan of long hugs, but even he had his limits.
His mother apparently did not.
“What do you expect?” she cried as she pulled back to look at his face, then pulled him back in again. “My sweet boy disappeared for nearly two months to wander the continent.”
He patted her shoulders. “I told you where I was going, Mother.”
“You said, ‘Alfred is up to something. I need to go to Nedra.’ Then the next thing I knew, your next letter was coming from Anura, and then Cabriole!”
“At least I wrote?” he tried. He looked over her shoulder to where his best friend Hadrian was standing, arms crossed andhis signature serious expression on his face. The translator was a few inches shorter than he was, with a slimmer build and ink-stained fingers that spoke to his long hours spent with books and pens.
Hadrian raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know why you’re looking at me, unless it’s to remind you that even the written word should follow the rules of proper grammar.”
“You’re right. I don’t know why I’m looking at you.” Freddy twisted, moving his mother with him as he did. “Maribel?”
The small, brown-haired woman looked up from her seat at Hadrian’s desk. He had requested to meet them all there because Hadrian, being fond of silence and not of most people, had a space in one of the most out-of-the-way corners of the palace. The tall windows overlooking the sea let in the afternoon glow. Freddy had forgotten how beautiful the sunsets were in Kysta, and the colors nearly stole his breath away. Bookshelves stuffed to the brim lined the walls, though he had to admit that everything was in much better order now that Maribel was in charge of keeping Hadrian in line.
“Am I commending you for doing the bare minimum of writing your mother a letter to reassure her of your continued existence, or reminding Hadrian that not everyone views their correspondence as a formal essay?”
Freddy narrowed his eyes at her. “Hadrian is making you spunky; I’m not sure if I like it.” Then he grinned. “But both, if you please. I would very much like to be commended, and I would also like to see you standing up to Had.”
A soft smile stretched over her pretty face. “I’m glad you’re back, Freddy.”
