“Are you listening, or is the rain going to teach you?”
My harsh tone snaps her back to me. I regret it as soon as her eyes flash with fear.
“Sorry. Voice. Right.” She rubs the skin at the back of her neck under her cropped hair.
Once, I would’ve asked her about this change in disposition, but now every word between us must be carefully measured. Does she fear my promise of freedom may be taken away? Will any words from me that aren’t perfectly doting be taken for the worst? She doesn’t understand how gentle I’m being with her and, by extension, Bridget.
Bridget has turned out to be horribly charming. I try to consider her only a temporary inconvenience. But how do I keep the distance when it’s obvious she’s brought color back to Liney’s world?
I’ve been hiding handkerchiefs I cough blood into at night. Vomiting up your gallbladder doesn’t do wonders for your health. I pass the coughs off as having caught a bad cold. Bridget offered to search through our stores for some herbs she could create a salve with. She knows all sorts of remedies from her trips overseas. A magnet for Liney’s curiosity and an all-too-helpful thorn in my side.
I never should’ve offered Liney the trip. Especially not with Bridget. While in some ways it’d be helpful to have her so close at hand, she could also slip away while on the mainland. It’s too risky. All because I can’t drum up the courage to kill someone with the possibility of it not being necessary. No matter how solid Bridget appears, I must be certain before I commit. Perhaps I could even renegotiate—it worked once before. Mr. Pratterman hasn’t returned. He promised to give me enough time. If I’d lost my chance, he’d be here to gloat. So what’s stopping him? Could there be something greater I can offer in exchange?
“Elle?”
I snap out of these daymares of futures to be reckoned with. “Say it once more but really emphasize the confidence. Like you’ve never considered you could be wrong,” I say, using the tone myself. It comes naturally. More than acting masculine, whatever that means—I truly see no difference in essence between the me I am on this island and the me I pretend to be on the mainland. What would my mother have thought of her eldest daughter—literally nicknamed after the feminineFrench pronoun—dressing in a dead man’s clothes and feeling more at home there than she ever did in a dress? “Everything you say is set, stonelike, into being.”
“So, like you.”
I roll my eyes to give her the satisfaction of a taunt well played, but I wish I could tell her how unsure I always am.
Is that where my jealousy stems from? They can be honest with each another with no fear of consequence.
Bridget runs her hand through Liney’s cropped curls. My sister’s grown to like it, much easier to maintain than the mane she had. They’re in the middle of one of Bridget’s travel stories as I busy myself with packing. The rain was lighter today. It’ll break soon. It has to.
“My favorite city was Venice,” Bridget says, grinning. “It’s part of the Austrian—”
“I know where Venice is,” Liney replies, rolling her eyes. “Even shut-ins have maps.”
Bridget grimaces. Yet as quick as the hurt’s there, it’s gone. Bridget processes emotions much faster than Liney or I do. “There are truly two cities among the islands. One in the shops and one in the pews. Exciting, beautiful, but pious. But there’s a long history of another city. Underground.”
“How can there be anything underground when they’re islands?” I ask, sitting straight.
I assumed our island was unique in the hidden architecture below. Then I realize I’ve interrupted what they may have mistaken to be a private conversation held all of five feet from me.
Bridget opens her mouth, surprised, then closes it again. It takes her a moment to decide what to say. I don’t understand how my question would be difficult to understand.
“Undergroundisn’t literal. While my father sold trinkets and maps in the larger canals to fund our travels, I explored the city.”
Bridget describes secret parties full of masks, alcohol, and dancing. Nights of candlelit halls and dark corners housing secret trysts.
“Imagine having no idea who surrounds you. You could be anyone under your costume. The doge himself could be dancing beside you. I only drummed up the courage to peek,” she admits, laughing. “I was barely old enough to be let in, and it was the loudest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Have you ever looked at something so brilliant you can’t keep your eyes on it?”
I have to look away from the two of them. Oh, I could guess who Liney’s thinking of with her puppy-dog eyes trained on Bridget.
“It sounds magical,” Liney agrees. “Did you go without a chaperone?”
“A group of courtesans took me under their wings for the night when they noticed me eyeing the entrance. Lent me a beautiful dress and mask. Age, gender, status—it all melted away. I still dream of that place. To dance with someone there.”
Bridget’s gaze is searching Liney’s. Should I give them privacy? No. This blooming whatever-it-is between them will only make the next step messier. Bridget’s value to Mr. Pratterman is surely only increasing with every attachment made.
“I like to dance,” Liney says, breaking my heart. “I got to attend some balls once Elle got engaged. I danced with at least a dozen officers from the Citadel at the last one. Barely caught my breath all night!”
“Oh,” Bridget says softly. I peer over. Her eyes have tensed at the bottom edges.
Oh, Liney. Sweet, innocent girl. She’s so used to camouflaging her interest. Could Bridget be a kindred spirit in that regard? I hadn’t considered the possibility—what are the chances? Though I suppose I have no way of knowing. Is Liney so singular in her preference, or is there a greater world out there that doesn’t prescribe to the rigidity of man and wife?
“It’s her asthma,” I interject again, to save Liney and rescue my owntrain of thought. “She’s had a few episodes, but normal exertion doesn’t provoke it. Mainly running or dancing for long enough. So many men show up, it’s only proper to accommodate.”
