She tied off, lowered the sails, and then headed toward the steps that led up to a little pink house perched just above the beach. A half-dozen cats lounged on the roof, and Marin spotted bright-colored laundry drying on the line out in the garden. The peach trees were full of soft-fuzzed fruit, weighing down their branches, and she smelled cinnamon wafting out the windows—her parents were baking.
All is well.
She climbed the steps up from the beach. By the time she reached the garden, her father was bustling out the door. He was half-covered in flour, with flecks dusting his hair, and his smile was huge. “Mariner!” he cried.
Two of the cats launched themselves off the roof and flew in circles around him.
Laughing, he flapped his arms to half-heartedly shoo them away. “You had breakfast already. Remember?”
“They definitely do not remember,” Marin said with a smile.
“Humph.”
“In fact, they’re certain they’re starving,” Marin continued,watching them circle and meow plaintively. “No one has ever fed them or will ever feed them again. It’s tragic.”
One of the winged cats landed on the table beneath one of the peach trees.
Leaning out the kitchen window, Marin’s mother cheered, “Mariner! You’re home!” She then scowled and made shooing motions. “Psst-psst! No cats on the table!”
Looking her straight in the eye, the cat lifted his hind leg and began to lick.
“You look tired,” Pa said to Marin, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her so tight that her ribs compressed. He released her and leaned his forehead against hers to peer into her eyes. “Are you sleeping enough? Eating enough? Bellis, she’s not taking care of herself properly! We need to intervene. She needs pie!”
It was the same dance every time she came home, and she loved it. “I do need pie,” Marin agreed.
Her father bustled her inside to the kitchen. She was immediately enveloped in warmth, spices, and her mother’s arms. She was then given a basket and scooted outside into the fresh air. “How many do you need?” Marin asked.
“Fill it to the brim!” Pa cried.
Inside, he made the pie crust while outside, Marin picked peaches. She braced the basket on her hip, holding it with one arm, while she plucked the sun-ripened peaches with her other hand. Testing them out, she focused on how they felt, not how they looked. It didn’t matter if they were pink or pale—it was the light squeeze that told the story. If the skin dented beneath her fingers, it was ripe. She twisted the orb off the branch.
“How are you both?” Marin called to them through the window.
“The sun rose again,” Ma said.
That was the answer she always gave when bad things happened. Stomach sinking, Marin froze halfway to reaching for another peach. “Tell me.”
“Eh, your mother is being dramatic,” Pa said. He came outsidewith a cutting board and a paring knife and laid them on the table, scooting the winged cat off. Offended, the cat flew into the peach tree overhead. Pa dipped his hand into the pocket of his apron and pulled out a bit of dried meat. He offered it to the cat, who nibbled it and then proceeded to ignore him. “It may be for the best. World needs shaking up sometimes. Rich folk got to be reminded wealth doesn’t equal importance.”
Ah, they were talking politics. “You heard about the revolution?” Marin guessed. Her muscles began to unclench. She was worried it was worse, personal: illness, for example.
Coming outside, Ma joined them, carrying a bowl and a basket with other ingredients: flour, sugar, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and a bottle of lemon juice. “You’re a day late with the news. You didn’t come straight here? The fall of the empire didn’t seem important enough?”
“I had a delivery.” Marin began to peel and slice the peaches, while Ma and Pa mixed together the other ingredients. “Wait, what did you hear? Did the revolutionaries win?” That seemed unlikely. Rijes Velk had been certain that wasn’t the end of it.
“You should have come straight here,” Pa said.
Marin flinched. She should have. “I didn’t think it was an emergency all the way out here. Alyssium is so far from Flicker…” She thought of Dax in Alyssium and wished she’d tried harder to reach the conservatory.He’s all right.She wished she could be sure. The imperial reaction to the emperor’s assassination was bound to be swift and brutal, as well as overreaching. Still, there was no reason for them to touch the conservatory.
“It’s all one world,” Ma said. “And while we do think, in the long run, a new government—one that serves the people—will be what’s best for the islands, it will be dangerous for a lot of people for a while, until new systems are in place. It’s an adjustment—no more empire. No more imperial investigators. Lots of new laws. All sorts of changes to come.” She peered over at the cutting board. “Slice them walnut size.”
“We worry about you, Mariner,” Pa said.
“Iworry aboutyou,” Marin said. “That’s why I’m here, to make sure you knew things are unstable and that you shouldn’t take any jobs that go through Alyssium, at least until we’re sure it’s safe.” If the empire had truly fallen and the revolutionaries had already won, perhaps she was just being overcautious? It felt too soon for better, but maybe it was. Did she dare hope?
She didn’t trust hope.
In her experience, things usually got worse, not better, especially when you trusted the wrong people. Ugh, she wished coming home didn’t remind her so much of Iovar. Was he going to color her view of everything forever?
