Page 55 of Wicked Endeavors

Outside the window, the sky was graphite, but she could no longer hear the plink of water against the glass. If the weather held, people would begin flooding the streets again, bringing the city back to life. Marisol hadn’t been out since Rodrigo’s death, but she suddenly couldn’t stand to be in Wildridge a moment longer, enjoying these borrowed luxuries while Rodrigo had died without a family, believing her a traitor.

“I’d love to,” she said, climbing to her feet.

“I’ll bring the carriage around. You change into something that doesn’t make it clear you haven’t gotten out of bed in days.”

Marisol looked down at her rumpled housedress and winced. “Yes, all right.”

Marisol glanced out the window of the carriage, watching the market sprawl through the city center. She couldn’t hear the vendors calling to customers, but she could imagine the sound. As she’d thought, the break in the rain had caused the streets to fill with activity. Children and dogs splashed through the puddles, much to the chagrin of their parents and owners. Stalls offered fresh fruit and cheap jewelry, umbrellas still open to protect their wares. A busker played a vihuela in front of an upturned hat, ducado already glittering inside.

It was hard not to think that Rodrigo should be among them. He seemed to have joined the Criterion just to help people, and she could almost imagine him handing out free food or spending all his coin just to make sure no one in the market went home with an empty belly or emptier wallet. Once, she had thought of the rebels as a violent fringe group, but she was seeing everything with new eyes now.

Marisol hadn’t bought much with the money that Gaspar had given her, and she didn’t see herself needing anything more before she returned to Domingo. But as she thought of Rodrigo and looked at a man selling cherries by the bag, an idea formed in her mind.

“Stop the carriage,” she said, leaning toward the window to call to the driver.

Noelia blinked as they wove toward the side of the road and parked. “What’s wrong?”

“I brought quite a bit of money with me on this trip that I didn’t spend.” Marisol threw open her door. “Why not give back?”

“To who?” Noelia asked, but Marisol had already climbed out of the carriage.

She bought cherries and plums, apples and figs. She bought freshly baked bread and several kinds of cheese. She bought fish and fresh-caught shrimp, beetroot and carrots, pork sausage and ham. Once she’d filled the carriage with food, she turned toward clothing and blankets and medical supplies. Noelia contributed money, too, despite her unanswered questions; by the time they finished shopping, there was no room for them in the carriage, forcing them to sit on either side of the driver.

“To Kindred Orphanage, please,” said Marisol.

Noelia grinned.

It was a strange thing, to take a carriage back to a place that she’d left in another life and with another name. The streets were familiar, but the building looked smaller. This had once been the whole of her world, and now she’d seen and done so much that it was simply a stop on a much longer journey.

The matrons came outside once the carriage stopped, and there wasn’t even a flicker of recognition in their eyes. Mother Felicia had new wrinkles along her face and at the corners of her dark brown eyes. Mother Lupe had new gray hairs woven into her braids. They had changed in all the normal ways.

Marisol looked and felt like a stranger.

“My ladies,” said Mother Lupe, barely hiding her astonishment. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit? Are you looking to adopt?”

“We’re looking to donate,” said Noelia, jumping down from her seat. Marisol followed her at a more measured pace, her tongue thick in her mouth. Even now, part of her feared the matrons. Even now, part of her was desperate for their approval. “We have food, clothes, medicine—take as much as you need.”

Mother Felicia blinked. “We have nothing to give you in exchange.”

“We didn’t ask for anything,” Marisol said. She stared her former matrons in the eyes and projected earnestness. “This is a gift, not a permanent solution. If you’ll accept it.”

Mother Lupe was already by the carriage, where Noelia held open the door to reveal the bounty. It was the youngest that Marisol had ever seen her look, her eyes wide and watery in the sunlight. Marisol may have caused them trouble, may have resented their wagging fingers and how easily they’d sent her and the other older orphans away, but she acknowledged how hard they worked to care for the abandoned children of Rojanea. How, during the lean years, the older children ate less so the younger ones could have more, while the matrons ate nothing at all. How they, like the children, shared a single room to make space to fit more beds in the orphanage.

It was long past time for her to give back. She should have done it before, if not for the vengeance that had wiped every other person from her mind. She should have been more like Rodrigo when he was alive. At least she could still honor his memory.

“Thank you,” Mother Felicia finally said. “The children will love these gifts.”

Noelia directed the driver to begin carrying everything in. Mother Lupe began to help while Mother Felicia went inside and returned with a few of the older children to put them to work as well. Once they had enough hands to make her extraneous, Noelia floated to Marisol’s side.

“Do you know of any other orphanages in dire need? This shouldn’t be a one-time thing,” said Noelia. “We have the means. We should do it at least every month.”

Marisol smiled. “You know that I’m going back to Domingo after the Coronet. But I can get you a list before I go. These forgotten people tend to fall through the cracks, and it would be nice if that never happened again.”

“Oh, right.” An expression passed over Noelia’s face that Marisol couldn’t parse before it was gone. “I’ll do my best.”

Marisol expected Noelia to ask her to write, to reaffirm that their friendship would continue after the Coronet ended. But the other girl said nothing, and neither did Marisol, and they watched the children of Kindred carry everything inside in silence.

REQUIEM THEATER WAS LOCATED IN A DISTRICT OF Rojanea that looked like an entirely different city. The streets were clean of both trash and people, the businesses ranged from custom tailors to jewelry shops, and the city guard that patrolled the area didn’t look as though they were eager for money or a fight. The theater itself was a magnificent three-floor structure, with stucco walls and a glass dome over the lobby that must have provided a gorgeous light show at high noon. Inside were carpeted floors and staircases that led below, to the orchestra seats, and above, to the balconies and boxes.