April Saunders became their link to the outside world. Every morning she’d come by, a grouchy cat in hand, and give Robert the day’s newspaper. Headlines were read over breakfast, whoever didn’t have a mouthful of food reading key passages from the article. King Silas and Queen Reena Arrive in Bridlo, Crowns Discuss Devoe Heirs, Crowns call for Conference, Queen Juliana and Prince Guillermo Arrive for Conference: but where is the King?, The Seven Heirsof Bridgeside, were just some of the titles that intrigued her in the first few days following the memorial. Robert pushed most of them aside as gossip and royal rumors, but she didn’t really understand most of them if she was being honest.
Flipping through the rest of the paper most of the other articles had an odd fascination with the children of the crown. Whole pages were dedicated to them, pictures of children, teenagers, or adults that were next in line to rule Nescio. Methodically pouring crushed herbs into vials, Finn explained the best he could when she finally asked him. Sitting on the floor, he recounted all the things he knew about the families.
“Alrighty so there's the Navarretts,” a vial quickly filled with pale purple powder. “Now they’re cool cause they’re the only ones who are run by females.” Without looking he waved for her to bring over the paper that still laid open on the dining room table. “Flip to ugh,” he paused and wiped out the mortar clutched in his hands before throwing in another herb, “flip to page eleven or twelve. There should be a photo of a woman on it.”
“‘Cause that’s not vague at all,” she joked. "Do you know how many pictures are in this thing?”
“Shaddup.”
On page fifteen there was a large photo of a woman with tan skin, and dark gray hair that was pinned back from her face in an elegant swoop. She sat almost sideways in the picture, but her face stared straight ahead, almost radiating intelligence and wisdom. Under the photo was the caption: Queen Juliana Navarrete, arrived safely in Bridlo early yesterday morning in preparation for the conference of crowns. Accompanying her to the conference is heir to the Hilrock throne, Guillermo Navarrete, no word yet on the location of King Felipe.
“Alright, so the Navarretes are pretty cool. They run most of the country's food, and from what I’ve heard are pretty respectful, easy-going people. Now,” he pointed the pestle at her, “everyone likes to talk about them because of their current heir.”
Glancing down at the paper again she read the name, “Guillermo? What about him?”
“He has four sons by four different women. Now I ain’t one to judge, but a lot of people don’t like heirs to come from different blood or some shit like that,” he shook his head out of disbelief. “But since the Navarretes are ruled by queens, and they have four sonsss” he dragged out the s with raised brows, waiting for her to catch on.
“They still need a girl!”
“Exactly.” He smiled over at her curled up in a blanket, then resumed his crushing. “The Plucknars are kinda similar, but the opposite.”
“That makes no sense I hope you know,” she nudged his side with one of her feet.
“I’m gettin’ there if you’d just sush,” he smacked her leg away with the hand not holding the mortar. “So the Plucknars are the center of a lot of drama because they have seven heirs.”
Her brows jumped lightly, “that's a lot of kids.”
He shrugged nonchalantly, “it’s pretty common for crowns to have multiple children. The more you have the better you secure one's lineage. Take the Vasils into account,” an off-white powder was slowly poured into a jar, “they lost how many kids and still couldn’t produce an heir before the other families.”
Three, she thought. They had lost three children before the king was made to step down.
“Okay, so if it’s common to have so many then what’s the big deal with the Pluckys?”
He laughed so hard his hands missed the vial and a small mountain of gritty powder gathered next to it. “Fuck,” he whispered, trying to scoop the slipped contents back into the jar, failing miserably, leaving white smudges across the table’s once-clean surface. “It’s Pluck-nar,” he over-enunciated, “and it’s a big deal because a palace security guard went to the papers a few years ago and revealed that the six daughters they had were all but dead to them when the queen finally had a son.”
Her mouth flopped open in unattractive shock. Just the other day she wondered how people could mourn for someone they didn’t know, who clearly led far superior lives than they did, but now she wasn’t so sure. Apparently cruelty reached even the wealthiest of families.
“And that’s not all.”
“How could there be more?” She didn’t want there to be more, but she was also on the edge of her seat.
He turned his upper body around before delivering the juicy bit of gossip, wanting to see how her face reacted. “Supposedly King Quillon isn’t even a real Plucknar.” He grinned as he turned back to his powdery roots and herbs, the wide eyes narrowing in scrunched confusion, both amusing and adorable.
“How could he not be a Plucknar?”
“People found the age gap between him and his four sisters suspicious, because that would have made Queen Beulah sixty when she had him. Plus, they thought the timing was odd.”
“What timing?”
“I read that it was like two weeks before that years triennial heir commencement, which is a stupid name by the way,” he rolled his eyes. “The current Plucknar crowns showed up with a bouncing baby boy in tow that no one had ever seen or heard of before.”
“Huh,” she wondered. “You’d think someone who maybe grew up knowing they weren’t really a part of their family would treat their own a bit better.”
“See, now that’s what I like about the Ruchiia family. They showed up in January with their boy Jeet, after years of Princess- well now Queen Vanna unable to have kids.”
“And that makes you like them?”
“Ah, you haven’t seen the way they dote on that kid, it’s real sweet.”
“And you have?” He’d assured her as if he spoke from experience.
She saw his hand pause for a moment in their crushing of a leathery-looking root, before they resumed their circular motion. “Hmm? Well, that’s what I’ve read at least.” She hummed in acknowledgment, but didn’t believe the story for a second.
“So ugh,” she tried to ignore the white lie of his, “if the Plucknars abandoned their daughters then why were they all reported as being seen in Bridlo in yesterday’s paper?”
Setting down the mortar and pestle, he clapped his hands and wiped the remaining dust on his pants, head hung in sympathy. “There’s other ways of abandoning children than deserting them.”
“What do you mean?” She drew the blanket she had cocooned herself in tighter around her shoulders. Her mind couldn’t think of anything worse than a parent leaving their child, and she should know.
“The article made it seem like…like they just stopped caring.” He scooted back until his back rested against the back of her chair, letting his head rest on her bent knees. “I remember reading how once the oldest was like…” he looked at the fire and she saw the wheels turning in his head. “She was like only nine but raisin’ her three younger sisters like they were hers or somethin’. That security guard said he would see them followin’ her like baby ducks. They had all the food and clothes they could ever want, but I don’t think those parents ever spoke to them unless it was in front of other royals, or a camera.”
Her heart felt like it had dropped and settled itself in between her ribs. She knew what growing up like that was like. Sure, the community had bland food, scratchy colorless clothing, and walls that never knew privacy or sound, but there was food, shelter, and clothing. No one would say it was outright wicked or cruel, but it was evil. She knew what growing up with no love did to a child. Distracting herself with the newspaper before her eyes flooded with emotions beyond her control, her interest landed on a photo of the Devoe family.
“So what do you know about the other two families?” They both pretended not to hear how her voice was thick with emotions and how it cracked, she held out the paper. Finn’s eyes fell onto an old portrait of the royal family, one where the slaign heirs were still happily smiling.
“Not much really. The Yinz family really just focuses on maintaining the city, and the Devoes somehow managed to keep themselves out of the papers until their heirs reached the age of eligibility. Then of course-”
She cut him off mid snort, “what's that?”
“What's what?” he looked up at her questioningly and slightly annoyed that she interrupted the joke he had been sitting on for ten minutes.
“The age of eligibility?”
“Oh,” occasionally he’d remember that she was just a little...off. The smallest things seemed to fascinate her, the way hot chocolate tasted, why someone would put colorful cartoons in the back of the paper, what basic history facts were. That burning itch to know more about her clawed its way up his throat. He knew her name at least, Davina. That was enough for him. He swallowed down his curiosity and pictured it swimming down his intestines like a fuzzy hairball. “The age of eligibility is the agreed upon age that heirs have to be before they can ascend to the throne. It was put in place after a teenager took the throne and almost drank himself to death before he could marry let alone produce an heir of their own.”
Why her mind suddenly flashed an image of a drunk Finn lounging across a throne, being fed grapes, and smiling lazily, she didn’t know. “So ugh,” she cleared her throat, “how old do you have to be?”
“Twenty, but no one really ascends that young. Hell, the Navarrete’s heir is in his forties and he still hasn’t. But, ya know, girl thing and all,” he shrugged again.
A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. “I’ll get it,” she said, tossing her blanket onto Finn’s head as she stood, resulting in him sputtering and shouting a few complaints in her direction as she walked towards the door. On the other side stood a short sweating, and surprisingly red-faced man.
“Does ugh- is there a Robert Stokes living here?” He wouldn’t meet her eye as he asked the question, instead he clutched his hands in front of him as though he were nervous and stared at the ground.
“Yep, this is the place. Come on in?” She’d invited weirder people into the house before, heck she’d let people in who just looked sick before they even asked for Robert.
The man tentatively took a step into the house as she opened the door further, his eyes scanning the front entrance and sitting room where a grumpy Finn still sat.
“Did I hear a door?” Robert’s voice echoed down the stairs, making the stranger flinch slightly. Davina noticed that he was cradling his wrist close to his stomach and not nervously grasping his hands like she had thought.
“Yeah, it’s for you,” Finn yelled back as he stood up and stretched. They heard the muffled thud of his sock-clad feet descending the stairs. “You want some lunch, Raine?”
“Nope Lori is busy,” Robert interjected as he reached out to shake the man’s hand that wasn’t folded into his chest.
“I am?” she asked at the same time as Finn said “she is?”
“Yep, Lori is gonna help her first client today.”
“She is?” Finn asked as she practically screeched “I am?”
“She most certainly is. That is,” he turned to her, “if ya want to?”
She tried not to screech and jump as a response, instead she bit her tongue and smiled enthusiastically.
⟴
The man’s name turned out to be Garrett. He didn’t supply a last name, nor did they ask him for one. He sat perched on the edge of the chair in Robert’s office, dabbing beads of sweat off his forehead with his good hand.
“Alright Lor, how would you start?” He leaned against the far wall, giving her plenty of space to ask the man questions and evaluate his health.
She asked how he was feeling (not too well obviously), how he came to injure his hand (caught it in a door), and if there were any health concerns they should know about (there wasn’t).
Garrett seemed apprehensive about letting her touch his hand so she offered to just study it while he laid it flat on the desk. Two of his fingers on his left hand had a purplish tinge around the knuckle and were considerably more swollen than the ones next to it.
“I’d maybe try clove oil to numb the skin, and green tea as an anti-inflammatory?” It was meant to sound strong and sure, she wanted to be confident in front of her first potential client, but it came out as a mumbled question.
“Well seeing as to how I didn’t teach you how to fix broken bones,” he rumbled with a chuckle, “that’s about as much as you can do.” He picked up and analyzed the man’s hand before Garrett could protest, moving his hand this way and that, studying the fingers at different angles. “Oils in that cabinet,” he waved the wood cabinet they had gotten him for Christmas, “third drawer.”
Rifling through the many jars, she found one with the words clove oil hastily written across masking tape. Uncapping the lid, she passed a few cotton balls and the bottle into Robert’s expectant hand. Uncapping the bottle he covered the ball in the amber liquid then gently dabbed it on Garrett’s fingers. Garrett hissed and tried to pull back his hand but Robert had a firm grasp on the man’s wrist, keeping his hand still.
When she came back a few minutes later with a steaming cup of green tea, Robert had already fixed his purple fingers into a splint. The two fingers were taped together with a soft metal in place to prevent them from bending. Even from the kitchen she could hear Garrett howling and shouting a few creative curses, much to Finn’s delight as he kept her company while the kettle boiled.
After sipping on his tea and spitting out a speedy “thanks” with a grunt, Garrett and his fingers left.
⟴
Much later, Davina found herself stiff from hours curled up with one of the few books in the house that wasn’t plant related. The Solitary Portrait was far more fascinating than she had anticipated, and her poor neck had suffered the price. Following a woman’s mysterious death, a duo who claim they can talk to spirits who've yet to cross to the other side insist the woman’s soul was trapped in the large painting she died in front of. Davina spent most of the day hunched over the yellowing pages, trying to make sense of the story. She wasn’t quite sure what the other side was, but she assumed it was a sort of life after death, and from the way the characters spoke it seemed like a desirable place. The duo’s story turned out to be an elaborate web of lies, weaved in order to steal the painting which would have made them rich had they sold it.
While she initially meant to flip through it to see what kind of story it was, she ended up devouring its contents in one sitting. As she stretched out her neck and shoulders she noticed the yellow glow of the street lamps below and the pale glow of the moon. 207Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6TexJneFXF
What time is it? It had only been a little after one when she found the book during a bored scan of the alphabetized shelves. Wondering if there was either going to be a dinner, or if there already had been one and she missed it. She took a moment to smile at Sister Zinnia’s portrait as she walked past, but paused when she reached the top of the stairs.
Hushed voices floated up the narrow staircase, and every cell in her brain screamed listen!, so who was she not to do what her brain wanted.
Straining her ears she made out Finn’s pondering voice. “Probably another two weeks. If that's alright with you? There's a crew lookin’ for men leavin’ then.”
“You know you can stay longer boy….always welcome.” She had missed the middle of what Robert had said, but her fingers began to wring themselves nervously.
“You’ve done more than enough, Bobby. I can’t ask for more, not with the guards lookin’ at us.”
There was a moment of silence where Davina thought they had either walked farther away or realized there was a shadow at the top of the stairs listening to them, but then she heard the end of Robert’s reply. “Fine,” she thought she heard a sigh, “but you’ve got to break it to her.” She had a sinking feeling that she was that she.
Orrrrr maybe not? Five days went by without Finn or Robert mentioning whatever it was they were discussing. The only thing that had changed was Robert.
The number of people that came by the house had been steadily decreasing. It was common for five or six people to come by on a given day, but now it was surprising if two people knocked on the old door. Robert wasn’t as keen to let her help as he had been with Garrett whats-his-face, stars he all but created fake errands for her and Finn to run if someone did happen to come by. He stopped letting her open the front door again, racing her to it like he had done when she first moved in, and nervously scanning the street beyond when he did open it.
It was on one of the fake “emergency” errands Robert sent them on, that Finn finally broke the news.
They had been sent all the way to Merchant’s Corner to pick up half a pound of salt, which she was positive they already had in the pantry but Robert insisted they were out. The snow from their last storm was already turning black from the constant foot traffic in some places, and as they entered the square she saw that someone had brushed it off of the Devoe statues. They stood proudly over the crowd, like wistful ghosts, their ring of red guards gone.
“Vina,” Finn said, breaking their happy silence. The troubled worry in his voice surprised her, he had spent most of the morning cracking jokes about her height, the crumbs that flew out of Robert’s beard when he sneezed that morning, and about the murderous look in the squirrel’s eye that he swore followed them for several blocks. Serious and sad wasn’t something she was used to hearing from him.
“What’s wrong?”
He looked at the pebbled ground as they continued walking, “there’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to tell you.”
She raised her brows, waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t she playfully nudged him with her elbow, “my silence is your cue Guppy. Wow,” she gasped dramatically, “no smile? No ‘don’t call me Guppy Vina’” she said in a mock impression of his voice.
“That ain’t what I sound like.” There was the smirk she was used to.
“I’m afraid it is,” she laughed. “But seriously, what’s up?”
“I’m leaving.”
“What?” He had said it so quickly she thought she must have heard him wrong.
“I’m leaving. At the end of the week.” His face was unreadable, an emotionless mask.
“But-but why?”
“There’s a crew lookin’ for hands and I’ve mooched from Bobby for months now. This is the longest I’ve ever stayed, Vin. I had to go back at some point.”
So she was that she Robert was talking about. He was telling Finn to break the news of his departure to her because he knew how she would feel about it. 207Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIHkJOKcWvo
Smart man, I wouldn’t want to be Finn right now either.
“I knew you had to leave, eventually. I just-I just didn’t realize it would be so soon.” I don’t want you to go, we’re the words she couldn’t bring her mouth to say.
As if he could read her thoughts he assured her “it’s not like I won’t come back, Vin. I’ll be back in about three months, that is if the old man lets me.” He chuckled dryly, trying to lighten the mood, but his light smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Seeing that hurt her heart more than the thought of him leaving. She could handle him being gone for a little while, but not if one of her last memories of him was going to be tinged with sadness. Davina mentally shoved her own feelings into a box in the back of her mind and tried her best to make her laugh.
Thankfully it was never hard to make him laugh. “Well at least now I can finally sleep without all that snoring coming through the walls,” she said thoughtfully. “Seriously, Gup, you’ve gotta have some kind of medical condition or something.”
“It’s not that bad,” he huffed as he rolled his eyes, thankful for the change of subject.
“Oh no,” she insisted, “I’d get Robert to look at your throat before you go, otherwise you’ll scare away all those fish.” She giggled at the thought then quickly ducked out of the way when he playfully went to smack the back of her head. “Or worse,” she smiled, “your crew mates might just throw you overboard in order to get some peace and quiet.”
“Alright c’mere.” She shrieked in surprise when he lunged at her, and started to jog after her when she continued to dodge his pokes and jabs. Skidding and falling on a patch of ice a few blocks away was worth it when she saw that smirk back on his face as he bent to help her up.
Their laughter rang in her ears as the peeling blue and white paint came into view and they climbed the cracked steps. She was going to miss him.
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