“Now, what are you hurrying for?” called the fisherman from inside the shack. He hadn't moved from his chair when Adva ran out the door.
She paused to turn and regard him. He was now standing in the door frame, watching her with puzzlement.
“I must find Peter,” she said. She retraced her steps to his front door and surprised him with a tight embrace, burying her head in his shoulder. “You have been so kind to me,” she said. “Even if it was not on purpose. Thank you!”
The fisherman blushed and patted the top of her head. “Well, now, you're welcome I suppose.”
Adva stepped away from him, beginning to turn away when he placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Wait there, Adva. What are you planning to do?”
She gave a him a strange look. “Well, I am going walk.”
He shook his head. “No, lass, that's not what I mean. When you meet the prince, what will you do? If he is as mad as his brother says?”
Adva looked lost. She played with a strand of hair. Now that she was dry, it was a dark auburn, shot with glints of gold that winked prettily in the dimming sunlight.
“Well, I...” she started. She wrinkled her little brow. “I don't know. Perhaps I will know then.”
With this, she was gone, running barefoot over the sand.
As she left, the fisherman realized that he hadn't even thought to ask her how she had come to be in his bucket in the first place. Curiosity inflamed, he called her name to her retreating back, but she was past hearing.
Adva ran, her tiny feet seeming to barely touch the sand. The sun was starting to disappear into the sea. She huffed as she moved. Her legs felt shaky. She had forgotten how awkward legs were. They had to move independently, and yet together. How many times had she fallen those first few days?
She smiled at the thought.
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“Are you alright?” Peter rushed over to her. It was the second time today that she had tripped over herself and fallen.
She looked up at him with a smile, trying to show him that she was fine. Some of the frustration must have shone through in her face, however, because he chuckled.
“Let me give you a hand. Here,” he bent down and put his arm around her, helping her up. “Now, just hold onto me. I'll help you.” Together they walked the hallway towards the library, where they had been going before she fell. “I guess you're still feeling disoriented from the shipwreck, eh?”
She tried to act as if she hadn't heard him. Stefan and Peter had put together the story for Alice and the king. It seemed they were beginning to believe it themselves. There was no way to disillusion them, and it seemed to satisfy Peter. Still, her chest ached a little to not be able to tell him the truth.
The doors to the library were enormous, dark wood emblazoned with gold patterns. Peter opened them easily with one hand, the other still supporting her.
“Come in, we'll find you somewhere to sit. There's something I want to show you.”
He lead her to an armchair that was tucked next to a small desk. From this new position she looked around in awe.
There were shelves lining every wall, broken only by scattered picture windows. Gentle light filtered through their gauzy curtains, giving the room a friendly glow. The shelves stretched from floor to ceiling and were filled with books of every size, leaving no room for ornament of any kind. Two ladders leaned against one of the shelves nearest to the door. Three other small desks and armchairs like the one she was sitting in were scattered throughout the room. The desks were covered with maps and papers, and collections of knickknacks: telescopes, little statues of animals, model ships, a compass, abandoned tea-cups, inkwells of various sizes, candles, a vase of wilted roses dropping petals, a measuring stick, a sextant, containers for sealing-wax and snuff, an old pipe.
Her eyes widened as she realized that she didn't recognize some of the items. She and Mina had found so many things in the old shipwrecks, but nothing like these. She touched a little silver box on the desk in front of her. It slid from its perch on the edge of the desk and fell to the floor, opening with a soft sound. She gasped and pulled her legs up onto the chair away from it.
Peter looked over his shoulder. He was standing at one of the shelves, holding a slim green book with gold lettering on its spine. Seeing the fear in her eyes and the box on the ground, he chuckled and came over.
“It's alright, it's alright. Heaven knows Stefan and I have dropped it enough times. It's not broken.” He bent down to pick it up. She eyed it distrustfully. “It's a music box. It's not going to hurt you,” he laughed. He leaned against the desk and turned a small pin she hadn't seen on the back of the box. When he let go, a soft tinkling sound played, which slowly formed itself into a melody.
A slow smile spread itself across her features. She watched the little figure inside the box turning on one toe, apparently meant to mimic dancing. Mesmerized, she watched the figurine until the box finished the tune. After a moment of thought, a sudden, fierce delight spread across her face.
She gestured her hands for the box, looking questioningly at Peter. He let her hold it, fascinated by the intense joy in her expression.
She rolled the box in her hands until she found the pin. Once she had twisted it gently, she sat up, setting the box on the chair. As the tune began to play, she stepped away from the desk, into the middle of the room, where a large, rich carpet had been placed.
She danced to the tune, twirling her skirts and gesturing her arms gracefully, holding the hand of some invisible partner. Peter watched, smiling, as she tried to dance on her toes, as the figurine had done, her auburn hair and pale skin catching the light when she moved. As the melody sped up, her movements became more animated. She had given up trying to dance on her toes and settled instead for spinning in place, watching her skirts fan out. When the music had ended, she tried to slow herself down and only succeeded in tripping herself again, falling to her knees in a pool of skirts. Her eyes sparkled as he laughed at her.
“What a graceful little dancer! You move so lightly.” Peter let his eyes linger on hers for a moment, smiling, then shook his head, returning to himself. He put the music box on the table and indicated the armchair. “Here, come sit. I have something here that might help us find out who you are.”
It took a bit of effort to get up, but she managed, skipping lightly to the armchair. She looked at the book in his hand with her head cocked to one side.
Peter opened it towards her, pointing at one of the pages. “This is a collection of names my mother kept. She liked to know the meaning of words,” he chuckled. “But I thought you might be able to find your name here, so we know what it is. Then we can start making inquiries to the neighboring kingdoms, and maybe find out where your home is.”
He put the book in her hands. She cast her eyes on the page, turning it. Then she looked up at him expectantly.
Realization dawned on him. “You don't know how to read?” he said.
She shook her head, trying to hand the book back to him. But her eyes did not meet his. Peter raised an eyebrow and folded his arms. She persisted, pushing the book at him, her lips pursed.
“Ah, so you do know,” he said. She nodded, then closed the book, tucking it in his folded arms and looking away. He took it in his hand, frowning. “Why don't you want to look for your name?”
She stuck out her tongue, still not looking at him. He fought back the urge to laugh at her defiant gesture.
“What, do you not like your name?”
A shake of her head.
“Well, even if you don't like it, we still need to know, if we are to find out where you come from.”
She still didn't meet his eyes, and she folded her arms. Peter sighed.
“Alright, alright, I can see you're in no mood to tell me now. But I'd like to have something to call you, at least.”
She thought for a moment, then took the book from his hand and opened it. She presented it back to him, open, the way he had to her.
“You want me to choose something?”
Vigorous nodding.
Peter rubbed the back of his neck and flipped pages. A short word caught his eye. He put his finger on it and turned the book so she could see.
“Look at this. 'Adva.' It's Hebrew for a small wave or ripple. Do you like that well enough?”
He was answered with a large smile. With a laugh, he closed the book and set it on the desk.
“Adva, then. Sounds appropriately foreign for you.”
A strand of hair had fallen into her eyes when she danced and stayed there, forgotten. Unable to stop himself, he reached forward and tucked it behind her ear, meeting her eyes. A faint blush dusted her cheeks, and her eyes shone. He smiled.
“It's nice to meet you, Adva.”
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