16. 16

Victorine dropped us off on South Street along the edge of Battery Park. Trees rose from the interior, marking the distance with crowns of green, yellow, and flame. We passed the usual sidewalk vendors and entered the park itself on a path that curved around trees and beds of plants. A salty wind blew off the harbor and made fallen leaves tumble past.

"She's here," Berron said.

"How do you know?"

"How do you know when the bread's done?"

A small building shaped like the crown of a pointed silver seashell rose on our right. Inside, glowing shapes dipped and swirled, and faint, dreamy music carried on the harbor breeze. "What's that?" I said.

"SeaGlass Carousel. Never been on it?"

"Not sure I'd fit on the kiddie carousel."

The path branched to the left and right, but we continued straight toward the blue water of the harbor. In between the trees, old-fashioned lamp posts rose, and beyond them, a tall ship bobbed at anchor. Further down, a more modern ferry from the Statue of Liberty released its passengers onto the promenade.

"I don't see her," I said.

We both turned slowly, scanning the broad walkway.

"There." He pointed toward the ferry.

I caught a flash of gold fabric rippling along the edge of a bench facing the water. It was the Princess of Arrows, lying down, with one arm draped over her forehead. Her quiver and her bow lay on the ground beneath the bench, and she'd propped something shiny on her stomach that winked a yellow more golden than the autumn trees.

"Is she okay?" I said.

Berron said nothing as we hurried past the tall ship, toward the ferry. "Sister," he said, when at last we stood over the Princess of Arrows, "are you ill?"

The Princess slowly removed her arm from over her eyes. She shaded them with her hand instead, and looked up at us, seemingly unsurprised by our presence. "I thought it would be bigger," she said.

"What would be bigger?" I said. I, for one, couldn't take my eyes off the treasure she was casually cradling on her stomach: a wheelbarrow crafted of gold, carrying a huge yellow gemstone carved in the shape of a faceted heart.

She followed my gaze. "Not that," she said. "The statue." She gestured in the direction of the harbor, where the Statue of Liberty did indeed look tiny, far off between Governor's Island and Ellis Island. "Here," she said, handing off the priceless museum piece to Berron like it was a cheap souvenir snowglobe, and picking up the scrap of newspaper it had held in place. She held out the picture of the Statue of Liberty to me. "See?"

"It is big," I said. "You just have to get on a ferry to see it up close."

"I tried," the Princess said. "But the closer I got to the water, the more faint I became. I had to lie down, as you can see."

"The barrier," Berron said, still examining the gemstone heart in the golden wheelbarrow.

"I should like to see it up close," the Princess said, following the thought with a great sigh. "I suppose I never shall."

Berron handed me the museum's property. It was even heavier than it looked, and I almost fumbled it. Instead, I lost my grip on the newspaper clipping and it spun away in the wind, gone forever. I adjusted my grip on the base of the wheelbarrow, avoiding where tiny tufts of gold grass and miniature gemstone flowers threatened to scratch my hands.

"Sit up, Princess of Arrows," Berron said. "It is no good lounging in sadness."

"But I cannot lounge in joy, brother."

"Nevertheless," he said, taking her hands and pulling her to a sitting position, "we must try."

She swung her feet down to the ground, making space on either side of her. Berron sat to her left, and I to her right. The three of us stared out at the Statue of Liberty.

I was the only one who would ever climb to her crown.

I hefted the little wheelbarrow and desperately wished to change the subject. "No wonder they call it the Heavy Heart," I said.

"Do you know the story?" the Princess asked. "It is from an old tale of unrequited love: a heart that became so heavy it had to be carried in a wheelbarrow."

Suddenly I found the far off Statue of Liberty fascinating. Anything was preferable to looking at Berron.

"In that sense the gemstone heart is not heavy enough," she said. "It is a light thing, compared to the weight of wanting something you cannot have."

The sailing ship slipped free of the dock and glided away.

I cleared my throat. "We may not be able to climb the Statue of Liberty, but there are plenty of fun things to do here—didn't we see a carousel back there?" I widened my eyes at Berron, hoping he would take the hint.

He met my gaze. The flash of sadness in it could have been the changing light on the water, for it was gone in an instant. He smiled and patted his sister's hand. "You would like it very much," he said.

"Would I?" she replied, still watching the sailing ship as it got smaller and smaller. Another sigh, then she turned to me. "Would I like it, my dear friend?"

I nodded with more enthusiasm than I'd ever in my life shown for a kiddie ride.

The Princess of Arrows stood. She gathered up her quiver and arrows. Her gaze lingered over the harbor, taking in all the places she couldn't reach, and her golden gown fluttered in the breeze. Then she turned. "I am quite ready," she said.

We left the harbor behind and retraced our steps through the park, to the little silver building with the conical, shell-like roof.

The tickets ate up another bite of my cash-on-hand, and we entered the building itself to wait our turn.

Each carousel vehicle was shaped like a fish, with a circular cutout in the middle to hold a single rider. The fish glowed from within in a soothing ocean palette of colors: muted blue, soft green, lemony gold, blush pink. They dipped and rose, turned and revolved, to a soundtrack of dreamy, drifting music.

Our tickets were large, on heavy cardstock, and embossed with a sea creature beneath the name of the carousel. In a city where so many receipts and tickets were printed on disposable laser-print paper, or not printed at all, this ticket could have been framed and put on the wall. I caught Berron running his thumb over the embossed ridges, and for some reason, goosebumps rose on my arms.

The gate opened and we split up.

I climbed into a fish, and the ride began.

Berron, the Princess of Arrows, and I swirled past each other as the spinning floor made our fish swim in unpredictable paths.

When Berron's golden fish spun toward mine, I had to stop myself from reaching out. A child's impulse, maybe; to touch hands before you are taken away, even for just a moment, from someone. Why was it I could stand next to him all afternoon, and not even think of touching him, and then I get on a carnival ride and my fingers itch?

I gripped the Heavy Heart on my lap harder. I didn't want to be the one to have to explain to the curator why the Heavy Heart was now a broken one.

After a few minutes, the fish slowly spun to a stop. The Princess of Arrows was smiling as she alighted from her fish vehicle. "Most enjoyable," she said.

"We should go to the urban farm, too," Berron said as he joined us.

"Shouldn't we get your sister home?"

The Princess turned her gaze on me. "Why?"

"I thought… you might be, uh, tired?" I'd chased this Gentry runaway from the Upper West Side to Lower Manhattan and yes, damn it, I was tired. I hadn't been topped up by any of my magical stamina-filled friends in a while. When Berron took my wrist at the hot dog cart, it was barely a dash of magic.

"My dear friend," she said, placing an elegant hand on my arm. "Doing nothing fatigues me. This"—she gestured around us—"is most invigorating." She walked on with a little hop and a skip.

I wilted a little, feeling very human in comparison.

"Hey." Berron leaned closer to me. "Are you tired?"

"No."

He raised an eyebrow.

I sighed and gave up the pretense of being Superwoman. "Yes."

He chuckled. "May I hold your hand as we walk?"

"Yeah." I ran my hand through my hair. So casual. So unaffected. Good job, Zelda.

Then I took his hand.

It means nothing, really, to hold hands. It's just skin pressed against skin. The sensation is warm and comfortable, true. But in the vast scheme of things what does it really do? Does it change the world? No. You can't hold hands forever. It's a unity that's there one moment, gone the next.

And yet…

We are together, Berron and I, as our hands clasp; as his magic revives me; as the harbor breeze comes from behind and whips our hair in the wrong direction, blinding us both until we stumble into each other, laughing.

There is something I am beginning to feel that isn't hunger, isn't passion, isn't any of the easy and straightforward needs of the body. It is strong but it weakens me, like the urge to cry. I don't want to let go of his hand—and that's what makes me let go.

Berron looked at me. "Did you get enough?"

"Much better, thank you." I silently congratulated myself on not actually answering.

The Princess of Arrows had beaten us to the farm and was already flitting up and down the rows. I'd expected to see empty rows covered in straw or leaves—but there were a surprising number of green plants still standing tall. "They're still growing things," I said. "In November!"

"Winters are milder than they used to be," Berron said.

I scoffed. "What I know about farming could be written on the back of a SeaGlass carousel ticket."

"What's to know? Soil, water, sunshine, air…"

"Easy for you to say. You have all the plant magic."

"So do you, now. Here," he said, kneeling in the nearest row and patting one of the raised beds. "Come see."

I didn't mind getting dirty in pursuit of just about anything indoors—when you clean working kitchens, you've seen the worst of it, short of bathrooms—but real soil made me hesitate.

"Scared of a little dirt?"

I told him to do something anatomically impossible to himself, then dropped down beside him and set the Heavy Heart on the end of the row. Hopefully, no one would steal it while I was talking to plants.

"Now," he said, "put your hand on the ground."

"How is this different from what we do in Gramercy Park?"

"God, you're difficult." But he was smiling as he took my hand and laid it flat on top of the bed. "Close your eyes."

I rolled them first.

"What do you feel?"

"I feel self-conscious." But he had all the patience to wait for me to take it seriously, so I stopped kidding around and actually tried to focus.

The dirt was cold, stealing the warmth from my hand. The aroma of soil and fallen leaves mixed with the saltwater breeze. A deep vibration suddenly hummed through my legs and my hand. "Is that—"

"The subway."

I pushed the sensation aside and sent my borrowed Gentry magic into the ground. Regularly spaced splotches of magic appeared in my vision like footlights on a Broadway stage. "There's something in there. Bulbs?"

"Garlic."

I leaned closer to the ground and let my chef's senses take over. Sure enough, I could smell it.

"They'll come up in the spring."

I nodded, still with my eyes closed, still sensing the network of life that ran under our feet. Then I released a little of my own magic to embrace the sleeping plants. "Am I doing it right?"

Berron said nothing at first, but his magic bloomed around mine, echoing and strengthening. "Perfect."

I opened my eyes. "Can we do this for the whole farm?"

Berron's eyes were sparkling. He stood and offered a hand. "Let's do it."

Neat labels identified the plants, and Berron told me more: carrots, spinach, and collard greens that were cold-hardy enough to last the winter; blueberries, mint, sunchokes, asparagus, and fig trees that would die back and return. Over all of them we cast the Gentry's protection and strength, to feed the community when warmth returned.

The Princess of Arrows added her own spell, like green and gold fireflies darting among the rows.

In the way that Berron stood—as if this place had meaning, as if it was as much his home as the Fortress of Apples; not just a hopeless little plot in a city of steel and concrete, but a beacon of what could be right and true—I could see him for the prince that he was. It made me want to lean against him. To try out letting someone else hold me up. Letting Berron hold me up.

But the clash of sea glass chimes stopped me.

"Are there windchimes here?" I said.

Berron gave me a funny look. "No…"

The chimes trailed into glassy laughter. From its perch on the ground, the golden yellow gem of the Heavy Heart seemed to tremble.

"I should go," I said. "I need to get ready for the big dinner."