Chapter 2

Jakob

The clanking of metal against metal drowns out my thoughts.

Outside my studio, the air is full of the sound of people having fun, going to clubs, meeting up with dates.

I don't get out much. Unless you count my studio, which is technically outdoors. It's nothing but a temporary partition in a courtyard that's accessible from the rental house I share with two others. What with all the welding and painting I do, I need as much ventilation as possible.

Now after everything that's happened, my little studio is the most I get of fresh air and sunshine. Sometimes I sleep out here, much to my housemates' consternation.

Those housemates, Suzanna and Stasi, both encourage me to submit some pieces of my art for consideration at a gallery, but I don't know if my creations are ready for the world.

I know that I'm certainly not ready for the world to know who I am—on so many levels.

Where is Stasi these days, anyway? She went on vacation about a month ago, and she's phoned Suzanna once or twice. I overheard some chatter that she met a man, but Suzanna's been pretty cagey about who it is.

I understand the need to be private. This world demands too much information about people at all times.

Things are not like they were when Josephine and I were small. The world is preoccupied with gathering information now. People think they're entitled to know all things, all the time.

I never did buy a smartphone, which everyone tells me makes me a weirdo. But it turns out that was the best decision I ever made. It certainly makes me tough to track down—especially for the palace guards.

If Josephine reads my letter and doesn't phone me, then no harm done. Perhaps she's in a relationship and feels strange about our long-ago friendship. Maybe she doesn't want to explain to an English husband or boyfriend about an eccentric artist in Gravenland who keeps writing her letters.

The streetlamp outside casts intricate shadows across my current project, giving me ideas on how to improve the piece.

As I reach for my welding helmet, the house phone rings on the cluttered table beside me. I set down my tools and wipe my hands on a rag before picking up.

The caller ID displays a number from down the coast, and not England, so I blow out the breath I was holding. It's not my friend Josephine.

I answer the call. "Hello?"

"Hello," says a voice on the other end. "I'm calling for Jakob."

The female voice is tinged with anticipation, and I realize it's her.

My voice cracking, I reply, "Hello, Josephine."

"Jakob! Oh my gods, hi!"

The surge of emotions is unreal. My heart palpitates as I try to grab on to anything—happiness, sadness, longing, anguish, guilt.

I made Josephine feel obligated to ring me.

But I'm so happy to hear from her.

It's been so long, what will we even talk about? Foolish man, you have literally everything to discuss.

I lean against the cluttered table, the nightlife outside my open studio window fading into the background as I hone in on the sounds of her breathing.

"How are you, Josephine?"

A pause passes between us, and I can almost see her younger face searching for the right words. "I…I just read your letters for the first time. Tonight. All of them."

My heart races at the sound of her voice, and for a moment, I feel painfully vulnerable. Exposed. I've no idea what she thinks of me now.

And did she say she read them all at once, for the first time? Tonight?

"It's so good to hear from you. But I'm curious, and I have a question, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Jakob."

Swallowing hard, I ask, "Why didn't you read any of my letters until today?" Almost 15 years is a long time to wait, but I'm not going to judge her. I'm sure she had her reasons.

Josephine inhales sharply. "Oh, I'm so scattered! I should have started from the beginning, Jakob—I never got any of your letters until today."

"Today?" I repeat, hardly believing this story. But it's her. The very responsible next-door neighbor. It's still Josephine.

"Yes, today!" she exclaims.

A lump forms in my throat. "I don't understand."

My old friend goes on to explain that after her father moved her to Birmingham upon her mother's tragic illness and death, he fell in with girlfriends and business partners who helped him go after one scam or another. Josephine went to work at low-wage jobs in order to keep the lights on. Finally, when she'd had enough of her father always asking her to hand over her paychecks so he could help her "invest" in his latest scheme, she left Birmingham altogether. First, she traveled to Cornwall in hopes of living with her mother's family. No one could take her in, so she traveled around Europe, taking odd jobs and avoiding her father. On a whim, she enrolled in training for the merchant marines and ended up working for a Danish shipping company for eight years. It kept her busy, earned her decent wages, and being at sea helped her avoid people who wanted money from her or from her father. The culture on board those vessels was starting to wear on her by the time she reached 25, so she "washed up in Mirror Lake," as she puts it, taking any job she could find.

"I've moved around so much that the mail took a while to catch up to me," she says, her voice breaking with guilt and sadness.

"Mirror Lake," I breathe. Hell, she's been in the country all this time?

"Yes," she says, and the silence that follows is fraught with questions. We've lived less than four hours apart from each other for years now and never knew it. More questions swirl in my mind, such as why she never received any of my letters in England while she lived there. But we can sort out the facts later.

All that matters now is my friend is back in my life.

"Josephine, I… I want you to know, I shouldn't have pressured you in the letter to phone me."

Her soft, shallow breaths on other end of the line make me ache to hold her. After another pause, she speaks, her voice filled with warmth despite her halting now and then to gather her courage.

"I'm glad you did. Because…I want to see you, Jakob. I want to hear every detail about what happened on the Prince's birthday."

My shoulders relax, and a small smile tugs at the corners of my lips.

"I'm glad you called, Josephine. There's so much more to tell you, but I'd much rather listen to you talk."

A moment of silence follows, and I don't know if she's hesitating, if she's about to cut me off, or if she's steeling her nerves yet again.

I hope it's the latter. Gods, I hope it's the latter.

Her voice comes through, softly, playfully. "Well, how about we meet? I think there's a lot we need to catch up on. And…I'd like to see your face again, Jakob."

My heart races at the idea. I've been a recluse for so long, the prospect of reconnecting with Jo is both exhilarating and nerve-wracking.

"When? Let's meet as soon as possible." I wince at my pushiness. I rarely talk to women other than my housemates, so I don't know how to behave with Josephine. It feels like we're setting up a date, and I have to constantly remind myself that this person cares about me.

"Tomorrow's my day off. I can come to you in the city, or…"

"No," I say.

"No?"

I'm fucking this up. "I don't want you to put yourself out. I'll come to you."

"It's a bit of a hassle for you, with the train and then the shuttle. We could compromise and meet in the middle," she says. "I've been meaning to visit Salska to do some shopping anyway."

She's smart. Salska will be far from the palace's guards but large enough that no one knows me there.

I'm stepping out of the shadows, taking a risk. But on the other end of it, Jo will be there. My Josephine.

I prayed for something magical, and something even more magical is out there waiting for me to take it.

Finally, I can have the normal life I've always wanted. With her.

If she wants me.