49. Perpatane

Over the heads of the Angler family and through the twirling couples, I saw Quinn stalking out through the door of the brewery, face in consternation.

“Sir,”

I said, placing a hand on Frederic’s arm.

“Please forgive me.

I see a friend in distress.”

I rose and wove my way through the crowds and out of the building.

Spotting her up ahead of me on the street outside, I called out her name.

She stopped, but did not turn to me.

I walked towards her, my right hand outstretched to cup her elbow.

“Quinn! Are you unwell?”

She turned to me, her square face softened by the white flowers in her hair.

Her eyes were wet, but she was not crying.

“It is so easy for her,”

she bit out.

“Explain,”

I said, pushing her to face me.

Begrudgingly, she did so.

“River.

She has never—”

and here her voice cracked.

“She has never had to hide.

She has never had to look over her shoulder.

She has never been in a box.

She has never slept in a cell and wondered if guards would remember to feed her.

And she is so insistent on things like dancing and holding my hand.

I cannot do it, Edie.

It is not something I can ever do.”

“Perpatane,”

I breathed.

“Yes,”

Quinn said shakily.

“Perpatane.

She is an Ecclestonian since birth.

Her parents cared not at all.

Mine were torturous.

My priests were torturous.

My jailers torturous.

She does not know.

In a way, you are the only one I know who may understand.”

“And I was not jailed for my sins.”

She looked at me pointedly.

“Did they box you?”

“I lost count of how often.”

“Then you do know.

Perhaps you were not jailed, but they lay you down in that—”

she choked, stopping herself.

After a breath, she said, “They put you in that box and those people said those things to you through the air holes.”

I placed my hands on her upper arms.

“You are not alone.

I cannot sleep without a window.

It has been ten winters.

I cannot sleep without seeing the sky.

I know it is not the same, but I know that feeling you can only get if you are refugee of Perpatane.”

“I cannot explain it to her,”

Quinn said.

“She tries to understand.

She cannot.”

“She never will,”

I agreed.

“How could anyone but us?”

“Have you ever tried to explain it to someone?”

I shook my head.

“Mischa and Helena know how restricted Perpatane life is and that Thrush, my former husband, was an exacting man who resented that I could not give him a son.

But only that.

They do not know of the box.”

“I will not speak of it to anyone.

Please do not speak of my old life.”

“I will not.

Did River want to dance with you tonight?”

Quinn nodded.

“Sister Sea is …known to be lenient about people like us.

I think Thalia encourages people like us to join the temple, even if they have no magic.

That place is overrun with staff.

Although it is needed.

The administration of fishing is expansive.

But we have met people… couples.”

“And River thinks this is a sign that Tintar is as safe as Eccleston?”

Quinn looked up into the starry sky.

“I think she does.

And I think it is.

But I cannot undo a lifetime of— of Perpatane.

Even in Eccleston, I did not dance with her.

I did not hold her hand.

Living with her as sisters was as courageous as I could be for her.”

“It is courageous to me, a Perpatanian.

Do you want company back to the keep?”

She shook her head.

“I want to be alone.

I am …cheerless tonight.”

“I have two ears and a like mind,” I said.

She nodded and made her way down the street.

I watched her go, listening to the dancing feet, the clapping hands and the fiddle on the night air.

I breathed in taking in the scent of countless blooms.