A half circle of aquamarine bobbed with boats of red and yellow, some with billowing white sails, others with large paddle wheels churning up the water behind them. Still others splashed a trail of foam as oars dipped at their sides. They were all so small from this distance they might have been a child’s toys. But I knew people manned them, that fishermen called to each other, cheering their day’s catch, the wind carrying their voices, sharing their victories, breathing their stories. On the shore where some of them headed was a long wharf with more boats and people as small as ants moving back and forth, up and down, busy with their work. Then, maybe most beautiful of all, surrounding the bay were homes and shops that crept up the hills, each one a different color, bright blue, cherry red, orange, lilac, lime, a giant fruit bowl with the Bay of Terravin at its heart, and finally dark green fingers of forest reached down from the hills to hold the multicolored gem in its palm.

Now I understood why it had always been Pauline’s dream to return to the childhood home she had been uprooted from when her mother died. She’d been sent to live with a distant aunt in the north country and then, when that aunt became ill, handed off to yet another aunt she didn’t even know, my mother’s own attendant. Pauline’s life had been one of a sojourner, but at last she was back in the place of her roots, her home. It was a place I knew with one glance could be my home too, a place where the weight of who I was supposed to be didn’t exist. My joy bobbed unexpectedly. How I wish my brother Bryn were here to see this with me. He loved the sea.

Pauline’s voice finally broke through my thoughts. “Is something wrong? You haven’t said a word. What do you think?”

I looked at her. My eyes stung. “I think … if we hurry, we might be able to bathe before dinner.” I slapped Otto’s backside. “First dip!”

Pauline was not to be outdone, and with a wild cry and prod in his ribs, she got her donkey to race ahead of mine.

Our reckless license was checked as we turned onto the main thoroughfare that wove through town. We tucked our hair into our caps and pulled them low over our eyes. Terravin was small and out of the way, but not so isolated that it couldn’t be a stopping point for the Royal Guard—or a tracker. But even with my chin held close to my chest, I took it all in. The wonder! The sounds! The smells! Even the clap of our donkeys’ hooves on the red-tiled streets sounded like music. It was so different from Civica in every way.

We passed a plaza shaded by a giant fig tree. Children jumped rope under its enormous umbrella, and musicians played a flute and a bandoneon, puffing out cheerful tunes for townsfolk who conversed around small tables that lined the perimeter.

Farther into town, merchandise spilled from stores onto neighboring walkways. A rainbow of scarves billowed in the breeze outside one shop, and at another, crates of fresh, shiny eggplant, striped squash, lacy fennel, and fat pink turnips were displayed in neat vibrant rows. Even the tack shop was cheerfully painted in robin’s-egg blue. The muted tones of Civica were nowhere be found. Here everything sang with color.

No one looked at us. We blended in with others who were passing by. We were two more workers on our way home after a long day at the docks, or maybe just tired strangers looking for a friendly inn. In our trousers and caps, we probably looked more like scrawny men. I tried to keep from smiling as I eyed the town that Pauline had described so many times. My smile vanished when I saw three Royal Guards approaching on horseback. Pauline spotted them too and pulled back on her reins, but I whispered a hushed command to her. “Keep going. Keep your head down.”

We proceeded forward, though I wasn’t sure either of us breathed. The soldiers were laughing with each other, their horses moving at a leisurely pace. A cart driven by another soldier lumbered behind them.

They never glanced our way, and Pauline delivered a relieved sigh after they passed. “I forgot. Dried and smoked fish. They come once a month from an eastern outpost for supplies, but mostly for fish.”

“Only once a month?” I whispered.

“I think so.”

“Then our timing is good. We won’t have to worry about them again for a while. Not that they’d know me anyway.”

Pauline took a moment to survey me and then pinched her nose. “No one would know you, except perhaps the swine back home.”

As if on cue, Otto hawed at her remark, making us both laugh, and we raced for a warm bath.

I held my breath as Pauline knocked on the small back door of the inn. It immediately swung open, but only the brief wave of a woman’s arm greeted us as she rushed away and yelled over her shoulder, “Put it over there! On the block!” She was already back at a huge stone hearth, using a wooden paddle to pull flat bread from the oven. Pauline and I didn’t move, which finally caught the woman’s attention. “I said to—”

She turned and frowned when she saw us. “Hmph. Not here with my fish, eh? A couple of mumpers, I suppose.” She motioned to a basket by the door. “Grab an apple and a biscuit and be on your way. Come back after the rush, and I’ll have some hot stew for you.” Her attention was already elsewhere, and she yelled to someone who called to her from the front room of the inn. A tall, gangly boy stumbled through a swinging door with a burlap cloth in his arms, the tail of a fish wagging out the end. “Loafhead! Where’s my cod? I’m to make stew with a crappie?” She grabbed the fish from him anyway, slapped it down on the butcher block, and with one decisive chop, whacked its head off with a cleaver. I guessed the crappie would do.