I tried to ignore it. The rock throwing and SED calling were new, but all in all it wasn’t much different from when I’d first arrived in Heart. The fear and anger were the same.
Every morning, Sam and I had music lessons and practice. I took Council-required lessons in the afternoon—they’d kick me out of the city if I didn’t—and my monthly progress report was coming up. After my long trip to Purple Rose with Sam, I should have been trying to squeeze in more study to make up for time lost, but Lidea called and asked if Sam and I wanted to go to the lake with some friends.
Absolutely.
“What about your paper on the history of geothermal energy?” Sam asked, not quite hiding his smirk as we walked to Lidea’s house.
“I’m sure you can see how devastated I am about going to the lake on the last warm day of the year. Spending time with you, with friends—Ugh. I don’t know how I’ll make it through the afternoon.” I grinned and slipped my hand into his.
With Lidea, Wend, Anid, and a handful of other friends in tow, we headed out the Southern Arch, toward Midrange Lake. It was the biggest lake in Range, and mostly used for the city’s fish and water supply, but there were a few beaches set aside for enjoyment. Sam and I had gone a couple of times over the summer.
Geyser steam wafted across the barren land between the city wall and the forest, reeking of sulfur. I wrinkled my nose until the wind shifted to blow the stink away from the path.
I held on to Sam’s hand, listening while Stef and Orrin inquired about the baby’s health, and Whit and Armande discussed the effort to rebuild sections of Heart that had been destroyed during Templedark.
“The Council isn’t even trying,” Armande complained. “Have you noticed the statues by the Councilhouse? And the relief over the front? Not to mention the stairs.”
“Those things are hardly as important as rebuilding the mills and agricultural areas.” Whit shook his head. “Lots of private gardens and livestock were destroyed, if not by sylph or dragon acid, then by drone fire and neutralizing chemicals. Even with sharing and appropriating supplies from”—his voice caught—“the darksouls, it’s going to be a hard winter.”
“Because the Council stored food in buildings that won’t stand up to dragon acid.”
“Armande,” Whit said gently, “even if they’d put everything in the Councilhouse, it could have been destroyed just as easily. Templedark, remember? The walls were useless.”
The white stone had repaired itself when Janan awakened, so some people preferred to believe the cracked temple had been only a nightmare.
“Anyway,” Whit continued, “you’ve completely changed the subject. You’re upset about the statues and stairs, but don’t you think that’s a little shallow, considering all the things that need to be repaired?”
Armande snorted. “Maybe so, but I’m the one who has to look at them every day.”
“You don’t have to set up your stall. Let people make their own pastries if it’s so difficult to look at pockmarked statues.”
Armande pressed his palm to his chest. “You’re condemning even more people to starvation. Or, at the very least, bad breakfast. Besides, our art is a testament to our society. It’s a symbol of our achievements, like your library and Sam’s music. It’s something to be proud of, and we should take care of it.”
I thought about that as we stepped into the shade of fir trees and headed down a smooth path that thumped solidly beneath my boots. We were off the thinnest part of the caldera.
Sam held aside a low-hanging branch for me, then ducked under after.
“Thanks.” I glanced back; the branch was as big as my arm. “If you’d left it, we could have had matching bruises on our foreheads.”
He laughed. “That’s not as romantic as matching hats or belts.”
“And that’s not romantic at all. Did anyone really do that?”
“Some did. About a thousand years ago.” He rolled his eyes, but his grin widened. “I don’t think I was ever so happy to see a fashion pass. The hats got worse every year. Taller, bigger feathers, ridiculous shapes. It was terrible.”
“Did you ever wear matching”—I couldn’t believe it was a real thing—“hats or belts?”
He shot a look that said I’d wasted my breath asking. Of course he hadn’t. He didn’t even like attending the rededication of souls.
My tone slipped toward mocking. “I should have known not to question your sense of fashion.”
Sam squeezed my hand, his smile full of mischief. “If you asked, I’d probably find us matching hats.”
“You’re such a tease.”
Another ten minutes and we arrived at the beach, all sand and frothy gray water, veiled by evergreen trees on three sides. Immense snow-blanketed mountains stood on the horizon like walls, shaded blue and gray in this weather. These walls, unlike the one around the city, made me feel safe. Protected.
“The beach looks bigger today,” Sam said, as we came off the narrow path, the only access to the beach.
Orrin glanced southward and scowled. “It is. The water line is lower.”