“You know her, don’t you?”

I startled slightly at the sound of Barti’s voice. I hadn’t known he was still awake. Otto and Uzoma had significantly more alehouse stamina than either of us; they were still out. It was only the two of us in the suite. I was sitting on my bed, staring out the window, but hadn’t yet closed my door.

“Yes,” I admitted softly. I didn’t have to ask him what he’d meant.

Barti stepped inside and closed the door, then sat solemnly in my desk chair. “Is she a relative?”

I shook my head. “No. My mother’s mother was foreign to the local flock, and moved on shortly after she gave birth. No nearby cousins that I know of.”

Barti sat in silent thought for a moment. “Do you think she followed you here?”

“Yes.” My voice was sharp with anger and worry. “I do. It was reckless of her. I didn’t think she could fly this far. Didn’t think she would fly this far,” I amended.

“She told you she was going to?”

“No. But I’m not surprised. She wants to look through a telescope, and I told her the University had a really big one.” I shook my head again. “And I don’t know how she’s going to make it back on time, if it took her four days to get here. I don’t even know how she got away early enough to follow me. And now she only has two days to get back.”

“What happens if she doesn’t get back in time?”

“I don’t know.” I rubbed my face. “I’m worried she’s not even going to try—not until she’s looked through the telescope. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s run away.”

Barti raised his eyebrows. “Run away?”

“Flown away, in her case. When we were twelve.”

“Why?”

I felt heat rise in my face, but managed to keep my voice neutral as I replied, “Some cultural thing I never understood.”

Barti gave me a long, appraising look, then folded his arms over his chest thoughtfully. “She likes you.”

I took in a sharp breath. Sins of the father, Master Fiore whispered in my mind. Sins of the son.

“She likes contraptions,” I said suppressively. “They all do. Telescopes, weathervanes. I’ve made a few, using my father’s workshop and tools. I taught her how to pick locks when we were younger.”

“She flew a long way just for a telescope.”

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “I know. But that is absolutely something she would do. She was so stubborn, she refused to go home even when her ribs were broken.”

“Doesn’t your father have telescopes?”

“Yes! That’s why this is so reckless! She could just wait until I’m back at the end of next term!”

“That’s a pretty long time to wait,” Barti offered.

I was about to make some objection, but just then the door to the suite opened in the common room. Otto and Uzoma stumbled in, slurring affably at each other. It sounded like they were trying to remember the words to a drinking song, without much success.

Barti gave me a half-smile, then stood and left. He closed the door behind himself.

🜁

Sheshef was not the only one who had followed me to University.

The very next day, earlier than any of us would have cared for, there was a knock at the door. I was the first who stumbled out to get it, clad in only a nightshirt and robe, blinking blearily. I fumbled at the door for a good ten seconds before I managed to get it open—only to find myself face to face with a mustachio’d Francesca.

I stared. “What the hell.”

“Good morning, old chum!”

“This is not a good time, Franco.”

“Oh, surely you won’t turn a chap away at your door? Come now, it’s nearly nine o’clock.”

I groaned and let her in.

Barti came out as well, yawning and rubbing his eyes. He blinked at our guest several times, clearly trying to parse what he was seeing. “Francesca?” he asked at last.

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“Yes, I’m afraid I don’t have the Franco voice today; Francesca it will have to be. I just wore this to get into your dormitory.” Francesca threw herself onto the sofa comfortably. “The rest of my luggage is all dresses.”

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Visiting you, before classes start properly.”

“You could have just asked,” I said, exasperated. “We are allowed visitors, you know.”

“This is more fun.” Francesca helped herself to a tin of nuts left out by Uzoma. “Gosh, these are good. What are they?”

“Cashews.” Uzoma himself had emerged, wrapped in a spectacular blanket, bright with pattern. “They grow well in our gardens at home. And who do I have the honor of greeting on this overly-bright morning?”

“Lady Francesca, at your service.” With absolutely no indication that she recalled she was wearing a mustache, Francesca stood and extended her hand.

Uzoma took it and bowed courteously. “Lady Francesca, a pleasure. I am Prince Uzoma.”

“Oh! Your highness.” Francesca dipped a trousered curtsy. “Apologies, I am quite without skirts at the moment.”

“Please do not distress yourself over such matters, my lady. Your mustache more than makes up for it.”

I made a note to myself to buy Otto the next round of ale, for finding us such a fine Paffuto replacement.

“How long will you be in town?” I asked.

“Only a few days.” Francesca re-seated herself and ate another cashew. “I only have a couple items of business to attend to here.”

“What might that business be, my lady?” asked Uzoma. He was clearly genuinely interested, and not merely asking out of politeness. It was understandable; the business of any mustachio’d lady would likely be intriguing.

“Marriage,” she replied bluntly. “Oh don’t make that face at me, Leo; subtlety got me nowhere all summer. I don’t suppose you’re looking for a wife, Prince Uzoma?”

“Alas, I am not.” Uzoma seated himself in an armchair, jewel-bright blanket still wrapped about him. “My mother thinks otherwise, but I am confident I have the right of it for the next, oh, six or seven years, at least.”

“Ah, well. It was worth the ask.” Francesca ate another cashew.

“Do you typically conduct your marital searches in a mustache?”

“More often than you might think, actually.”

Otto stumbled out of his bedroom wearing nothing more than his nightshirt, eyes screwed up in a yawn. “Did one of you bring a girl home last night?” he asked incredulously. “Am I hearing a girl out here?”

“It’s Francesca,” Barti replied, amused.

“What, really?” Otto blinked at her. “So it is. I’d apologize for my appearance, but something tells me we’re not standing on ceremony this morning.”

“I think my mustache is very ceremonial.”

Otto turned to me. “I will apologize to you, then,” he said, voice hitching in another yawn, “for razzing you all last year about your missives to the mystery woman of your forlorn heart.”

Francesca snorted. Her mustache hairs fluttered.

Otto came around the back of the sofa and grabbed a handful of cashews before heading back to his room. “Thank you again for bringing these, Uzo, despite your limited cargo space on the ship,” he called. “They are restorative. I shall return when I am more restored.” And he closed his door again.

Francesca looked at Uzoma with renewed interest. “How often do you travel by ship?”

“Only twice a year, during school,” he replied. He took a handful of the cashews himself and tossed them into his mouth. “Here and back again. In the summer, though, and throughout my childhood—all the time!”

“With how large a crew?”

“Well, it depends on the ship…” And then he was off, describing the royal armada. Francesca listened raptly. It was a shame he wasn’t actually looking for a wife, I reflected. Francesca would adore the life of a sea-prince, if she could arrange it.

It was quite a while before I was able to pull her into my room for a private chat.

“I wanted to let you know,” I said quietly, once I had shut the door—we were so far past chaperones and appearances by now, it was laughable—“I am going to try to graduate as quickly as possible. Only two more years, if I load my schedule.”

Francesca frowned. “Why? I thought you liked it here?”

“I do,” I said. “But I don’t know if I can keep my secret long enough.”

Her frown deepened. “Did something else happen?”

I took a deep breath. “Sheshef followed me here.”

Francesca went white under her mustache. We didn’t speak of Sheshef often, but Francesca knew about her—knew everything.

Almost everything.

“What did she do?” Francesca breathed.

“Just landed on top of the steeple and played with the weathervane—so far.”

“She hasn’t tried to contact you?”

“Not yet. But she might.” I ran my hands through my hair. “I think she wants to look through the big telescope here. I told her we had one.”

“But you have telescopes at home!”

“I know!” I hissed. “Never in a million years did I think she would follow me down here to come see this one!”

Francesca plucked fretfully at her mustache. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” I paced around the room. It wasn’t large. I moved like a tiger in a cage; a few steps one way, a few steps the other. “Right now I’m hoping she’s already flown away again. And that she stays there.”

“Can you write a letter to your father? Ask him to tell her to stay away?”

“I don’t know how he’d get ahold of her without going through her father, and I don’t want to get her in trouble. She may already be in trouble.”

There was a soft knock at the door. I opened it: Barti peered in. I gestured him in as well and shut the door.

“I think your Winged friend is going to be on time,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Assuming she leaves today.”

“How do you figure?”

He pulled a ragged old map from his pocket, covered with hasty calculations. Francesca looked over his shoulder. “Four days in a carriage for you isn’t actually that long for her. Look. Check my math.”

I snatched the paper from him, my heart growing lighter. He was right. “So now we just have to hope she got away safely.”

Francesca looked grim. “And that she doesn’t try to come back.”