The servant made a sharp right, onto a street paved with blue-gray stone. It rose up in a steep incline, the dwellings on either side colored in teal and cobalt and jade. Leo was breathing heavily by the time they reached the top, and even Sera was a little winded. She liked the air in this country better than the sticky heat of Kaolin. The faint taste of brine and the fresh breeze off the water made her feel stronger, more alive. Though she was ready to take her headdress off—it was growing heavy and the beads that hung in front of her face were beginning to bother her.

The dwelling that sat at the crest of the hill was a blue as brilliant as Sera’s hair, and she liked it immediately. A low stone wall surrounded the neatly kept yard and the door was painted a welcoming yellow. A thin finger of smoke rose from the chimney and curtains patterned with flowers fluttered in the open windows. From inside, Sera heard the faint sounds of children laughing.

The man hurried up a walkway lined with forsythia, its sun-colored flowers matching the door. He ushered them inside and called out, “Mistress Phebe, I have brought Mr. Byrne and his company!”

The room was large and airy, its walls painted white and adorned with shells and flowers. On one side was a long table made of driftwood with two benches and an assortment of candles in its center, all burned down to varying heights. On the other, closest to the door, was a large bay window with a curved couch in front of it, a rocking chair, a small pouf, and a low table covered in books and newspapers. A wooden horse sat in one corner surrounded by other toys—a duck with wheels on a string, a spinning top, a miniature watering can.

A woman came hurrying into the room. She had brown skin like Agnes, but with black hair that was swept up and pinned with seashells. She wore a simple gown of pink silk, and her face broke into a smile when she saw them.

“Thank you, Aeden,” she said to the servant. “That will be all for this evening.”

The man seemed reluctant to leave. “Are you certain, mistress? I could—”

“That will be all,” the woman said again, a lick of iron in her tone, and the man bowed low and left the dwelling. She took a step toward them, her eyes fixed on Agnes. “So,” she said. “You must be Agnes.”

“I—I am,” Agnes stammered.

“I am Phebe Ofairn. My brother has told me so much about you. It is an honor to have you in my home.”

Agnes shifted, uncomfortable with the praise. “Well, um, thank you for having me. Us. Eneas was always . . .” Her voice trailed off. “Is he all right? Have you had any word from him?”