“Maybe not.” Brella pursed her lips. “Maybe you didn’t have anyone else to care about because nobody cared about you.” Brella moved closer, slow as a lazy water snake. “But I think you’re dying to care; you just never learned how. I think there’s so much love inside you, Scratch, that once you feel safe enough to let it go, it’ll come flying out.”

Scratch made the split-second decision to completely submerge herself in the water. Underneath, the world was softer. Quieter. The burning in her cheeks could fade unobserved. The pounding of her heart could settle. When she reemerged, Brella was smirking, arms folded across her chest.

“Interesting exit strategy.”

“I’m from the Tangled Lakes,” Scratch said, wiping water from her eyes. “We’re water people.“

“Sure.” Brella arched an eyebrow. “Why do you think I call you sweetheart?”

“I try not to dwell on your quirks, Umbrella. Saves time.”

Brella splashed her. “It’s because you’re sweet, you ass.”

Scratch hunched down, wondering what it said about her that she was more comfortable with “ass” than “sweet.” “Nah.”

“How about I get to tell you that you’re sweet and you get to tell me that I’m brave?”

“How about we stop talking and we do that thing you suggested with mouths?”

“One thing first.” Brella held up a hand, catching Scratch before she could flop into Brella’s arms. “You asked me what I wanted.”

“Oh.” Scratch scooted back, eager to listen. “Yes.”

Brella breathed deep. Held it. Let it out. “I want to advise her. Not on how to get Ivinscont back, but what to do with it when she does. Taxes. Roads. Food stores. Gas lamps. Hot baths.” She gave a demonstrative little wriggle, causing a ripple of movement in the water. “I don’t know what that’s called.”

“Advisor.” Scratch’s mouth went dry, thinking of the great possibility of this. Yes, she thought. You’re perfect. “Maybe Minister of Coin, when she’s on the throne. Or a new title. ‘Minister of People.’”

“The People’s Minister.” Brella’s mouth stretched in a dopey smile. “I wonder if there’s a precedent. If someone could give me access to the library here, I’d be unstoppable.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Scratch ran a pale finger over Brella’s nose, her eyebrow, her lips touched by stray freckles. “And us?”

“Undecided.”

“Brella,” Scratch hissed as Brella tugged her down for a tight, clumsy embrace.

“I’ll keep you, Scratch,” Brella whispered, rich voice hushed in the yellowy gas lamp glow. “That’s my plan.”

Scratch flushed, heat prickling at her cheeks. “That sounds fine.” Her breath hitched. “I like your plan.” A thought found her like a dart. “Brella, what did I leave in the Between?”

Brella blinked slowly. “What?”

“I leave of myself when I walk through the door. What did I leave?”