Three weeks after leaving her family, the pair had begun venturing into cities to earn some money for food as the winter began close in and the land offered less. Nadya was delighted with the results; it was more difficult to draw in patrons without the appeal of a faire, but any money she earned was split only between herself and Erik and not the whole of the family. With Erik performing sleight of hand and illusions on the other end of town, the pair made more than enough to survive on.
Because they were never certain what currency their next city would utilize, saving the money they didn't need was a risky gamble. If they continued east much further they would find themselves in Russia, and if they began to move south, Turkey, Greece, and Asia Minor awaited, none of them accepting Austrian currency. Even several cities within Austria preferred their own monetary systems, something even Erik in all his wisdom could never explain.
On their final evening in town, Erik found Nadya waiting for him with an arm full of packages and several more at her feet. She smiled brightly at the sight of him, and laughed pleasantly at the slight movement of his mask she had learned meant uncertainty. "I'm making us a feast, but I also got more blankets," she explained, pressing the packages into Erik's arms and picking up the ones by her feet to walk with him back to their little camp just outside of town.
"We'll never be able to eat all of this food," Erik pointed out, but Nadya merely shrugged.
"We'll never be able to spend all the money either," she countered. "And I think we deserve to eat until we can't manage another bite at least once in our lives."
The meal wasn't ready until well after dark, but had been worth the wait. Nadya had refused to do much more than allow Erik to turn the roasting duck over the fire while she prepared a large pan of something akin to Spanish paella, filled with vegetables and sausages and spiced heavily with saffron and other herbs. By the time they had both eaten their fill, all that remained was small amount of paella, a few pieces of fruit, and the meatless bones of the roasted duck.
Nadya refilled Erik's wine and topped off her glass with the rest of the bottle, sitting across from him with a grin. "I got you something."
Erik raised a brow under the mask. "What do you mean?"
"What do you mean, 'what do I mean'? I got you something while I was in town today," she explained, reaching behind her to fish through the packages of blankets and pulling out a smaller, bundle wrapped in the same dark paper and offering it out to him. Erik held it carefully and looked over the package curiously. Nadya laughed cheerfully. "The wrapping isn't the gift, you know. Open it."
Peeling away the wrapping, Erik held in his hands a flexible leather folder and a small pouch of charcoal. Erik carefully untied the leather and ran his fingers over the unmarred parchment within, the smell bringing him back to the old stonemason's house in Rome and the small basement bedroom that had been his own. The happiest years of his life had been spent pouring over parchment as fine as this, drawing and awaiting the praise of his master for his work. During those brief years he had a life to look forward to, the possibility of a future. How strange that the simple smell of leather and parchment could manage to bring back so many memories.
"I remembered you saying you used to dream of buildings. I thought maybe you hadn't drawn any in a while since you've been traveling for so long," she suggested when Erik said nothing. His silence continued, causing Nadya to frown. "You don't like it."
Erik shook his head suddenly, as if coming out of a trance. "No, it's not that at all. I just… I am grateful to know you, Nadya," he said quietly.
She had heard once that men who go blind eventually become more capable with their other senses. There was even a story of a blind man who made his tribe a fortune when it was discovered he could smell out truffles better than any hound or boar. Erik had no face, but like a blind man he seemed to compensate for it in other ways. His voice was more expressive than any man's face could ever be, and that voice saying her name made her skin prick.
Quietly she put aside the glasses of wine that sat between them and ventured forward. With great care she sat up on her knees and leaned in to place her lips on his, kissing him gently. Every muscle in Erik's body seemed to tense the moment their lips touched, but he made no move to pull away. Even after Nadya sat back on her heels Erik remained frozen, eyes lowered. Nadya hunted for his gaze, imploring him to look at her so that she might get at least some idea of what was going through his mind.
"You don't… you don't know what you're doing," Erik finally managed, eyes still staring down into nothingness.
Nadya sat up and leaned in again, pressing her lips against his defiantly. If he didn't think she knew what she was doing then, he would be hard pressed to accuse her of naivety now. Her lips lingered longer than before, and before she knew what was happening Erik's lips were devouring hers. A hand slipped up the back of her neck and became entangled in her long dark tresses as the kisses deepened and their breathing grew heavy. Instinct drove Erik's weight over her and Nadya fell back compliantly, making certain their lips never parted but for a quick gasp of breath. It wasn't until Nadya's nails pressed into his shoulders and her hips bucked up against his that Erik became aware of the danger of their actions and flung himself off of her and onto his feet, leaving Nadya on the ground both confused as to how they had managed to get to that point and why he had suddenly stopped.
"What's wrong?"
"Go to sleep, we're leaving at dawn," Erik instructed curtly, moving to the other side of the fire as Nadya sat up and held herself some.
"Did I do something wrong?"
"For once in your life would you keep your God damned questions to yourself?" Erik barked so harshly Nadya flinched visibly and looked away to hide the tears that were beginning to form in her eyes. He immediately felt a pang of guilt and hung his head some. "I didn't mean to be so harsh."
"I don't understand you, Erik. One moment we're kissing and everything is wonderful, and the next-"
"Go to sleep, Nadya."
"No," she replied firmly. "If we don't talk about what just happened now we never will."
"And we'll both be better off for it."
Nadya shook her head in disagreement, wiping at her eyes. "I care about you, Erik. And I know you care about me. What's so wrong about what just happened? Am I not pretty enough, is that it? Is my skin too dark? Is my mouth too big? Would you prefer my figure if I were cinched into a corset and pinned up my hair?"
"It isn't any of that," Erik promised quietly, finally sitting albeit well away from her. He was quiet for a moment as Nadya watched him expectantly, waiting for his rationale. "If you knew what my mask is hiding –"
"Damn the mask," Nadya snapped. "It doesn't define you any more than my skirt defines me."
"Your skirt defines you as Roma from a mile away," Erik pointed out, causing Nadya to purse her lips some. "And even if you have been exiled, you are still very much a Roma in heart and mind. My face… my face is my race. My upbringing, my culture. It is all that has ever and will ever define me."
"And what if it does? Why is that such a terrible thing, Erik? You are not a monster. You are an artist, a magician, a mason, a traveler! If a handsome face mattered at all I would never have kissed you in the first place. It's not as if your mask is terribly handsome," she pointed out.
"Not-handsome is not the same as grotesque," Erik protested, a sickening feeling rising in his stomach; he knew where this conversation was going to end.
"You don't think people have called me grotesque? I have been called a harlot, a witch, a vagabond, a thief, and a freak because of the way I look too, Erik, but I've never in my life used my appearance as a crutch the way you do," she snapped, instantly regretting her tone but not her words. Erik's jaw clenched but he said nothing, merely staring into the fire between them, so Nadya continued. "I'm not going to talk you into being with me, but if ever change your mind I'm here."
With those final words Nadya found and unwrapped the new wool blankets she had purchased earlier in the day and wrapped herself in them before laying down and closing her eyes to sleep. She never heard Erik's footsteps as he approached some time later and lay down beside her.
When she awoke the following morning she shivered violently and burrowed into the blankets, unaware for moments that in her sleep she had curled against her friend, head resting neatly on his shoulder. Her tanned cheeks darkened some as she moved away, hoping she hadn't woken him by stirring. Any hopes she had of slinking away from another conflict like the night before were dashed when he spoke, clearly having been awake for some time. "Good morning."
"It's cold," was all she could manage in her embarrassment, sitting up and wrapping the blankets tighter around her as if to emphasize her point.
"We'll need to find a place to settle down for the winter soon," Erik remarked, sitting up as well and handing her one of the old blankets he had been using. Nadya accepted it with a hesitant, but grateful look. He stood and placed the remaining logs on the fire without saying a word, and Nadya pulled her knees up to her chest to watch the flames.
"Listen. I'm sorry abo-" Erik held up his hand to silence her without so much as a glance, causing her to purse her lips.
The rest of the morning passed in silence as they ate the remaining paella and packed up the horse. It was nearly noon before Erik said another word to her. "You surprised me."
Nadya wasn't sure what to say in response, and was quiet when Erik continued. "I thought you were going to tell me to take off the mask. I would have bet my life on it. You don't owe me any apologies."
"I would never ask you to do that, Erik," Nadya promised. "You're my only friend. I care about you, whether you want to believe it's true or not."
"I believe it," Erik said quietly, riding forward. "You know, I think I've talked more to you in the few months I've known you than in my entire life," he remarked.
Nadya smiled behind him. "Even more than the stone mason?"
"Than everyone combined," Erik mused. "Don't ask me to explain it. And don't let it get to your head," he added, as though he could feel her pleased smile on his back.
Nadya squealed as she ran full force into the tent and collapse soaking wet in a fit of giggles. Erik looked up from the leather-bound parchment he had been sketching on, his amusement evident in spite of the black leather concealing his face. "Where have you been? It's pouring."
"I didn't notice," she exclaimed through breathless giggles. "I was nearly a whole mile away when it started raining," Nadya lamented, sitting up and wringing out her skirt. "Why aren't you sopping wet too?"
"I wasn't nearly as far of when the clouds rolled in," Erik explained, handing her a blanket to help her dry off, trying desperately not to stare as the damp blouse clung to her breasts.
"What were you doing?" She asked, draping the blanket over her shoulders to cover herself and remove her soaking wet clothing and place them out to dry.
"Utilizing the sketchbook you gave me, actually," Erik replied, trying harder than ever not to stare.
The young woman grinned from ear to ear at this news, wrapping the blanket around her before moving by his side curiously. "Well, let me see!"
The look of quiet alarm that took over Erik's posture made Nadya laugh brightly. "If you're half as good at sketching as you are at music, it's going to be brilliant. Let me see!"
It was another moment before Erik adjusted the leather bindings so that Nadya could view the sketches from beside him. She watched with a smile as Erik turned through sketches of plants and animals drawn to such incredible detail that the only flaw Nadya could see was their lack of color. "These birds can't have sat still long enough for you to draw them!"
"They didn't. I've only drawn in camp, while you're asleep or out," he explained, turning over one of the sheets. The next page contained elaborate, meticulously drawn shapes and what Nadya recognized as letters and numbers although they were just as foreign to her as the shapes.
"What are these?"
"Architectural designs."
"What do the words say?"
"They're just measurements and materials," Erik said, pointing to the words. "'Cerise', cherry. 'Acajou', mahogany. "Marbe", marble."
Nadya looked up to her friend in surprise. "That was French, wasn't it? How many languages do you speak, Erik?"
"Six currently. Spanish, French, Italian, Latin, German, and Romani. I'm getting better at Turkish, but I'm not quite fluent yet. It's considerably different than the romance languages."
"So you're French! You mentioned you were from out west but I've been wondering how far."
Erik looked amused. "How do you know I'm not Spanish? Or American even?"
"We're not going to France, but your writing on the sketch is in French. It must be your native tongue, why else would you use it?" She explained, and Erik was pleased with her answer. As frustrating as her curiosity could be at times, there was no denying the girl was clever. "What is it you're designing?"
"An opera house," he admitted, turning the pages until a sketch of the outside of the building in its entirety graced the page. "I studied one briefly when I was in Italy. There's something… incredibly unique about the way they're structured. The voice and the orchestra have to fill the entire theatre. If one voice or one instrument gets lost, music turns into meaningless noise. One beam out of place, the wrong kind of wood on the stage, too many or too few seats can wreak havoc on the performance."
"And you know how to build it to make it all work?"
"I know how to build it to make it all work better than anyone ever has before," Erik explained, boastfully. "I know music better than any architect, and architecture better than any musician. All I need is an investor, and I will build the most beautiful, successful opera house in the world."
Erik looked up from the pages to find Nadya smiling at him, and he realized in that moment that her smiles in the days since they had left her family behind were some of the most genuine and beautiful he had seen her wear. It had been difficult to tell when he had first met her how forced or even false her smile was, but now there was never any shadow of a doubt her smiles were affectionate and joyful. "You're laughing at me," he accused lightly.
Nadya shook her head, damp waves finally loosening from her shoulders though her smile never faded. "No," she promised, "It's just nice to see you with a goal."
"What do you mean?"
"You just… never seem to look very far into your future. You don't know where you're going, you're just going there. But this is something you're planning to do with your life besides just survive," she mused, reaching around him to turn the page, expecting another sketch of the lovely opera house of Erik's creation.
Erik lowered his eyes some just as Nadya's eyes widened and looked to him in surprise. The sketch was the image of a young woman she had seen before only in still water and in the dirty glass windows of town shops and churches, but it was still recognizable; Erik had been sketching her.