Greetings and apologies for the delay. I thought I could post before my conference in Boston - turns out I could not.

Alfred has never been so lost. Both literally and emotionally, he no longer knows what he's doing.

He lifts his jacket over his head to block the raindrops, and avoids the ever-growing puddles. He's been trying to visit his mother's friends downtown, but most are at work, and he doesn't recognize half of the children who come to the door in their stead. He's forgotten most people work. He forgets a lot of things these days.

An umbrella, for example.

Alfred sees a light further down the main cobblestone street. Sticking out from the building is the wooden emblem of a bird taking flight.

Alfred half-runs to the building, but before ducking inside from the rain, he stops outside the door to make out the letters carved underneath the bird.

S-T-A-R-L-I-N-G B-A-K-E-R-Y

He's going to learn to read if it kills him.

He opens the door, which rings a bell. An effeminate-looking blond young man looks up and smiles at him.

"Taking shelter from the rain, huh?"

"You bet. I can't believe it came so suddenly," says Alfred, taking off his drenched coat and shaking it in the entryway.

"It's totally fine by me if you stay a bit," the man says. "We'll have chocolate chip cookies ready in a few minutes if you're willing to wait."

Alfred realizes that in his determination to leave the Williams manor that morning, he has forgotten to eat breakfast. His stomach clenches as he examines the covered counter full of pastries and breads.

"Nah, I should probably eat an actual meal," says Alfred. "Can I have some bread?"

"No problem," says the blond man. He scans the counter behind him and picks up a dark rye bread. Alfred pays and tears the bread in half, and offers some to the man who served him.

"Do you know how many pastries I sneak when nobody's here?" says the man with a grin. "But, like, if you insist." He takes the bread and tears off a small piece, leaning against the glass separating the pastries from the customers. "I'm Feliks."

"Alfred. And shouldn't you get to eat your own food, anyway?" says Alfred. His mouth is full and his mood is lightening as he eats and chats. "You bake it, after all."

"No, I actually don't," says Feliks. "I'm the sales person. I bought the shop, though, and finished all the paperwork, so my partner…" Feliks frowns slightly. "Well, he does what he can."

Alfred means to ask what Feliks means by that, when a very familiar brunet steps out from a stockroom and comes behind the counter. He ignores both Alfred and Feliks to check the oven.

"Toris?" Alfred asks.

Toris jumps as if he burnt himself on the oven's handle. He turns to the counter and belatedly offers a small smile. "Alfred. This is a surprise. How are you?"

"You know each other?" asks Feliks. He reexamines Alfred, newly suspicious for a reason Alfred can't determine.

"Sure," says Alfred. "He was working in the kitchens at the Braginski manor, and I snuck in." He examines Toris. When they met a year and a half ago, when Alfred first looked for Ivan, Toris was pale and thin. Now his skin is half a shade tanner, but the circles under his eyes stand out most. His shoulders seem like they haven't straightened in weeks.

"You alright, Toris?" asks Alfred. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"And like, what's wrong with him being here?" says Feliks so sharply that Alfred turns to look at him quizzically.

"It's fine, Feliks," says Toris with a sigh. He pulls out the tray of cookies and sets it on the counter beside the oven, and then turns to look at Alfred. His hands prop him up against the counter between them. "I left the Braginski manor," he says.

"What?" Alfred blanches. Ivan hasn't told him of anything going on among the servants. Not that Ivan would know, he suspects. "What happened?"

"My former coworker, Elizabeta, was found having words on her arm," says Toris. He won't look at Alfred or Feliks. "She was let go."

"And you had to leave," says Alfred. He sucks in a breath. In the ten minutes he spoke with Toris before Ivan found him, Alfred managed to deduce that Toris had a soulmate present in the Braginski household. He could only imagine the scandal if Toris and his soulmate—a maid, he presumed—were caught together. "And…your soulmate? What did she do?"

"That's none of your business," says Feliks. He's looking at Toris now, as if Toris is going to collapse to the floor at any moment.

"Hey, look, I didn't mean anything by it—"

"She told me to leave," Toris says. "And to never come back."

Toris says it as he's said everything else in this conversation—plainly, factually, and with a low voice that suggests nothing more can hurt him now.

"Toris, I—I'm so sorry," says Alfred. "I can't even imagine why she would—"

"She didn't want to be my soulmate," says Toris. "It's as simple as that. There's nothing to be sorry for." Toris's hands are beginning to tremble, but his face remains impassive. He steps away from the counter and past Feliks, to where they keep the pastries by the window of the shop. He picks up a square paper container holding what appears to be layers of golden wafers. "You should try this," says Toris. "It's skruzdėlynas—it's made of pastries and honey and poppy seeds. The Braginskis have it for dessert every week."

"…Why do you keep making it, then?" asks Alfred. "If it reminds you of them."

One half of Toris's lips quirks up. "I may not know why you were so intent on seeing Master Braginski. But I can guess." He sets it on the glass case over the counter. "It was good to see you, Alfred. I hope you have better luck than I did."

Toris escapes to the stockroom before Alfred can say anything.

Feliks turns and frowns at Alfred. "I can't exactly blame you for reminding him," he says sourly. "You knew him already and all that. But did you really have to ask?"

Feliks then follows Toris into the stockroom, leaving the door partially opened in his hurry. Alfred stands stock-still, staring at Toris's offering. He can't help but hear the muffled conversation.

"Toris, you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"How's your heart? It's not—doing that weird beating thing again?"

"I said I'm fine."

"Do you want to sit down? I can totally go get you some water—"

"Feliks, stop asking," says Toris. A pause. Some rustling and a creak, as if he's sitting on a crate instead of a proper chair. "Please, please stop asking."

Alfred has heard more than he thinks he should have. He takes the paper container in one hand and leaves the bakery, choosing to cover the pastry but not his head as he walks through the lessening rain and back to his horse.

Once home he takes the pastry to Yekaterina, who recognizes it immediately.

"Oh, we would eat this every Friday!" says Yekaterina. She has two forks brought to the library and, uncharacteristically, starts eating even before Alfred does. "Where did you find it?"

"A bakery in town," says Alfred. "It's new. And I, uh…met an old friend there."

"Oh?" says Yekaterina. She takes another dainty bite of the dessert and savors it quietly, waiting for Alfred to continue.

"He was a servant at your home, actually. And he worked there for years, but he had to leave because of—well, some scandal or another." Alfred doesn't want to discuss Lord Braginski's staff policies right now; that's not the point he's trying to make. "But the thing that bothers me most is that his soulmate didn't want him," says Alfred. "I have no idea why. It's not like he and I were best friends or anything, but you could tell instantly that he was a great guy. But his soulmate told him to leave her alone. And he looks crushed."

Yekaterina frowns. "This does sound distressing. Did he say why?"

"I don't think even he knew," says Alfred. "He just—accepted it."

"He must be a very strong man, to have done so."

"Strong?" says Alfred. "Strong—Katyusha, how? Strong people fight, don't they?"

"A brave person fights, maybe," says Yekaterina. "But strong people are not always brave, and brave people are not always strong. Perhaps your friend knows something about his soulmate's wishes. He could be choosing to obey them."

"So strength is, what—lying down? Giving up?"

"Giving up staying with his soulmate? Perhaps. But people do not give up their soulmates lightly. It takes a very strong will to contradict what the fates have assigned us."

Alfred looks over Yekaterina, who is taking another bite of the honey pastry. He's beginning to wonder how much of her definition is self-serving. "So tell me about staging," he says. "I guess you're strong for doing it?"

Yekaterina trains her eyes on the pastry. "I would not say that I am a strong person, but I am certainly not brave. I had a servant friend at the manor who would often serve me tea in the evenings. She received her words just before Matthew's and my staging. She begged me to reconsider, to live in the city with her and speak to as many men as possible. She thought any soulmate of hers would be a friend of my own soulmate." Yekaterina glances at her arm. To Alfred's knowledge, she's still wordless. "But I do not have the same nerve as she does."

"You didn't want to leave the Braginski manor?"

"I did not want to leave everything I had known. I did not know how to defy what my mother taught me about my duties, and what my father reminded me about our status. Besides, my intended seemed very kind. I knew he would be good to me," says Yekaterina with a small smile.

"But how much of that comes from the staging, and how much because you liked him?" asks Alfred.

"I cannot say. But I knew that, at least with Matthew, I could find understanding." Yekaterina looks at Alfred. "I know he has met his soulmate. I knew the first time our eyes met. But I knew also that he was skeptical, and even more, disappointed. I did not want disappointment for myself. So I took the…"

"The easiest path."

"The best path. For me. You do not understand, Alfred, how little I know about the world beyond the Braginski and Williams manors. You talk of fighting because you know where to go if you lose. I have no such luxury."

"But—what if you'd met your soulmate before? What if you liked him?"

"I can like many people," says Yekaterina. She takes a sip of tea. "I like your brother. I like you. I would like my soulmate, yes, but Matthew I knew I could build a life with. As I listened to my servant friend, and as I learned about my intended, I decided that I would sooner take a lifetime of liking over a moment of love."

"But then…why do we have soulmates at all?" Alfred rubs his left wrist.

"I could not say," says Yekaterina. "I have never met mine."

Alfred nods and pretends he understands.

For months, Alfred doesn't contact Ivan. He supposes the matchmaking process is duly marching forward, that Ivan is coming closer to his staging. He thinks bitterly to himself that he would hate to interfere.

He expects a visit, or at least an angry message, when Alfred finally writes his first sentence. He can form the letters and he has a basic idea of spelling, and Ludwig tells him that not only does he have all the literacy skills necessary for being an accountant, but this level is sufficient for words to form on a soulmate's arm.

Alfred expects Ivan to be furious. He expects to hear about how he's ruined Ivan's matchmaking, that now an intended will be able to say Ivan's words, that they'll stage and Ivan will speak as flippantly of his own soulmate as Yekaterina does of the one she never met. Alfred wonders whether he'll feel the same burn in his own words as Lars described, when Ivan finally stages. Alfred wonders if having words will make Ivan reconsider his choice to give up the match prescribed by fate for the one prescribed by his class.

Alfred doesn't like himself anymore. He's becoming masochistic. Matthew can't notice, seeing Alfred as rarely as he does, but Yekaterina takes to speaking to him more and more to keep him from wandering into the woods alone and coming back bruised and scratched. (Alfred no longer pays attention to where he's stepping.) Ludwig begins bringing in more practical lessons to their accounting lessons, showing Alfred the various charities already begun and how to catalogue their expenses. (Alfred no longer remembers why he wanted to learn accounting.)

With every day Ivan doesn't contact him, Alfred's feet shuffle a little more. Not even his own soulmate sees that having a soulmate should mean something. That the fact that he and Alfred are paired should be celebrated. That they should be in love. And yes, Alfred still considers Ivan handsome, still wants to feel his form beside him, still wonders what Ivan would think about this or that thing. But the more he replays their few meetings in his head (they have seven times alone together—seven for a year and a half), the more he sees just how often he steers the conversation towards soulmates. How often Ivan grows uncomfortable because Alfred couldn't read or because all Ivan can talk about in depth is nobility.

How did Alfred convince himself that this was a functional relationship?

One day, a newcomer arrives at the Braginski manor. Alfred, chafing at conversing only with Yekaterina and Ludwig, is one of the first to the foyer to see who it is.

A young woman in a fine dress, probably no older than sixteen, stands with her arms folded as servants bring in her trunks. She scours the entry with eyes the same color as Ivan's.

"Hi there!" says Alfred. Let it never be said he can't be hospitable. "Looking for someone?"

"My sister," says the young woman.

"Mistress Yekaterina has been summoned," affirms one of the servants as he drags in a trunk.

"Oh—you're Natalia, aren't you?" says Alfred. Ivan's sister. He likes her already. Whereas Ivan and Yekaterina both distance themselves from emotional matters and approach them with cold logic, Natalia seems to insult the air she breathes. She's vivacious.

"To you I am Mistress Braginski," she snaps.

And vicious, too.

"I'm Alfred." He offers a quick bow. "I was at your sister's staging, but I was only pretending to be a servant. I'm actually your brother-in-law."

Natalia outright sneers at him. "And why would you hide such a thing?"

"Well, I'm a bastard."

"Then you are not worth my time."

Alfred sighs. At this point, Yekaterina arrives and scolds her younger sister to be kinder to her host. (Alfred preens a little, but his ego still aches with the reminder that he is lesser.) She asks Alfred that night, when Natalia has turned in early, that Alfred be patient with her.

"Mother informs me that she almost staged this week," Yekaterina says in a low voice, as if her parents are listening in to this conversation in the library.

"'Almost'?"

"Our father persuaded her to say the words of her intended, Master Lukas Bondevik, but he refused to say them back. If I had to guess," says Yekaterina, taking a sip of tea, "I would say that, though Natalia would never admit it, the experience frightened her."

"What? But she got out of the staging. What's there to be scared of?"

"If our father could persuade her to say the words once, he will certainly be able to do it again. She means to distance herself. She disagrees with what she is being told." Yekaterina looks at Alfred with a spark in her eye. "I believe that you may get along well with her."

Admittedly, it's a challenge for Alfred to like her more than he initially did. For two months, she bites back at his every attempt to be kind. He invites her to tea, and she declines. He shows her around the house, and she slips away.

In a way, it's refreshing. She declines tea because she's busy reading, which Alfred appreciates. She slips away to the garden, which Alfred understands. She exerts her free will in any way she can.

One day, he decides to show her another way to exert that will, by taking her downtown. They take a carriage, and he decides to tell her some stories now that she can't escape from them.

"So then I tell Mattie, 'There's no way you're going to—' Hey, what are you looking at?"

She has jolted up and is looking out the window of the carriage. She's noticed Starling Bakery, where Feliks is behind the counter serving customers.

A pang hits Alfred in the stomach. He drops by on occasion, but he hasn't seen Toris since his first visit. Feliks warms up to him when Toris isn't around, and they chat, but he shuts down whenever Alfred tries to steer the conversation towards Feliks's business partner.

Alfred tries to maintain his cheer. "What, did you want to go there?" he asks, turning to Natalia. "Starling Bakery—it's really good, actually. The guys there are really cool, too. Especially the baker. Kind of shy, but he makes the best—okay, so I don't remember what it's called, but it's like this honey-layered wafer thing…"

He lets the carriage continue to take them downtown, where Alfred shows Natalia some sights he knew as a kid. But, in the back of his mind, he can't stop thinking about Toris. His exhausted face follows Alfred all through downtown and back home.

That night, Alfred lies down on his bed. To him, Toris represents everyone wronged by this world. A great guy who deserves happiness, and instead has to carry on while his soulmate—whoever she is, whatever is wrong with her—pretends he doesn't exist.

That doesn't sound at all familiar, thinks Alfred bitterly.

His afternoon with Natalia doesn't win him a new friend—she spends more and more time in the woods or, he heard once, the stables—but she begins to treat him more cordially. He's not sure why, but he'll take it. He doesn't understand why even making a new friend is so hard for him these days. Yes, Natalia is stubborn and temperamental, but even if she no longer insults him, he can't connect with her. He can't connect with anyone.

Eventually, even Matthew takes notice.

Alfred is practicing his letters when someone knocks on his bedroom door.

"C'min," says Alfred absently.

"Hey." Matthew pushes the door open with his back; he's carrying a tea tray, like he did when they were teens. When it was just the two of them, conspiring and daydreaming. "Katyusha says she missed you this evening. I think she's getting used to having you around for her tea."

"I told her I wasn't feeling well," says Alfred. He doesn't look up.

Matthew sets the tea to the left of Alfred's writing and sits on his bed. He's twenty-two years old compared to Alfred's nineteen, and he's in the full dress of a lord, and he's sitting cross-legged on Alfred's bed.

Alfred looks up at him.

"I think we need to talk," says Matthew.

"What's the problem?" says Alfred, setting down his practice charcoal. "I've been lying low."

"Lying low doesn't mean ignoring everyone, Al."

"I've been hanging out with Natalia—"

"And I appreciate it. She doesn't talk to Katyusha and she won't even look at me, but she handles you a lot better than I would have expected."

"Real nice, Mattie."

"What I mean," presses Matthew, "is that Ludwig's saying you're acting strangely during your lessons. And Katyusha says you're not as talkative anymore, and you never leave the manor anymore, and…" He sighs. "Did something happen with Ivan?"

Alfred examines his brother. Matthew's been busy, staying up late most nights to scour their father's diaries for tips and hints. Most heirs don't inherit their titles until their early thirties. Matthew has been a lord since he was twenty-one, and he has to take extra pains to be taken seriously. He looks tired. Not unlike how Alfred feels, but while Matthew compensates with work, Alfred compensates with…what?

"Nothing happened with Ivan," Alfred says, and his bitterness leaks through despite his attempts to remain neutral. "Ivan's on the same path he always was."

Matthew raises an eyebrow.

"You know," clarifies Alfred. "Still staging and all that."

"He said he would at the beginning, didn't he?"

"Well, yeah."

"So?"

"So he wasn't supposed to—mean it!" Suddenly Alfred is fully facing his brother, gesticulating wildly. "But he does, Mattie, and I thought learning to write and giving him words would make him reconsider. Or at least, at least he'd feel like he could talk to me, like I'm not some random commoner barging into his life and ruining everything. Like I'm educated, like him! That we can talk about more than two topics, that he can tell me stories, that he can confide in me! But no, every meeting we've had, one of us has done something wrong—Ivan tries to defend Dad, or I can't even pick up on the fact that he doesn't want a hug, or something that just makes me feel so—mismatched, to him."

Alfred groans. "And now I'm sitting here thinking, 'Okay, I can write and you have words now, so get angry at me! Contact me! Do something!' But instead I haven't heard anything from him, and I think he's just trying to forget I exist so he doesn't have to think about how he's going to spend his life with another person, that I'm always going to have to be a secret, and—and I don't want to be a secret anymore. First with Dad, now with Ivan, and now probably even you're like, 'if Al tries to overreach on this charity thing, I'm going to have to lock him up—'"

"Whoa, whoa, hey," says Matthew. He holds up both hands as if Alfred is a wild horse. Alfred feels like a wild horse. He feels like he's constantly outrunning the reins and the bridles that people keep throwing on him, constantly one step away from bastard, secret, shame.

"Alright. Um. There's a few things to address there," says Matthew. He slowly uncrosses his legs and presses them to the floor, seeking support as he leans closer to Alfred. "First of all. Do you not want to be an accountant anymore?"

"It's not like I can un-learn how to read," Alfred mumbles.

"That's not what I asked. I'm asking if you still want to be an accountant. You and I agreed when Dad died that I'd get you a tutor, and you'd learn reading and accounting, and you'd work for me. Do you not want to do that anymore?"

"…No. No, I still want to."

"Good. Then tell me why Ludwig says you're no longer paying attention."

"Because—okay, did you know Ludwig has a soulmate?"

"I'd imagine everyone does."

"Well, his is a noble. Feliciano Vargas, you know him? And every time I look at him, I'm like, 'how do you live like this? You see him two weeks a year, and neither of you are making any plans for the future, you've just decided that barely seeing each other is enough.' I don't get it. And that's—that's the best I'm seeing out there, for soulmates. I got a little hopeful with Natalia, because I was thinking that if she was trying to escape staging, maybe other people could try too, but she's just sitting here, just like I am, and…" Alfred puts his head in his hands. "I thought I was a hero. I thought just…being myself, would be enough."

"But it's not enough for Ivan."

Alfred glares at Matthew.

"Hey, that's just what I'm seeing. You wanted Ivan to see Natalia rebelling. You wanted him to rebel too."

"…Yeah. I guess you're right." Alfred sighs. "But why am I even talking to you about this? You and Katyusha, neither of you rebelled."

"Al, rebellion's not the only way to get things done."

"Get what done? Your soulmate is still out there, he came to your wedding for fates' sake—"

"He what?" Matthew frowns.

Alfred pauses. Between Alfred meeting his soulmate, and their father's death, and Matthew's sudden business, this one detail has gone unannounced for more than a year. "He, uh. Came to your wedding."

"You said that. When?"

"I saw him at the reception. I told him to leave, like you said I should. But Mattie, he looked so broken."

Matthew's expression is growing increasingly more lost. "What did he say?"

Alfred strains to remember. "It's not like he said he was going to give up doing business. If anything, he seemed more bitter about nobility as a whole. He asked why I was trying to get closer in, when I'd be freer outside of it. And then I met Ivan as I was going back to see Dad, and…I guess it slipped my mind. Oh, he…"

"What." Matthew can sense that Alfred is trying to hide more.

"He still has your words."

"What?"

"Apparently they burned when you staged? But they don't disappear." Alfred rolls up his sleeve and looks at his own words. "And now that's always in the back of my mind. One day I'm going to be walking around and Ivan's going to stage, and I'm going to feel it, and then that'll be it for us. We gave it a shot, and now…well." Alfred looks up at his brother, who's still lost in thought. At this point, he's soliloquizing. "Mattie, meeting my soulmate was supposed to be it. I knew he was going to be a noble, but—I thought I was luckier. I thought that because Mom died and because Dad couldn't acknowledge me, good things were supposed to happen to me later to make up for it. And—what's the point of this? If I don't get to have a soulmate, a real soulmate who loves me, what do I get to have? Why do I have to keep these words, even though Ivan's going to ignore me for the rest of my life?"

Alfred's voice breaks at the last word. His eyes well with tears as he speaks, and now he can't speak anymore. Silence rests between him and his brother, until Matthew fully stands off the bed.

"Up," he says. He holds out a hand to Alfred.

Alfred ducks his head, hiding his tears. But he takes the hand. Matthew pulls him up from his chair and wraps his arms around him, and rocks him from side to side. Alfred buries his head into Matthew's neck and sniffles. He can feel Matthew doing the same.

The two stand there, taking ragged breaths and trying to hold in their sobs. Alfred wonders how long it's been since he's tried to hug anyone besides Ivan. He forgot how much he misses it. He misses that Mattie's the same height as him, and that he hugs tightly enough for Alfred to lose his breath.

He swallows a lump in his throat.

"I don't know what to tell you," says Matthew. "I can't do anything to make this better."

"I know," says Alfred. "I thought I could, though." His next breath comes out a shaky laugh. "Some hero I am."

"Al." If possible, Matthew squeezes Alfred even tighter. "You're still my hero. Just by being my brother, you're my hero. And I love you so much, and I'm sorry you're hurt."

Alfred squeezes back. His thanks is caught in his throat.

"Would it make you feel better to go away for a while?" asks Matthew softly.

Alfred tenses.

"Don't—I know what you're thinking," Matthew chides. "I'm not sending you away because I'm Lord Williams now. I'm saying maybe you're too close to this soulmate thing."

"But—Ivan could stage—"

"And it sounds like he was determined to from the start, and if you don't do something else, you're going to keep sitting here feeling helpless." Matthew adjusts his chin on Alfred's shoulder. "Please don't. You can't keep beating yourself up over this."

"What if I did something wrong?"

"You didn't. Neither did he. You're just two men, trying to start a life together."

"I don't even have a life."

"And there's your problem." Matthew pulls himself away and holds Alfred by the shoulders. "You're sitting around and waiting. Thinking about yourself. Hardly something a hero would do."

Alfred swallows. Sighs. Nods. "Maybe you're right."

"Something wrong?"

Alfred lifts his head. "Sorry?"

"Hm. You need a drink," the barkeep concludes. He turns around and begins pouring something light and frothy.

Alfred watches the barkeep's back absently. He did it. He's in a new town, the furthest he's ever been away from home. It's another port town, and Matthew has set up a year for him to begin his apprenticeship with Lord Karpusi, a noble he's met at the royal palace. Alfred stepped off the boat just this morning and was shown to his quarters by a bookkeeper (or something—not a servant, at any rate) who introduced himself as Kiku. Kiku seemed down-to-earth, but more reserved than Alfred was used to.

Matthew assured Alfred that he would like the work. This town is far better known for its scholarship; considerably more commoners here are literate, thanks to charitable programs established by those like Lord Karpusi (a great lover of philosophy and equality, according to Kiku). Alfred will likely be grateful to Matthew later, for the chance to work with people who want to learn to read.

Right now, though, he's in shock. His new employer seems far too lenient, and he knows nobody here, and it's raining outside, and all he knows is that he would very much like the drink that the barkeep is currently placing on the counter in front of him.

"This one's on me," says the barkeep with a grin. He has blond hair that nearly stands up, and bright blue eyes. Across his face is a smattering of freckles.

"Thanks, but I really shouldn't," says Alfred. He offers a small smile and places a heavy coin on the counter.

The barkeep's eyes widen. "Okay, first of all, it really is on me. Second of all, you'd be getting a lot of change back."

"Tip?" Alfred offers sheepishly.

The barkeep pushes the coin back towards Alfred. "Try that if you buy a second one. Which, hey, you might." He winks. "I'm still learning my stuff, but I bet you'll like this one."

Alfred puts away the coin and takes a sip. He tastes mostly froth at first, but nods his head gratefully all the same. "Sorry," he says, "I just got here. Still learning the currency."

"How soon is 'just got here'?" asks the barkeep. He begins wiping the counter where he spilled some of Alfred's beer.

"This morning."

"Ah. Can I ask why?"

"Well, the short story is that I'm here on apprenticeship. I'm supposed to spend a year with Lord Karpusi, working for some of his charities on the accounting side."

"Just a year?"

"Well, I can leave sooner than that. If I have to."

The barkeep frowns. "I don't know, this place is pretty nice. I'm not sure why you'd want to leave."

"I'm homesick, I guess. I've never been so far away before."

"Eh, me too," says the barkeep, and he offers another smile. "To tell you the truth, I only moved here a few months ago."

"Really? How come?" asks Alfred. He can't imagine someone moving from one port town to another—where the jobs are all roughly the same—just to become a barkeep.

"The short story is that my soulmate and I were escaping," says the barkeep.

Alfred's ears prick up. Escaping? The word reverberates in his head—clearing the fog of disappointments for himself and Ivan, Matthew and Lars, Yekaterina and her soulmate, Toris and his, Feliciano and Ludwig, even Alfred's own parents—and standing before him right now is someone who may have had better luck than all of them combined.

"Escaping?" Alfred asks as mildly as he can.

"Yeah, he was a noble," says the barkeep. "I got his words when I was seven, and then…well." He leans in conspiratorially. "I learned to read. So then he'd have words too."

Alfred's face falls. "He probably didn't want them."

"No, I'm pretty sure he did. I mean, the minute I said his words, he kissed me."

Alfred blanches. "He—he wasn't ashamed? That you were a commoner?"

The barkeep rubs the back of his neck. "Not exactly ashamed. But his first words to me were—well, see for yourself." His sleeve is already half-unrolled to let him clean, so he lifts it up the rest of the way to show Alfred.

Your handwriting is shit, you know.

Alfred blinks. He thinks to the words on his own arm, much politer. Excuse me. I did not mean to cause such a mess. He clenches his right hand to keep from lifting his own sleeve to look. It won't do anything.

"So he knew I was a commoner, from the handwriting," says the barkeep, adjusting his sleeve back. "I just don't think he cared."

"But—how?" Alfred direly needs to know. If there's anything he can do to persuade Ivan—

But then, he's too far away from Ivan, isn't he? He's here to gain some distance, to keep himself occupied. To forget for a while.

The barkeep answers his question with a shrug. "He just wanted a soulmate. He saw how his parents staged, and how they got along but they didn't quite love each other. And though he doesn't say it directly or anything, I think he wanted more than that."

"So he didn't think he was going to find the same thing from a staging?"

"With all these questions, I think you'd better just meet him," says the barkeep. "Do you need me to change your drink?" he asks, pointing to Alfred's mostly-full glass.

"No, it's fine, thanks," says Alfred. He takes another few sips and is surprised to find he likes it. "It's good, actually."

"I try," says the barkeep with a smile. "Well, since we're talking so much already—I'm Mathias," he says, holding out his hand over the counter.

"Alfred," says Alfred, taking his hand. It feels good to know someone's name in this city. "Hey, Mathias, answer a question for me?"

"Like I've been already? Sure, go for it."

"What family was your soulmate from? I think I know most of them."

"Oh, he was a Bondevik. Lukas Bondevik."

"Hey—he almost staged with Natalia Braginski, didn't he?"

"Uh, maybe. Honestly, I was preoccupied at the time. I was waiting in his room for him."

"But he refused to say her words. Did he know you were waiting?"

"He hadn't met me yet, but his brother found me." Mathias chuckles a little. "I saved him from drowning, and he helped me find Lukas. Seems like a fair trade."

Alfred suspects there's more to the story, but he presses on. "So then what happened once you met? How did you get from just meeting to eloping? It must have happened really fast—the staging was only, what, five months ago?"

"Hm." Mathias begins wiping a glass, but looks up when another customer comes in. "Hold that thought," he says. "I have to think about it, anyway."

What's there to think about? Alfred wonders. But then again, he's constantly being surprised these days by how soulmates work. He looks out the window at the rain and takes steady sips of his beer. By the time Mathias comes back, Alfred is more than halfway finished.

"Okay, so." Mathias begins. "The more I think about what happened, the more I'm seeing how slowly we took it in our thoughts. It just—seemed so easy, to talk to him. But it helps that we wanted the same things. Like, before I left his home I asked him, 'Do you want to see me after today?' and he said yes. Then I asked him if he thought I could live with him, and he said no. So I went home knowing where I stood with him there. Then…well, the next time I saw him, his little brother had told him he'd take the title if Lukas decided to leave. So that was really helpful."

Alfred sighs. He knew there was going to be some way Mathias was luckier than he was.

"Something the matter?" asks Mathias.

"My soulmate's the only son. His older sister is married to my brother, and his younger sister—Natalia, you know—I think she's going to cut the balls off anyone else who tries to stage with her."

Mathias makes a face. "You're soulmates with a Braginski?"

"Yeah, and they're really good at brainwashing their kids. Ivan didn't even entertain the thought of running away with me. He didn't even want me to learn to write."

Mathias frowns. "Seems a bit extreme. Wouldn't he want words?"

"That's what I said! But he's worried someone will use them to stage with him. Apparently having a blank arm is better because nobody can say your words, because nobody knows what they are."

Mathias shrugs. "That seems fair. So what options did you talk about?"

Alfred pauses. "Options?"

"Well, if he was so determined to stage, you could offer to learn to write after he'd already spoken to his intended. Or you could learn to write on the condition that he hire you later. Or—well, if you're here, maybe you already told him he could stage with your words." Mathias looks thoughtful. "Did you tell him what you wanted with him?"

"Well, sure, I…" Hm. The more Alfred reflects, the more he realizes that he sort of assumed how things would go. Ivan would run away with him, and they'd have a life together somehow, and that would be all. He didn't state so much as pressure.

"Did he at least tell you what he wanted?"

Alfred's sure about that. "He wanted to stage."

"And that was it?"

"Well…he said we should continue as if he was going to stage. And then we were supposed to figure it out later." Alfred frowns. "That was the idea behind the ground rules. Don't tell anyone, talk over everything…"

Well, everything except Alfred learning accounting. Alfred honestly did meant to tell Ivan—he just worried that Ivan would become skittish. Which he did. So it isn't Alfred's fault for not wanting to tell him.

"Okay, ground rules are good," says Mathias.

"But I might have broken one of them."

"Not so good."

"I know." Alfred downs the rest of his drink. He slips a smaller, less heavy coin onto the counter. "Wanna try this again?"

"Same beer? Sure." Mathias refills his glass, and talks as he does. "Look, I'm not saying Lukas and I were compatible on everything. He wanted to stay closer to his brother, but the only place I knew that would have work for us both was here. That was a hard decision. I wanted to buy clothing he'd be more used to so he wouldn't get homesick, but he knew how to handle a paycheck better than I did. That was hard too. It took us a few weeks to find a place to live, and the whole time he'd panic about the dirtiness of the inn and how fast our money was going. And every few days he still gets irritable because he's portmaster here, and he's not used to dealing with all these non-nobles. But I've done that for every day of my life, so it's hard for me to understand what he's talking about. Until he locked me out of the house one night for not listening, I didn't even think to try just sitting there and sympathizing. I'd try to fix everything for him." Mathias shakes his head at himself as he hands Alfred the refilled glass.

"But you never doubted that you were right for each other?" asks Alfred.

"You can't think that way," says Mathias. "I sure couldn't. Every time I got upset—whether because Lukas was upset or because of something else—I'd think back to all the days I didn't have him around. We don't have so many days together, so that helps me remember. But…well, it's a weird thing, but it helps me. You and Ivan, you know you're soulmates, right?"

"Right…"

"So the fates put you together, right?"

"Right."

"And that's what the fates decided. They decided what you'd be born as, and how you'd meet, and what you'd say to each other. But everything past that is what you decide."

"What? But how am I supposed to decide if he wants to stage? Or if the nobility says he can't be with me?"

"I had those problems too," says Mathias. "Even if Lukas didn't want to stage, he still had to deal with it. The only thing I knew was that I wanted to be with him. That's why I learned to read—I was trying to tell him I was coming. So, when things got hard, I remembered that I was still choosing to be with him. And he was choosing to be with me."

"So…Ivan is choosing not to be with me." Alfred's heart sinks.

Mathias leans on the counter and looks at Alfred with a gentler smile. "I'm no expert on your relationship. But if Ivan doesn't want words because he doesn't want someone else to say them, I don't think he's chosen anything yet."

"Huh. So am I choosing not to be with him?"

"I dunno. Are you?"

"I thought I was just taking a break. Mattie—my brother—said I should."

"Then you're taking a break, aren't ya?" Mathias grins. "You don't have to have all the answers now."

"It's been almost two years," says Alfred morosely. "I feel like I should have answers."

Mathias shrugs. "Well, I can't give them to you. I doubt anybody can. But if you feel like trying, I work every day except Sundays and Mondays." He begins to take off his apron. At the other end of the bar, another man is slipping under the counter and reaching for the apron Mathias offers. "And I usually go home and cook dinner for me and Lukas about this time." He raises his eyebrows questioningly.

Alfred raises an eyebrow back. He's known Mathias for all of fifteen minutes. But—and Alfred feels a little strange to realize it—he's the first commoner friend Alfred has had in years. It satisfies a part of him that he didn't realize was going wanting.

"If you're offering," says Alfred with a smile, "I'm in."

Skruzdėlynas is a Lithuanian dessert, usually in tower form (Alfred got a small one), whose name literally translates to "anthill." It was one of my favorite foods in Lithuania, right up there with Lithuanian dumplings.

One chapter more!