“Daddy?”
ㅤ
The girl waited while I looked past her into the corridor. No parent was coming up the stairs. She had a small leather bag over one shoulder and the rabbit I'd caught when she hugged me around the waist.
ㅤ
“I found you,” she said into my shirt.
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A student from the room opposite slowed on the stairs. “Relative?”
ㅤ
“I'm trying to establish that.”
ㅤ
He continued upstairs without another question. I crouched to the girl's height and asked her name. She pressed her lips together.
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“Can I come inside first?”
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The corridor was cold, and she looked exhausted beneath her excitement. I stepped aside.
ㅤ
She stopped by my desk, taking in the bed, wardrobe, stove and notebooks. “You still have this room.”
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“Have you been here before?”
ㅤ
“Yes. But it was different. There was a bigger bed.”
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I glanced at mine. “That would be an improvement.”
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Then she noticed the stove. “I'm hungry.”
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The water I'd put on before answering the door was steaming. I moved it aside and warmed the vegetable stew left from supper. There was bread, too, and three honey biscuits I'd bought after the examination.
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“Do you eat vegetables?”
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“Sometimes.”
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“Tonight would be a good time.”
ㅤ
She climbed onto the chair and ate the smaller portion I gave her with such concentration that I postponed my questions. Sir Flopsy, as she called the rabbit, lay on the desk between us. One ear had been reattached with crooked pale stitches.
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“Did you fix that?” I asked.
ㅤ
“Daddy did. You said Sir Flopsy needed a doctor, and you made me hold his paw.”
ㅤ
The sewing looked like something I might have done. It was hardly evidence.
ㅤ
“What should I call you?”
ㅤ
“Your daughter.”
ㅤ
“I meant your name.”
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Her spoon stopped. “Mommy said I shouldn't tell you everything at once. She said you'd ask too many questions and forget to listen.”
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I couldn't entirely dispute that assessment. Instead, I asked her age. Six. Her mother was at this academy, she said, and had pretty hair and red eyes like hers.
ㅤ
Crimson eyes were uncommon. I knew someone here who had them, but resemblance wasn't enough to justify a conclusion.
ㅤ
When she finished the stew, I gave her a honey biscuit.
ㅤ
“There's another difficulty,” I said. “I don't have children.”
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“Not yet.”
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I watched her scatter crumbs onto her dress. “You mean you haven't been born?”
ㅤ
She nodded. “Mommy sent me back.”
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“From where?”
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“The future.”
ㅤ
She took a drink of water while I considered how to answer that.
ㅤ
“Your mother must have expected me to find this difficult to believe.”
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“She made me practice.” The girl straightened. “Find Daddy. Give him the letter. Stay with him.”
ㅤ
“A letter?”
ㅤ
She froze, then hurried to open her bag.
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Out came a handkerchief, a wooden comb, a ribbon and a smooth white stone. Beneath them lay folded, thick paper, damp along one edge. I cleared my notebook away and opened it carefully. Water had blurred most of the writing; a crease cut through the middle. Only fragments remained legible.
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Find Adrian.
ㅤ
Academy.
ㅤ
Do not leave her alone.
ㅤ
Near the bottom, one sentence survived intact.
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Trust him.
ㅤ
“Your mother wrote this?”
ㅤ
“Yes.”
ㅤ
“What happened to it?”
ㅤ
“My water bottle leaked.”
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The inside of her bag was still wet.
ㅤ
“Did she give you anything else?”
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“Money. For food.”
ㅤ
She produced three gold coins. I was about to tell her not to display them when I noticed the minting date beneath the imperial crest: seven years ahead of the current calendar. The other two bore the same date.
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I turned one under the lamp. Counterfeit currency existed, but an issue dated seven years in the future seemed an elaborate way to deceive a scholarship student. I put the coins on her handkerchief so they wouldn't disappear beneath my notes.
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“Where did your mother get these?”
ㅤ
“From the drawer.”
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That explained nothing, but she had answered as well as she could.
ㅤ
I knew there were magical techniques beyond anything I'd studied. Sending a child into the past, however, was not a claim I could accept because of a damaged letter and unusual coins.
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“Do you remember the spell?”
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“It was red. Mommy drew a big circle on the floor, then more circles inside it. Everything got bright.”
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“Fire magic?”
ㅤ
She shook her head.
ㅤ
“Was anyone else there?”
ㅤ
“No.”
ㅤ
“And afterward?”
ㅤ
“I was in the hallway.” She pointed toward my door.
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Whoever had sent her knew my name and room. I needed something she couldn't have learned from a letter.
ㅤ
“Tell me something about myself a stranger wouldn't know.”
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She looked around. “Your winter coat has a hole in its pocket. And you keep money in the blue book.”
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My eyes went straight to the shelf.
ㅤ
Advanced Principles of Elemental Conversion had a hollowed-out section in its cover where I kept emergency savings. Marcus didn't know about it. Nobody did.
ㅤ
“It's that one,” she said.
ㅤ
I checked the book. The coins were still inside. The winter coat had its familiar torn lining.
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When I sat down, she hugged Sir Flopsy closer.
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“Are you angry? Mommy said I wasn't supposed to tell you about the book.”
ㅤ
“No. Why did you tell me?”
ㅤ
“Because you looked worried.” She touched my hand. “You always look worried when you count money.”
ㅤ
I let her finish her biscuit. She hadn't asked me for anything except food and permission to come inside. If this was a deception, it was being conducted with extraordinary patience for a six-year-old.
ㅤ
“Can you tell me your mother's name now?”
ㅤ
The girl glanced at the window. “I can show you. She goes back to her room after practice.”
ㅤ
Outside, lamps lit the courtyard paths. Students crossed between lecture buildings and residences. The girl stood on tiptoe and pointed toward three young women walking past the fountain. One wore the advanced magical division's red cloak. Another was laughing. The third had long silver hair.
ㅤ
I recognized her before she turned beneath the nearest lamp.
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Evelyn von Rosenfeld.
ㅤ
A duke's daughter. An exceptionally gifted fire mage. A woman who appeared far too often in the later chapters of The Crown Beneath the Ashes.
ㅤ
I'd avoided her since recognizing her during my first week at the academy. It hadn't been difficult. Our classes barely overlapped, and scholarship students weren't generally invited into her social circles.
ㅤ
The girl pressed her palm against the glass. “Mommy.”
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“Are you sure?”
ㅤ
“I know my mommy.”
ㅤ
Evelyn tucked silver hair behind one ear as she listened to a companion, then continued toward the noble residences. She had no reason to look up. We'd never spoken.
ㅤ
I partly closed the curtain.
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“What did your mother call me?”
ㅤ
“Daddy.”
ㅤ
“My name.”
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“Adrian.”
ㅤ
“And hers?”
ㅤ
“Evelyn.”
ㅤ
I sat down. The original novel had introduced Evelyn as an influential duke's daughter whose magic and family's political decisions would eventually place her against the protagonist. I remembered her fire magic and the damage she caused. I remembered no husband.
ㅤ
“Did we meet here?”
ㅤ
“At school.”
ㅤ
“How?”
ㅤ
“You helped Mommy when she was sad.” She rubbed Sir Flopsy's repaired ear. “She doesn't like talking about it.”
ㅤ
“Don't you like Mommy?” she asked when I said nothing.
ㅤ
“I don't know her.”
ㅤ
“You will.”
ㅤ
If she truly came from the future, she might know something about the reception, the succession conflict or the war. I wanted to ask all of it. Instead, I looked at the worn rabbit in her arms.
ㅤ
“Did we have a good life?”
ㅤ
“We had a garden. You grew beans, but Mommy said they needed more sun. Then you moved them, and I dropped Sir Flopsy in the dirt.” She lifted him. “You washed him. His ear came off after that.”
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I touched the pale stitches. A house with a garden was a future I could picture without needing the rest of her story.
ㅤ
“Were we happy?”
ㅤ
She climbed onto my lap. I steadied her, and she settled against me as though she'd done it hundreds of times.
ㅤ
“Mommy laughed more when you were home.”
ㅤ
“And you?”
ㅤ
“I liked when you read to me. Even when you fell asleep first.”
ㅤ
“That sounds likely.”
ㅤ
She laughed, and I smiled before I could help it.
ㅤ
Then my gaze returned to the letter.
ㅤ
Do not leave her alone.
ㅤ
A child had been sent here without her mother, carrying enough gold to attract dangerous attention. Someone had believed this was safer than keeping her wherever she'd come from.
ㅤ
“Sweetheart, why did your mother send you to find me?”
ㅤ
Her smile disappeared. She lowered her eyes to Sir Flopsy and gripped my sleeve.
ㅤ
“Did something happen?”
ㅤ
She nodded.
ㅤ
“To your mother?”
ㅤ
Another, smaller nod.
ㅤ
“Tell me what you can.”
ㅤ
She tried, but no words came. I gave her the handkerchief from the desk and waited until she looked up.
ㅤ
“Because you died, Daddy.”
ㅤ
I held her closer. She wiped her eyes, missing one cheek entirely.
ㅤ
“And Mommy said this was our last chance to save you.”