Week 15

October 14

My husband and I went hiking and rock climbing today. He said that he’d never done that before. We had a lot of citizens watching us for a while, but then, when no one fell off the mountain, they got bored and went home. Adora accompanied me, and Wanderlust was chaperone to my husband. It was odd to see him in athletic gears, since he’s such a dandy at court. Apparently, since there were no ladies to impress, and because he was intensely worried about falling off the mountain, he gave up his usual slavery to fashion and his mincing of speech and walk. I found myself liking him more as a man, than as a clown, and found myself feeling sorry for him. He has two ex-wives, and two children, and can not seem to find contentment in monogamy, which spells out an extreme lack of confidence. It’s sad, really, because he can be quite charming when he tries, and even more charming when he doesn’t.

My husband and I were not left completely alone, but for about twenty minutes, we climbed; too slow for Adora and too fast for Wanderlust, and though we were unable to converse due to the necessity of concentration. More than once he pointed out a good handhold or foothold, and I did the same for him. It was a good way to build a repoire, without the awkwardness of trying to find conversation with a stranger. On a small cliff; we paused to rest, drinking sips of water, and catching our respective breaths. I looked down over his kingdom, and was impressed by the beauty of the layout. 

“This reminds me of when I flew in,” I said. “I’ve never seen a more organized city. The architecture is astounding, even from this height.” The entire city is laid on in a hexagon, with the palace in the middle, and roads at each corner of the shape. The palace is gorgeous, and I can see the mall, close to us, and the area where library stands on the edge of the city. Near that is the harbor, where I had dinner on a dinner cruise with Hon. The palace is the tallest building, but the mall is almost as impressive.

“Thank you,” my husband said. “Large parts of the mall, and the school system,” he pointed to a shape on the outermost section of the hexagon, “were designed by a very talented woman named Danae Hyperton.”

I tried not to jump at the mention of Danae. “Oh,” I said, keeping my voice casual. “I haven’t been to the school system yet, but it’s supposed to be the best of all four planets.”

My husband grinned. “Yes. A lot of Springians and Autumnians come to study with our professors. Even some of the more scholarly Winterians access our information, remotely.”

I stared at him, to see if he was joking. “Really? I’m surprised that Summer would share their information with Winter.”

He laughed. “We don’t share military secrets or anything,” he said. “But we do have an impressive amount of agricultural knowledge.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “Actually, the majority of the agricultural technology that Winter uses, was discovered and shared by Summerians. Your father,” he continued, watching me from the side of his eye, “was the one who implemented most of our farming technology there.”

I looked over at him, uncertain. “He never told me that.”

He shrugged. “It is not a well-known fact that our academics share research with Winter, and vice versa. Most of the public would not approve. In fact, one reason I decided to marry a Winterian, was to soften Summerians view of Winterians, in order to be able to tell Summerians about this sharing of wisdom.” He saw my shocked stare, and grinned. “You can ask your mother about this. It’s not a planetary secret anymore; at least, it won’t be soon. Summerians and Winterians have been working together for a long time, in order to reduce the hatred the inhabitants of the two planets have for each other. Right now, the prejudice is more habit than practice.”

“My father was killed in the war,” I said, tightly.

He shook his head. “A remarkably regrettable accident. Your father wasn’t killed in battle. It was a shipcrash; avoidable, yet,” he shrugged. “Not. It was, for lack of a better word, an accident. But because it happened in space, his cover story was that he was fighting us.” He frowned. “It was a blow to Summer’s reputation, because your father was well-respected and well-known, and anti-Summer sentiment was stirred up. It’s only starting to settle down, now that I’ve married you.”

I stared at him. “That’s why you married me,” I breathed. “I wasn’t just a random Winter bride…”

He grinned that cocky grin that makes me want to slap him and kiss him at the same time. He would have spoken, but Wanderlust dragged his tubby boat over the cliff edge, panting and gasping. “Oh, good, we’re at the top,” he said through gasps and wheezes. “Now, how do we get down?”

I’ll admit to a particular level of frustration that our conversation was cut short by this interruption, however, it dually served as a relief from the intensity of it. Imagine, if I’d spend thirty years cold and married, never to find out that my father is the reason I became the queen of Summer. So many things that he told me are revolutionary. Indeed, I never had the same lazy hatred for Summer that some of my fellow Winterians did, until my father was killed. Before that, I always secretly thought that it was a shame we couldn’t get along with our warm-blooded brethren. Especially on those days when I was feeling like a particularly incompetent Winterian, I wished that we could get along so that Winterians wouldn’t have to seem so cold and mean at all times, at all costs.

I’ll definitely speak to my mother. It may be time to come down with a particularly bad case of homesickness. Maybe I’ll take some pretty, single ladies of the court with me, and introduce them to some handsome young Winterians. Wouldn’t that be a lovely revenge? I can already think of three or four who would benefit from some type of discipline. They are too superficial and lazy for court, yet they continue to send their giggles bubbling through even the most serious cases – including Danae’s, which I found particularly irritating. I would have to bring some Winterians men back with me, but I this correlate’s with my mother’s wish, so she shouldn’t have a problem with it. 

I’ll send my missive off tonight.

October 15

My mother seemed to embrace my idea to visit home. I find that oddly unsettling, like I finally took the wheel in the hovercraft of destiny, only to find I’m in the driver‘s seat, but the real steering wheel is on the passenger‘s side, and someone else is making the real decisions. In any case, I’ve decided to take Wanderlust with me, along with two other courtiers; Longfellow Keats, and Valentino Mewes. Longfellow is a tall man, with a long, dark ponytail. He’s rather quiet, and seems shy, but he has eyes that are piercing and honest, two things that serve him well with in his seductions. I practically melt when he stands near me. No Winter girl has a chance.  Valentino is shorter, but more muscular. The Winter girls will go crazy over his sun-kissed hair and oiled muscles -- of course, he’ll have to wear more clothing in Winter, but he can knock you out with his sheer confidence at fifty paces. Wanderlust needs to get out of Summer, at least for a while. I’d like to see how he does with Winter women, or what they do to him.

My husband wasn’t opposed to the idea either, which sort of hurt my feelings, until he suggested that he come with us. None of his closest advisors strongly objected to this, either, so I’m clearly a genius. Or else, everyone else was planning on this already, and I get to take credit for the idea. Either way, we’re leaving in a week, for a week. Danae is making me some Winterish/Summerish clothes out of Winter fabrics, for me to wear there. There isn’t really anything wrong with the clothes I left behind, except that I was a commoner back home, and none of my sweaters and jeans are fit for the status I now employ, unfortunately. What is fortunate, is that Jhea and Samson are coming with us, so that Jhea can introduce him to her parents. This is a perfect excuse for Danae not to show up to work for a week. I can call in and check on the office, but Carrot can take care of things for a week.

I have to break up with my husband tomorrow night. Danae has to break up with Bohn, I mean. In a way, I’m sadder that I have to do that, than I was to break up with Hon. My husband, after all, is a fantastic kisser. Though yesterday we did a little light bonding as real husband and wife, we’re a long way away from becoming lovers, whereas Danae and Bohn were getting pretty close. Besides, there is something about pretending to be someone else, that gives you the freedom to be yourself. Away from the constraints of the usual social pressure, from the role I’ve adopted, I get to be soft and I’m allowed to smile and laugh if I feel like it. My husband is more relaxed as Bohn, too, so I know it’s not just me.

Zahina begged to go with me to Winter. She insisted that I come up with some excuse to take her with me. I think she’s afraid of losing her surrogate, and a week is an awfully long time when you’re six. Besides, it’s not that long ago that her mother died, and I’ve been able to at least show her my face once a day since then. I told her that it was impossible this time, but that I’d come up with an excuse to have Danae and her go to Winter, soon. She stopped arguing, but she didn’t accept this. Her face got still, her eyes stony. “Fine,” she said. “I don’t care, anyway. Go no, and don‘t come back!” She ran to her room and locked herself in, and refused to come out again before I left. Eliava said that she’d take care of it, but I got the impression that she blamed me -- that she couldn’t see why I had to leave, and traumatize the little girl more than she has been already.

But even if I wanted to stay, what would that teach Zahina? That it’s okay to lock yourself up with the same people in the same places, and never budge? That loss is a permanent condition and the only real way to show grief is by never moving on with life? Are we all supposed to stay is some form of living death until we can make the state permanent? I don’t think so. I think it’s important to go away from Zahina once in a while, just to show her that I WILL come back.

I’ve been looking for Hon even harder, at the palace, since I broke up with him. I keep thinking that I see him, but when I really look, he disappears. I’m probably just losing my mind. I’m really upset that I won’t be seeing him anymore. My husband could tell I was down, today. “Don’t worry,” he said, sympathetically. “We’ll get you home, and then you’ll feel more like yourself.” His words sent a chill through me, mostly because I realized how much I’ve changed since I got here. When I first arrived, I was this kid who’d tested the theory that Winterians had to be seemingly heartless at all costs, for a thousand years. When I got here, the importance of maintaining that façade stayed with me, but stronger than ever. I’ve dealt with this constant guilt over failing in my role as the unreachable ice queen. Since I arrived, I’ve made friends, helped strangers, and in a lot of ways, risked not only my life, but the lives of millions of Winterians on my weak need for companionship. 

Now, with Ceci as the perfect example, it’s probably a good thing that I did make some friends, but I can’t shake that feeling that I haven’t done what was expected. That my humanity made me too frail and weak, and that I’m not a true Winterian. Finding out that my mother is a Summerian has strengthened this feeling of inadequacy. It’s this tension that settles behind my shoulders and constantly tries to push me forward. It’s horrible, and I don’t know how to get rid of it. Even if I point out Jhea’s ability to be seduce, Ceci’s cracking under the pressure of no social connection, Karen’s neediness since she arrived -- for some reason, I still can’t excuse myself from the ideal that I’ve been trying to live up to.

One good thing is that I get to take Stan and Todd with me, and Todd’s mother is coming too. Adora is coming with me, of course, and Karen and Jhea as well. Karen is extremely homesick, so we may just leave her back in Winter, although her companionship with Ceci over the past few days has seemed to help a lot.

October 16

I broke up with my husband today. Like Hon, he took is insultingly well. He just gave me this long, passionate kiss at the door, and then he kissed me on the forehead and said, “Goodbye.” When I went inside, I was greeted with Zahina’s glare. “I thought you were leaving,” she said.

“Not for six more days,” I said. I tried not to show hurt at the dismissive tone she used, but rather addressed the vulnerability in her voice. I sat down and leaned against the front door. I watched her for a moment, and when she didn’t move toward me, I said, “I know you’re upset, but I’ll come back.”

She crossed her arms and looked away.  “I don’t care if you come back,” she said. She let her arms drop to her sides and leaned forward, blasting me with heat from her gaze.  “I just don’t think you should go have fun in Winter and I have to stay here and go to school.” Her shoulders sagged. “What if you die too,” she said, her heart in her eyes.

I sighed and held out my arms. She hesitated and then collapsed at my feet. I pulled her close and said to her, “I can’t promise that I won’t die and leave you, any more than you can promise you won’t die, and leave me. But I won’t willingly leave you, ever. Your mother didn’t want to leave you – you were all she talked about.”

“She didn’t care about me.”

It took me a moment to process her words. “What? Of course she did.”

Zahina’s head moved against my neck, shaking a negative. “She didn’t care. After my dad died, she didn’t pretend to love me anymore.”

Pain stabbed me through the heart at those words. “Oh…” I sighed. I pushed back a little, until she pulled away to look at me. Her eyes were wet and sad. I brushed the hair out of her face. I thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to relay to her, her mother’s grief. “You know how when your mom died, and you felt empty, like nothing was important, or would ever be important again?”

She thought for a moment. “Yes,” she said, already processing the train of thought.

“You still loved your grandma after your mom died, right? You didn’t stop loving her.”

“No,” Zahina agreed. “But I couldn’t feel how much I love Gramma – like if I was hugging a pillow instead of her.”

I nodded. “That’s grief. It’s not that you don’t still love your family but the pain from the one who is gone, is the strongest feeling you feel. But when you hug your grandma, it’s not like hugging a pillow anymore, is it?”

She thought. “No. And I was a lot mad at you cuz you’re leaving, not just a little bit mad.”

“Right,” I said. “When you first lose someone, there’s that shock, because you can’t really believe it, and that’s the pillow. Now that the shock has gone away, you can feel other things again.”

She pondered this. “But that don’t mean my mom loved me. She didn’t feel things anymore even though my dad died a long time ago.”

“Grief affects people differently,” I said. “When your dad died, your mom lost a husband for herself and a father for you, and a job that she loved and she lost you in a way, too, because when someone close dies, it changes the whole family, not just part of it. You were sad, and she was sad, and Gramma was sad, and  none of you were the same. When you’re that close to someone, you don’t know who you are without them. But”, I said, and I firmed my voice up, so that she would look at me. “Your mom was getting better, and she did love you. I saw her be sad, and like she didn’t care, but when she would talk about you, her eyes would light up and her voice would get higher, almost like she was singing.” Zahina looked doubtful. “She was getting better, wasn’t she,” I asked. “She was being happier, she was ready to go to court to save her business, she would talk to you more, sing to you, color with you, right?” I was guessing, going over in my mind when my mom started to get better after my dad died.

She thought for a moment, and then nodded slowly. “She was starting to wear dresses again,” she said. “Instead of sweat pants.” She looked up at me, watching for artifice, watching for the truth. “She did love me, not just my dad?” she asked. At my nod, her face crumpled up and she threw herself against my shoulder. 

I held her there, gutted that she would ever question her mother’s love. When my father died, I was already an adult, so I knew not to take her grief personally. Zahina didn’t have that luxury, being only four when her father died. To lose him first, and then her mother to grief -- I felt my eyes get hot and fought back tears. The concept of this warm, intelligent girl feeling so lost and unloved was anathema to me. Part of me couldn’t believe it, and the other part was completely devastated.

I thought about my husband and the look in his eyes after he kissed me goodbye. There was regret there, but humor as well, and zero surprise. I started thinking that I’d been being played for a while now. Had my husband recognized me right away, like I’d recognized him? Had I been fooling him? But Bohn isn’t a real person, and Danae was. He even knew Danae when they were kids, and the changes made in her by her grief are explained in any anomaly I present. Besides, we looked so much alike we could be sisters, if not twins. What kind of game is my husband playing? Is he playing a game at all? Bohn was a character created and established looong before I came to Summer. What is he up to? And why do I see Hon everywhere? Am I crazy, or did he serve me my dessert tonight? If he did, I’ll kill him for making such a fool of me. But I do year to see him again. 

October 17

Autumn was starting so nicely, too, until the heat came back. It’s nearly midnight and I’m uncomfortably warm. I had to get out one of the nightgowns Adora made for me that first month I was here. I’ve only been in Summer for six months, but it’s amazing how I’ve come accustomed to being here. Back then, I was afraid to show that I was too hot to sleep in my own clothes. I almost combusted before I was willing to get rid of my Winter wools. I was so worried that the slightest hint of humanity would get me killed. I can’t say that I didn’t have good reason to feel that way, or that I’m able to entirely let down my guard, but I don’t have the same fear that I did when I got here. It’s a nice revelation. 

I guess I’m thinking about this because Adora and I were packing tonight, to get ready for our visit to Winter. We realized that making all of my clothes was going to be too much for Adora in the short amount of time, especially with the wedding coming up. Jhea asked Adora to design the bridesmaids gowns as well. (I’m the maid of honor! Apparently, I’m Jhea’s best friend…?) Since we’ve been here long enough for Summerians to realize that I’ve been wearing Summer fabrics, and changing my style slowly to incorporate some Summer softness (but not too much. No one is going to mistake me for Adora any time soon) we realized that we don’t need to make my clothes in secret. So Adora is now the royal designer and head seamstress for the queen. Being one of my seamstresses is a coveted job here, so the other maids have been acting with a bit more respect toward Adora lately. It would be worth being the queen if the only thing I could do, during my reign, is be one reason behind Adora’s improved posture.

I was going over my schedule this morning, in my head, and was a little sad and a little relieved to realize that I don’t have any dates coming up. Romantic ones, I mean. I have a ton to do at work, Mother has a full agenda for my visit to Winter, already, and I have to find some way to be able to communicate with Zahina while I’m gone. She still has to see me every day, even if I’m not there physically. It strikes me as odd that she is so accepting of me. I keep expecting her to scream, “you’re not my mother, I don’t want to see you again” and run to her room and slam her door. Or, at least, to not be so glad to see me when I visit. I’m constantly and painfully aware of the fact that I look like her mother, and am SO not. But she doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe she doesn’t think I so closely resemble her mother. Or maybe she’ll just take any semblance of her mother she can get. Or maybe her mother was so distant for so long that she can’t really miss her too much. I would love to ask her, but I can’t. Not only would it be incredibly insensitive, but I don’t think she’d be able to articulate it, anyway.

Staejha came to visit me this morning. I was shocked to see her, probably more shocked than when Jhea or Ceci came to me. She said she wanted to talk about her coming nuptials. At first, I was uneasy, certain that she was about to burst out with some secret, like my other cousins did. I didn’t like the idea for a couple of reasons; one, I don’t like Staejha, and two, she doesn’t like me. If she’d burst into tears like Ceci or confessed a pregnancy, with there being too much antipathy between us for sympathy, I don’t know what I would have done. 

Fortunately, she didn’t come to confide in me, so much as complain. Why does Jhea get to be the first Winterian to marry a Summerian? Isn’t Staejha engaged to be married as well? Staejha would settle for a double wedding. No doubt Jhea wouldn’t mind, the girl is such a wallflower, she probably hates all of this attention anyway. She looked around my room, and suppressed a shudder, as though she were offended by it’s plainness. She made her demands with a lazy, bored air, rarely meeting my gaze, or even glancing at my face -- and it’s not like she had a lot of other things too look at. Other than her fingernails, the ends of her hair, her rings, the lace of her sleeve, the drape of her skirt. I would have agreed, and was about to, when she added, “we could push it back another month or two, so that we can plan it properly.”  Staejha said. Her whiny, biting tone, slid over me like a waterfall of piranhas. “I mean, Jhea’s wedding is alright, for the allotted time, but we could do so much better with a bit of planning.”

I would have accommodated her, really -- probably -- if she’d left it at the double wedding. But of course it’s impossible to move the wedding back, because Jhea’s going to start getting a baby bump real soon. Staejha’s presentation of her request, with the complete and utter assumption that I would do exactly as she demanded, without even a pause for thought, was just as impossible to ignore. I don’t credit myself with an extreme amount of pride, but I am the queen of Summer. To be approached with such a selfish request and such a disrespectful attitude, irritated me out of my stunned, sleepy stupor.

“I’m sorry,” I said, in a voice fully of icy knives, “I don’t recall asking for your input on the weddings.”

Staejha stared at me, her mouth dropping open, exposing little, sharp teeth, similar to those of her ancestors, the flesh-eating fish. Many times throughout my life I have been thankful that Staejha is not actually related to me. This gratefulness was affirmed, yet again. 

I couldn’t shoot laser beams from my eyes, and without the blue contacts, my brown eyes didn’t have their usual icy glare, but I managed to infuse every bit of derision I felt for Staejha in my gaze. She hadn’t sat, like my previous visitors, preferring to hover over me, replete in her condescension. My words, combined with my gaze, though, made her step back. I moved toward her as she moved away, rising from my bed, and pushing her back with the force of my ire until her back was to the door. There were so many things I could have said, so many cutting remarks that would have paid her back for the lifetime of disrespect she had shown me. But I was too angry to think of them. Winter women know how to fight; quick, mean, and dirty. In order to stop myself from causing her physical harm, I spoke quietly, yet firmly. “Get. Out.”

October 18

This morning I got asked out on a date by one of our newest clients. Here I was, thinking that I’ll never go on a date again now that Hon and my husband are out of the picture. Phant (one name, like Madonna or Cher) is having us design him a haunted mansion. For his own, personal amusement, not for visitors, or anything. He wants it to be in the pure Victorian fashion that was popular in the 1800s BS (before split). I took a course in college on ancient gothic literature in which we read really old books that are barely coherent, and watched old movies with quaint sets and costumes. 

Phant does not look like Bela Lugosi or any other caricature of the Vampire person. However, he is quite tall and dashing, and his incisors are very white, and the length and sharpness of them rivals my cousin Staejha’s. He’s actually pretty charming, well educated, and he smells good -- but he stares at my neck slightly too long. I think that all of this is cultivated behavior, but it’s so habitual now that he actually is creepy, rather than just pretending to be. In any case, I’m glad I took that class, because I understood pretty much exactly what Phant wants, and I haven’t had to do too much research -- mostly, just reviewing some of those old movies and some notes from class. Anyway, I said no to the date, but it was kind of nice to be asked. 

I saw Zahina today. She doesn’t seem to be as angry with me as she was. I brought her some real candies that Todd made for me, and we’ve made plans to go on a dinner cruise like the one that Hon took me on, but one that has kiddie rides and face painting, rather than gambling and liquor. We’re supposed to do that a week from today. I think making plans for after I come back, helped her realize that life won’t stop after this week. She let me help her with her homework, and I could see that she’d already done it, and then erased all the answers so that we could do it together.

Eliava told me later, that I spend more time with Zahina than Danae died. “But Danae lived with you,” I said.

“Yes,” Eliava replied, but Zahina could have been part of the furniture. She shook her head at my shocked expression. “When you live with someone, you forget to experience them. You visit Zahina every day. You take time out of what you’re doing, all of which sounds interesting and exciting to her, and only adds to her feeling special -- and come specifically to see her.” Eliava paused with a small chuckle. “It’s not like you’re here to visit the couch.” She sobered. “You’re here to see Zahina. She never got that from her mother.”

I was a little shocked by this conversation while we were having it, but I think about it now, and I’m glad that I’m such an important part of Zahina’s life. I guess when I was a kid, if I’d had the queen of Winter coming to visit me, I’d feel pretty special too. At the same time, I worry that I am so important to Zahina. It just makes it more important for me not to screw up our relationship. In a way, the thought of myself as just some stranger who Zahina tolerates because I look like her mom, comes with a lot less pressure. To think that I’m important to the girl -- it adds a lot of anxiety. I just have to forget the thought though, pretend like Eliava is making more of me, than I am. Otherwise, I won’t be able to relax around Zahina, and that will definitely screw up the relationship.

I took Karen and Ceci to the dinner cruise tonight. Karen loved it, Ceci hated it. I’m rather neutral to the experience, at least in comparison to my extreme sister and cousin, but it was amusing to see their reactions. Karen lost herself in craps and roulette, whilst Ceci settled in at the blackjack table. Karen could have lost a million dollars and been ecstatically happy -- Ceci won a hundred dollars and was upset about the hands she didn’t win. I had to pretend that this was the first time I’d been on the boat. In fact, I’d left some brochures for the ship lying around the chapel where Samson and Jhea are going to get married. Todd picked one up. “My dad went there once,” he said.

Karen walked over to him. “Jubilee Dinner Cruise and Gambling,” she read aloud. “What’s gambling?”

Todd looked like he was proud of having knowledge that an adult didn’t. “Gambling is games where you bet that you’re going to win.”

Ceci broke in. “What are the odds that you’ll win?”

“The odds are always in the house’s favor,” he said, expertly. He paused. “My dad used to do that before he married my mom. She made him promise to stop, or she wouldn’t marry him.”

“Did he,” asked the ever trusting Ceci.

Todd nodded. “Yeah. He just like to gamble --” he paused, allowing the ire to drip away from his tone. “Sometimes he like to gamble at home.” His brows were lowered, and I got a chill, realizing he wasn’t talking about games anymore.

Ceci didn’t realize it. “If you can play at home, why give your money to some stranger?”

Todd shrugged, acknowledging the odd behavior that adults seem to have toward silly things. 

“We should go,” Karen said.

“What a waste,” Ceci answered.

I walked over, and flipped through the brochure. “It looks pretty,” I said. “It must be weird to look at an ocean without a glacier in sight.

Ceci looked where I pointed. “I guess it’s kind of pretty,” she said. “But I won’t gamble.”

Karen slid a knowing glance in Ceci’s direction.

I got a note from my husband after we got home. I was in my room, changing into my nightgown, when I saw it on my bed.

Meet me at the base of the mountain where we went climbing the other day, the note said. I have something to show you. Lanzoni

I wonder what he wants. It was kind of odd to see his handwriting. He uses long, graceful strokes. I took the electronic tablet and traced his words, following the sloping letters.

Back in the olden days, when computer technology was just getting incorporated into every home, even the poor ones, there was concern that the art of writing by hand would be lost. It was for almost a thousand years, but it has come in and out of fashion since then. We don’t kill trees for paper anymore, or kill squids for ink, but we do have tablets on which we write by hand. Lovers use the tablets in order to send secret messages to each other. Those tablets only respond to the particular DNA of the two people allowed to access the information stored. This tablet is just a regular notepad. It might not even be my husband’s writing. But if he’d had a servant write it, the servant may as well have just used a font. Besides, the writing reminds me of my husband -- bold, and slanted, and knowing. Perhaps I read too much into it. 

October 19

In three more days, we’ll be going home. There are so many strange and wondrous places in Winter that I want to show Lanzoni. I know that he’s a Summerian through and through, but I hope he comes to love it, at least a little. It really is beautiful. I miss the blue whiteness of everything, the crispness of the air, the differences in the opacity of the walls. Every building in Winter is made from frozen water of different thicknesses. Even the fireplaces are made of bricks of ice. It’s really impressive to look at, although there always seems to be a draft. 

One thing I miss, is being able to ice skate everywhere. At home, rather than shoes, we wore skates. In Summer, they only wear ice skates in Winter. I’m sort of looking forward to that. Apparently, Summerians do enjoy their winter sports, although they try to remove all winter stigma from it by calling it something else.

I wasn’t that experienced with men in Winter, but I do have a lot of friends who are male, and quite good looking. I’m looking forward to introducing them to my husband. One in particular, Geodward Wintersmith, is someone I want my husband to meet. Geodward is at least six feet tall and very slender. He has dark, curly hair that he wears to his shoulders. He does not fit the Winter stereotype of physical perfection, but he liked to climb mountains with me. He not only has one of the most strikingly beautiful faces that I’ve ever seen, but he is shockingly shy and humble. It’s as though he’s never owned a mirror, nor looked in a neighbors.

Geo has proposed marriage to me, several times, but as the proposals always came directly after a bad break-up with a girlfriend, and he always presented the idea with a shrug, I never really took him seriously. He has written me several times since I got here, and I’m thinking of convincing him to come back with us. We’re taking (and hopefully leaving) three Summerian men over there, it’s only fair to bring some back. 

George is a gifted musician with a wonderful, husky tone to his voice. He writes mainly love songs, but since they’re done in the Winter styles, there is usually a lot of bloodshed. I think he would like to learn, and do very well with, the Summer style of ballads. They’re a lot softer and romantic. I also think that there are some nice young ladies I can introduce him to here. In Winter, he has a small following, but most women reject him as being too soft. There are not many Winter men who would find Geo intimidating, but there are even fewer who would not be glad to call him a friend.

I think he will be a good companion to my husband, with the added bonus of possibly making him jealous. I also think he might make a good match for Adora, even though I can still see her with Hon. I would so love to see her with a gentle man, one who knows how to be kind, better than he knows how to do anything else. And he’s not physically imposing, but he is muscular. And he has nice, blue eyes, that can be as warm as sun-kissed springs or as cold as the Winter moon. I think that would be a good combination for her, because she would be both protected by him and safe from him.

Speaking of Hon, I definitely saw him today. I can not for the life of me remember where, or what circumstance I was in. It must have been in a crowd of people, but it could have been at work, at court, or in the chapel, getting Jhea’s wedding ready. Jhea and Samson are getting married exactly a week from when we return from Winter. Anyway, I don’t remember exactly where I saw Hon, but I remember the shock of recognition, and then he was gone. I have to keep looking for him, but aside from that, I have to make certain that I don’t actively look for him. For one thing, he doesn’t seem to appear, when I do, and for another thing, I don’t want to blow his cover. He seems to be pretending to be a servant, but I don’t know which one. He is obviously a secret advisor to my husband, and despite the fact that his job is covert, I trust him. Perhaps it is conceit of my part, but I feel that since I’ve spent time with him and been alone with him, and he has always treated me like an intelligent yet valuable woman -- I just trust him. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit that to myself. Despite the fact that Winterians pride themselves on their cunning, most of the people I’ve known have been trustworthy. Still, we must always be on our guard, and I don’t have one with Hon. I’m not sure why, and I’m a little uneasy about the feeling of vulnerability, though I’m not uneasy about him, in himself.

I saw Zahina today. She seems to have mostly forgotten that I’ll be gone for a week, and I don’t want to bring it up. She has a wonderful imagination -- she took me into a world today in which her stuffed unicorn wanted to be a bear. The unicorn’s name was Bear, and Bear was helping this unknown yet prophesied princess to achieve her fate. That’s the gist, anyway. There were many obstacles in our path, including a purple and pink giraffe who asked us several silly riddles that did not make any sense. I think Zahina got the idea from actual riddles, which are impossible for her to figure out. So she made up these long, rambling ones. At one point, she looked to me expectantly, as though I’d know the answer. So I looked straight at that damn giraffe and said as confidently as I could, “rainbow salmon”. Zahina nodded approvingly, and the giraffe stepped aside, in order to reveal a deep, dark cave (cardboard box) that we will explore tomorrow. I honestly can’t wait to see what’s in it.

I’ve been thinking of possible matches for Karen from the collection of men at court, but I have not stumbled upon a real possibility yet. Still, she and Ceci seem to be getting along really well, which is good news. And Ceci hasn’t made any more early morning visits in order to break down on my stool. For that matter, I’ve barely seen Staejha, as well. We’re definitely not taking her to visit Winter with us, which is fine with me. One of the reasons I was so happy to move here was to get away from her, and she followed me here. It’ll be nice to take small vacation from her. She is such a nasty little beast.