"So why did you?"
"You've been on the trapeze. You know what it's like," she said with a smile. "If that's what you love to do, then living in the same tiny room in the same little village, feet always on the ground – it feels like prison."
"There's always scaffolding."
She laughed. "You can be fined for that, you know. If you're caught."
"I know. I've had Policiers yell at me a time or two. It's pretty easy to get away from them, though."
"Too fat to climb!"
We giggled over our food. I insisted on buying her meal and drink, feeling like a gentleman.
She curtseyed. "M'lord is so gallant."
I bowed. "Anything for my fair lady." Emboldened by our banter, I took her arm as we left, and she let me.
The park was fairly empty despite the fine, mid-summer weather.
The homeless had been shooed away by Policiers, and most of the poor and middle class were working their long shifts, so only the fairly well-to-do were about, the women bonneted, gloved, and wielding parasols against the sun; the men in suits and cravats.
It had been so long since I had spent a day at leisure. In my prior life, I would have lessons in the morning from private tutors, but the afternoons were always mine to do with as I saw fit, as long as I spent them becoming "accomplished," by mastering musical instruments, painting and drawing, dancing, embroidering and sewing for my dowry, and studying selected "relevant" subjects like the history of art.
However, my tutors quickly grew to dislike me, for I never practiced anything other than dance and music, and I never studied the subjects they wanted me to. Instead, if I was not out dressed in rags and climbing, I had buried myself in medical books, especially ones on birth disorders. Mother once tried to convince Father to lock up his books so I could not get to them, but he refused and sent her into a sulk. I smiled a bit at the memory.
Aenea tapped me on the shoulder, bringing me to the present.
"You were miles away," she said. "Penny for your thoughts?"
"I was just thinking about how I didn't end up at all like my parents expected me to. I almost can't imagine how scandalized my mother and father would be if they knew what I was doing with myself these days," I said.
"How did they die?" she asked.
I hesitated, and then decided to tell the truth. "I think my parents are dead, but I don't truly know. I was adopted, and I ran away from those who raised me when I found out they had lied to me all of my life." Near enough to the truth.
She said nothing for a time. We sat on a bench and she clasped my hand. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine," I said. "I'm having much more fun in the circus with you than I was having in my old life."
That might have been a lie. I thought of the tea parties I used to have with Anna Yew, of swimming in the pond and pranks played with Cyril. Of dancing with Oswin at the debutante ball. Was it truly better to train until I felt ready to drop, to being ignored or slighted by most of the other circus folk?
But it was still better than what my parents had planned for me.
Aenea's eyes met mine and she leaned against me. Her warm arm pressed against my coat sleeve, and she smelled of rosewater and almond soap.
We walked to the granite fountain in the center of the park. A few leaves, green and edged in brown with the promise of the coming autumn, had fallen and settled into its pool. The fountain was the statue of a mermaid. She was looking upwards, as though underwater and yearning for the surface. Water ran from the top of her head all the way down her body, running off her outstretched hands and the tips of her fins. We ran our fingers through the cool water in the pool.
"Is your name really Aenea?" I asked.
She looked surprised. "Yes. Aenea Harper. Why?"
"Aenea Harper," I said, rolling the name on my tongue. "I don't know. It sounds so ethereal and goes so well with Arik that I thought perhaps it was a stage name."
A little line appeared between her brows. "What does e-theer-eal mean?" she asked, pronouncing the word slightly wrong.
"Ethereal," I corrected automatically. "Oh. Um, otherworldly."
"Ethereal," she said, slowly, memorizing the word. "I suppose it does. My parents were performers. They made sure to give me a name that would sound good on the stage. Arik's name is fake, but his real name is Regar Bupnik, poor man, so it's understandable that he changed it decades ago. I suppose Arik and Aenea do sound good together." She paused. "Micah Grey isn't your real name, is it?"
"No, it's not. I chose a new name when I ran away."
"What's your real name?"
I licked my lips. "Gene."
"Gene," she repeated, cocking her head and looking at me with slightly narrowed eyes, trying to match the new face to the name. "What's your second name?"
My mind blanked. "It, ah, doesn't matter," I said. "It was never really my surname, as they weren't my parents."
She opened her mouth, as if to ask more, but she let it pass. "How did you choose Micah Grey?"
I half-smiled. "I chose it when I came here, actually, the morning after I ran away. I had no idea what to do or where to go." I took her hand and led her to the other side of the fountain. "I stood right here and I stared at the water trickling over the mermaid. The light caught the water and the flecks of mica in the stone. And so that was the name I gave when I joined." I felt silly telling the story now. I could have chosen any stage name, a name with great meaning. Instead, I had liked the sparkle of light on stone and taken my new name from that.
"I like that," she said, her smile brighter than the reflection of the sunlight on the water of the fountain. "Micah Grey. It's fun to say. Mi-cah Grey." She rolled the syllables on her tongue. "It's a good stage name, though I like Gene as well. Has a ring to it. It'd look good on a poster too, I imagine."
I remembered that I had a circus poster folded up in my pocket. I had stolen it because I liked to look at it in my tent in the evenings sometimes. Posters just like it were plastered around Sicion. I brought it out and spread it on my lap. "Perhaps one day it will be on this."
"What does it say?" Aenea asked. "I always wondered. The picture is pretty."
She could not read. I had already lectured her on the meaning of "ethereal." I didn't want to feel like I was showing off my learning.
"Go on," she said. "I've felt too silly to ask anyone, really. I don't know who else in the circus can read anyway, other than Drystan, and I would not ask him."
"Why not?"
"Drystan thinks very highly of himself" was all she would say, and thinking back, I had never seen them speak often to each other. Had they quarreled?
I knew it would gnaw at me, so I ventured, "Were you two once close?"
She laughed. "No. We merely never had anything in common, and his manner grates on me at times. He is a good clown and a good performer, but I would not count him among my friends or enemies."
Relieved, I returned my attention to the poster.
"The lettering at the top reads 'R.H. Ragona's Circus of Magic' and the smaller part below reads 'The Most Magical Circus of Ellada'." My fingers traced the illustration that took up the middle of the poster. It was well-rendered, with a svelte Bil in full ringmaster regalia, smiling and gesturing at the equestrians, the elephant, the trainer with the whip, the fire eaters, clowns, and the two aerialists swinging far above. "Below it is only a list of the acts. It calls your act 'Arik and Aenea, the fairies of the trapeze'. Not much else, really."
She giggled. "'Fairies of the trapeze?' Bil's having a laugh."
"Makes sense. You're both slight, graceful, and lovely."
She looked at me, eyebrows raised in amusement. "So you think Arik is lovely?"
My blush deepened. "Well, I mean, I meant…"
She leaned close to me. "I know what you meant," she whispered.
Her lips moved toward mine, and for a moment panic thrummed through me. Every bit of me wanted to kiss her, but would I be a girl kissing her, or a boy? And it was dishonest to let her kiss me, without telling her what I was. But just as I was about to closed my eyes and lean in, I saw a group of young men were on the path leading toward us over her shoulder.
I jerked away.
"Oh no," I whispered. Aenea's face fell, hurt by my reaction before she noticed I was staring at people behind her. Her head whipped back, the long swing of brown hair obscuring her face from me. I cursed fate for the timing, yet felt the smallest stirring of relief.
Cyril and his friends walked toward us. And, Sun and Moon, Damien and Oswin were with them. Though this was the closest park to my apartments, they were meant to be studying for the last of their exams. It had been very silly of me to expect they would do so on such a lovely day. I pulled my hat even lower on my forehead, tucking the stray hairs underneath. My hands shook. I could only hope they would not recognize me.
"What?" Aenea asked.
"Nothing," I said, my gaze glued to my brother. I wanted to run to Cyril and throw my arms around him and hug him close, to kiss him on the cheek and tell him how much I missed him and loved him. I had not seen him in two months. He looked much the same.
Keep calm.
My eyes rose and met Cyril's. His eyes slid away from mine. My shoulders slumped in disappointment and relief. He didn't recognize me.
Rojer Cyprus took a second look at Aenea.
"Why, I say," he exclaimed. "Aren't you the trapeze girl from that circus on the beach?" Rojer always had an extraordinary memory for faces. Names were another matter. I stopped myself from self-consciously smoothing the front of my shirt.
He won't look for what he does not expect to see. He won't see me if my brother doesn't – will he?
She started, her hand tightening in mine. "Yes," she said guardedly.
"You were brilliant! What's it like, to be in a circus?" he asked, enthusiastic as a puppy.
She relaxed her grip in mine. "It's difficult, but there's nothing better." She smiled at him.
"Have you all been to see the circus, then?" I asked, glancing at Cyril. He looked lost in thought, staring off to the other side of the park. I wanted to hit him over the head and grab his attention, to force him to look at me and
see
me.
Oswin likewise did not seem interested in our conversation. His gaze lingered on Aenea's face. He had danced with me but a few months ago, and played with me countless times over the years, and he did not know me now. He was the boy who might have become my husband. My two lives had collided. I had tested most of these boys on history not long ago, laughed and joked with them as another person. A girl. A great wave of sadness passed over me, as though the old Gene was well and truly gone.
Damien looked interested, but his eyes were only for Aenea. He did not even glance in my direction. The appreciative glance he gave her made my blood boil. I refused to remember our awkward fumblings in the hollowed tree a lifetime ago. I could see Drystan's features echoed in Damien's, now that I knew to look for them.
"Just me and my friends Bart and Damien here so far," Rojer said. "I've been trying to convince the others to go, but they're afraid of their mummies and daddies finding out. Are you in the circus too?" he asked. Rojer had always had a frank, open way of speaking. Not good, considering his father was a politician.
I took a deep breath. "Of a sort. I'm new and training on the trapeze as well, but I have not performed yet," I said in tones a little closer to my normal voice. It was enough. Cyril's head whipped around. I met his eyes again and smiled and they widened in shock.
"Tonight is our last performance in Sicion," I said, still looking directly at him. "You should come and see it before we move on."
"Where will you be going next?" Cyril asked.
"Up to Imachara," I said. "Stopping at a village called Cowl along the way to work on our newest acts."
"I will definitely go, if only to see this one in her trapeze costume again," Bartholomew Fir interjected. "What lovely hams!" He looked her up and down. Damien smirked.
"Bart," Cyril admonished. "There's no call."
"You watch your mouth," I said without thinking.
"I think you should watch yours when speaking to a gentleman," Bart said, straightening his waistcoat, which probably cost the equivalent of three months of a miner's wages.
"And a gentleman should be kinder to a lady, sir," I said. He didn't scare me. I had known him since he was a little boy. I had made him cry once, when we were younger. He tried to order me to be the servant in a game, and I had refused and punched him in the nose. Bart had cried for hours and run to his mother, who had declined to invite Cyril and myself over again for several months. He looked like he was about to punch me in the nose this time. I braced myself for the blow.
"You don't have to speak for me, Micah," Aenea said. It was damned lucky she had used my new name and not called me Gene.
Aenea looked straight at Bart, holding herself tall. "As long as you pay the coin to see the show, I don't care if you look at my legs. Look all you like, for it's not as if you'll ever touch them."
My mouth dropped open in shock. The boys whooped and Bart's face colored in anger. "Give it up Bart," Rojer said. "You've Elizabeth Rowan to look forward to."
I looked at Cyril in sympathy. Evidently the courting had not gone according to plan. I fished in my pocket for the poster.
"Here," I said, holding it out in the direction of Cyril, Rojer, and Oswin, the only ones I could stand to look at. "You don't want to miss the most magical circus in Ellada."