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Anneliese Boreg began working butter into her dough. Out of everything she made, her almond pastries had always been Marya’s favorite.
Traditionally, baking sweets wasn’t something Kerch women often did, save for special occasions. It was seen as frivolous, and those with less than Anneliese, it was thought, would do better to use their resources on something more practical; a service to the household, and to Ghezen.
As for her, well, she had servants to do the baking for her. But everyone needed hobbies. And she’d never been very good at being traditional.
Over the ten years of her friendship with Marya Van Eck, she’d made a point of baking something every week for their afternoon teas. She still remembered the way Marya’s eyes would light up when she tasted something new Anneliese had concocted. She’d flash her vibrant smile and say something like, Anne, I think you might be the best pastry chef on this side of the True Sea.
Marya had a passion for sweets, and loved baking almost as much as Anneliese did, though with decidedly less talent. She sometimes contributed baked goods to their weekly meetings, presenting the burnt, or often raw, cakes and pastries with an exaggerated show of confidence. Anne would grin and try to give constructive feedback until they both broke into helpless giggling. She had always looked forward to their meetings.
Ghezen, I miss her, Anne thought as she rolled out the dough. Marya, with her lively hazel eyes and her thoughtful smile. Thinking about her still made Anne’s throat tighten. She had never stopped wondering if there was more she could have done, if things would have turned out differently if she had.
Her thoughts were interrupted by her son’s voice.
“What are you making, mama?” Finn asked, padding into the kitchen.
“Almond pastries. Would you like to help?”
He grinned. “Yes, please!”
She beckoned him closer. At seven, he was tall enough to reach the counter with the help of a small stool.
“Here, put both of your hands on either side of the rolling pin, like this.”
She demonstrated, then offered him the pin. He copied her enthusiastically.
Anne and Marya had become fast friends ever since they met at a tense and politically charged dinner party. There were particularly heated arguments that night, atypical of the usual polite and passive-aggressive merchant council. Anne hadn’t known this, of course, it being her first time attending as Naten’s wife. Back then, their relationship had been rather cold. She had been intimidated and overwhelmed.
But at some point during the night, her eyes had met Marya’s, and she had smiled. She seemed to recognize Anne’s fears, and throughout the rest of the night they had exchanged glances when something particularly interesting or scandalous was said. There was something steady and brave in Marya that put her at ease, and for the rest of the night she had to keep herself from smiling too much at her exaggerated expressions.
At the end of the night, as everyone was getting ready to leave, Marya approached her.
“Hello. I’m Marya. What’s your name?”
“Anneliese.” They shook hands. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
She smiled. “Lovely to meet you, too.” She paused, lowering her voice. “And don’t be intimidated—I promise these meetings aren’t always this intense. They usually hide their distaste for each other more effectively.”
Anne had laughed, grateful for Marya’s warmth in a place that was cold and unfamiliar to her. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Marya opened her mouth, hesitated, and then said, “Would you like to come over for tea? Tomorrow afternoon? I’m new to this, too, and I’d be grateful to have a friend.”
“Of course. That sounds wonderful.”
She had meant it, and she’d gone to the Van Eck household every week for tea from that day forward. Or for as long as she could, at least.
“Mama? Why are you sad?”
Anne snapped back to reality, realizing she’d been staring blankly at the wall.
“I’m not, love. Just thinking.”
“Oh. Okay.”
She smiled at her son, ruffling his chestnut hair. He was getting so big. She put the dough into the icebox to chill.
“Would you like to help with the almond paste?”
Finn nodded, and they began gathering the ingredients. Anne realized she hadn’t made these pastries since Marya died, around eight years ago.
Except she’s not dead. She was walking in the park, perfectly healthy and arm in arm with her son, just a week ago.
When Anne had first seen her walking by, she thought she was hallucinating. But the stricken expression on Naten’s face beside her told her it was real.
The whole tragic business with Jan Van Eck and his son had already been just about the only thing anyone talked about since the auction and the esteemed councilman’s public breakdown. It hadn’t surprised Anne at all, shocking as his ravings were.
She had to admit she was even a little glad to see him brought so low. Normally she’d condemn herself for such rotten, unladylike thoughts, but she’d always known there was something seriously wrong with that man and she was glad to finally be vindicated.
Wylan Van Eck had recently taken control of his family’s estate. Anne had thought about him often over the years when Marya was gone; he was seen in public with his father less and less as he got older, and knowing what she knew about Jan Van Eck, it left Anne with an uneasy feeling in her stomach.
Now, he was very visible, and every upper class merchant in Ketterdam had opinions—they wondered how he would adjust, who he would side with, what his values would be, realizing just how little anyone really knew about him.
The last thing anyone expected him to do was bring his mother back from the dead.
Anne and Marya were both very young when they met, and they quickly broke through the layer of learned courtesy befitting ladies of their status. They found they had a lot in common, both coming from wealthy families and growing up in the Kerch countryside, both married off to members of the merchant council after short courtships, thrust into a fast-paced and rigid world where they had few allies. They clung to each other, helped each other through difficult moments. Anne hadn’t had a friend like Marya before, and she loved her like a sister.
Even as the ice between her and Naten began to thaw and she grew to love him, it could be hard being his wife. She often grew tired of only being known in relation to him, and felt she was losing herself in his shadow. She never felt more like herself than when she was with Marya.
They talked about anything and everything; Anne updated her on her grievances and growing affections for Naten, and Marya talked about Jan. They told each other stories from their childhood, Marya talked about her love of art and music, Anne talked about literature. They playfully argued about the best kinds of tea, became well versed in the workings of the merchant council together. They gossiped and laughed. Marya was the first person Anne told when she got pregnant with her first son, Albert, and Anne was the first person she came to when she was having trouble conceiving.
“It’s getting frustrating,” she’d said, curled up on a couch in the parlor with her feet tucked under her, her gorgeous amber curls loose around her shoulders. “The doctor said he can’t find anything wrong, but…I don’t know.”
Anne took her hand. She knew how badly Marya wanted children. Marya smiled at her gratefully. “Jan’s been sweet about it, and he says he doesn’t blame me, but…sometimes I think he’s angry. He gets this look in his eye. I can’t explain it.” She paused, a cloud passing over her features. “It scares me.”
Anne’s stomach dropped. She’d only met Jan Van Eck briefly, in passing, and she didn’t know much about him outside of what Marya had shared. This was the first time she’d alluded to anything out of the ordinary. Anne squeezed her hand, her expression concerned. “Aya…”
Marya’s expression snapped back into a weak smile. “Don’t worry, Anne. It’s probably nothing.”
That was the first thing Anne saw that made her think Jan Van Eck might be more than the polished mercher veneer he put on; it wouldn’t be the last, or the most obvious.
When she and Finn had finished the paste, she put it in the icebox next to the pastry dough. She’d leave both to chill overnight.
“Alright, love,” She said, checking her watch. Almost nine bells already. “It’s past your bedtime.” Finn pouted. Anne smiled and pulled him into a tight hug. “You can help me finish them tomorrow, if you’re good, okay?”
“Okay, mama.”
They went upstairs, and she kissed his cheek before he retired to his room.
“Goodnight, Finn.”
“Night, Mama.”
She started towards her own room, yawning, still thinking of Marya. When she entered, she found her husband in sleep clothes, shirtless, writing a letter at his desk. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his hair. “Nate,” she said.
He recognized her serious tone. He put down his pen and turned to look at her. “Yes?”
She had been thinking about this since she first saw Marya alive a week ago. She had paced and agonized, wondering if she should go to see her. She had missed her so much, but she didn’t want to overwhelm her, and with the threat of plague still hanging over the city…
She couldn’t imagine what Marya had been through over the years she was believed to be dead; Anne’s mind kept going to the darkest places imaginable. And part of her was scared to face Marya again, knowing it was partly her fault.
But today, she had found herself making almond pastries, and the decision was made.
“I’m going over to the Van Ecks’ tomorrow.”
Her expression dared him to challenge her. She didn’t think she really expected him to. Sure, associating with them could get messy, especially with Jan Van Eck’s public downfall and the uncertainty Wylan presented. He was young, and nobody knew much about him, and Nate had a tendency to be painfully rigid and careful and traditional, especially when it came to his work. But he knew how much she loved Marya.
“Okay,” he said. “I wouldn’t dream of keeping you from her. Send her my regards.”
Anne smiled and kissed him. Over the years, he’d become more flexible for her, and she was grateful. She’d never been good at being the perfect daughter, the perfect wife; but he never faulted her for her eccentricity, and she forgave his rigidity. They loved each other, completely.
***
Later, curled up under the covers, Anne couldn’t sleep.
Marya eventually got pregnant and gave birth to Wylan, and things went smoothly for a few years. At least, as far as Anne could tell.
Sometimes she felt like there were things Marya wasn’t telling her. Sometimes, when Anne knocked on their front door, Jan would answer. There was always something behind his eyes that unsettled her, and she started to get the feeling that he didn’t like her, that he didn’t want her near Marya. She couldn’t imagine why, so she brushed it off.
Then things got bad. Marya would frequently confide to her that she and Jan argued, though she was vague about the reasons. She started to seem uncomfortable in Jan’s presence, she flinched when Anne made sudden movements; the implications of that scared her, but Marya laughed it off.
Marya started to keep Wylan close, seeming nervous to let him out of her sight. He’d often sit with them when they had tea, sitting quietly and listening intently to their conversation.
One day, Marya had rolled up her sleeves, revealing bruises on her wrist. It looked like someone had grabbed her. Hard.
“Aya…did Jan do that?”
Marya started, covering her wrist, blushing like she’d been caught in a lie. “No. It’s nothing.”
Anne had looked at her with worried eyes.
“Don’t worry about me, Anne. I’m okay.”
She hadn’t known what to say, so she just pulled Marya into a tight hug. Marya clung to her like a lifeline.
Anne didn’t notice any more bruises after that, but she got the feeling that Marya was just more careful about hiding them.
She worried about her all the time, and even started coming over without warning from time to time in an attempt to protect her. She could tell that Jan hated it, but he was too well mannered to do anything about it.
A million different times, she thought of saying something. But who would she tell? What would she say? Jan was a powerful man, and there was definitely something off about him; she worried what he would do if she said something. To her. To Marya.
After Marya’s disappearance, Anne thought about that day a lot. It ate away at her. Would things be different if she had handled things differently? Had she condemned Marya to whatever she went through when she was gone? She thought of Wylan, who wasn’t much older than Finn when Marya disappeared—left alone with a man who left bruises on his wife.
Sensing her restlessness, Nate pulled her close. She eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.
***
The next day, walking to the Van Eck house, she remembered the last time she had seen Marya.
She had arrived at the front door carrying the same almond pastries. Jan had answered, with something very close to outright hostility in his gaze. She was taken aback.
“Mrs. Boreg,” he said, opening the door for her.
“Mr. Van Eck.”
She passed him as quickly as she could to find Marya. Something in the atmosphere of the house was off—it was unsettling.
Wylan sat with them that day. Marya was nervous and fidgety; she kept Wylan close, like there was something just around the corner she needed to protect him from.
They talked somewhat normally, but Anne could feel a pit of anxiety opening in her stomach. As she was leaving, she finally gathered the courage to ask.
“Aya, are you okay? Do you need help?”
Marya had given her a sad smile. “I’ll be okay, Anne. Please don’t worry about me.”
She always put on a brave face, but Anne could tell she was scared.
They both knew something was seriously wrong, that things were about to change in a big way. They hugged like they were saying goodbye. “I’m handling it,” Marya whispered. “I have a plan.”
Two days later, Marya was sent off to the country to recover from a supposed lung infection. And then she was dead. Anne wasn’t invited to the funeral.
Anne was devastated, and terrified. Marya wasn’t sick. She knew Marya hadn’t been sick.
Somehow she gathered the courage to knock on Jan Van Eck’s door, not even entirely sure what she was going to say to him. He wasted no time; before she could even open her mouth, he spoke.
“I suppose you’re here to offer your condolences.” His voice was quiet, his eyes boring into her like daggers. It was all wrong. All of it. Anne felt frozen to the spot. “I can’t imagine you’d be here to say anything else. It would not be in your best interest,” his voice was dangerous, and something in his gaze made her stomach drop. He shut the door in her face.
She stood there, probably for too long, trying to process what was happening. Marya, beautiful, lively, wonderful Marya, was dead. And she was starting to suspect that her husband was somehow involved.
She went home.
What else could she do? She couldn’t accuse Jan Van Eck of murdering his wife. She had no proof, and she was afraid of what he’d do if she spoke up. So she was silent. And her silence ate away at her, slowly, for eight years.
She found herself standing at the front door of the Van Eck house once again. She hesitated, and knocked. She half expected Jan to appear in the doorway, his cold, ice chip eyes warning her to stay away. She shuddered, wondering what had happened to Marya for the thousandth time in the past week. Would she be different? Would she even want to see Anne?
A slender boy with copper curls that looked uncannily like his mother’s pushed the door open. He looked younger than she knew he was, but his eyes seemed a lot older; he had his father’s eyes, but his were warm and kind where Jan’s were hostile. He looked exhausted.
She had so many questions, none of which she could ask. What had happened between him and his father? How did he get involved with Kaz Brekker? How did he find out what happened to Marya? She remembered the boy he had been; small, quiet, wide eyed and curious. He was still so young—it couldn’t be easy, taking over his father’s empire at sixteen, and after everything that had happened…
Something like recognition flashed on his face; she guessed he was trying to figure out where he knew her from.
“Hello. How can I help you?”
“Wylan? I’m Anneliese. Do you remember me?”
He looked at her blankly.
“I was a good friend of your mother’s.”
He cocked his head to the side and something seemed to click into place. “Oh! Mrs. Boreg. You had tea with her every week. You brought pastries.”
She smiled at him. “Yes, that's me.” Her smile slipped to the side. “Can I see her?”
He nodded, slowly at first, watching her like he was still processing her presence on his doorstep. “Yeah. Yeah! Come in, Mrs. Boreg.”
“You can call me Anne,” she said, smiling at his bemused politeness. She followed him into a room with a large dining table and big, open windows. The first thing she noticed was a huge hole in the ceiling, and the second made her heart stutter; Marya, sitting with an easel in the garden, her thoughtful gaze fixed on the horizon.
Anne felt tears pushing at her throat. Until now, she’d known Marya was alive, but it hadn’t sunk in completely. Part of her expected to barely recognize her after all this time, but there she was, her posture perfect, her graceful hands beautifully capturing the world around her; she was the same woman Anne had known and missed dearly.
And then she turned, and their eyes met; Anne could see that some things had changed.
Marya’s still beautiful face was lined, and her hair was shot through with gray. Her hazel eyes were still bright and perceptive, the way they’d always been, but they’d lost some of their liveliness—they were unfocused, guarded, like she’d been buried deep in her own skin.
What did he do to you?
Marya stared at her for a moment, and then stood and walked towards the house, her spine straight, still elegant after everything. Her expression was unreadable.
Anne remembered how she’d play the piano like there was nothing she’d rather be doing, how her eyes would sparkle when she told a joke, how unbelievably bright she was. Now she just looked tired. Beaten down. Anne hated it.
Marya stood before her, and for a moment Anne was sure that she didn’t recognize her. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes.
Something sparked in Marya’s clear hazel eyes, and they briefly regained their former light.
“Anne?”
Relief flooded through her, and she couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Aya,” she sobbed.
And then they were holding each other; tightly, almost desperately, Anne weeping quietly into her shoulder. She cried, releasing eight years of guilt and what ifs, not realizing until this moment how much it had all weighed on her.
“I’m so sorry, Aya.”
Marya pulled back, taking Anne’s face in her hands and gently dabbing her tears away. “Why are you sorry?” It was so strange to hear her voice again.
“I’ve missed you so much.”
“I missed you too.” Then her face fell, and she suddenly looked confused—maybe even a little scared. “Wylan?” she said, turning to her son, one hand still on Anne’s cheek.
“Yes, mama?”
“Is she real? Is she really here?”
Wylan smiled at her, a little sadly. “Yeah, she’s here. Don’t worry.”
Marya nodded, looking relieved. Her gaze wandered to the basket of pastries Anne had brought, and her hand dropped from Anne’s cheek. “Are those…”
“Almond pastries.”
Marya grinned, and she looked, momentarily, like nothing had changed. Like eight years hadn’t passed and she was laughing with Anne in the parlor over tea. She picked one up and took a bite, sighing softly.
Anne was still worried for her, and she’d clearly been through a lot, but Anne felt lighter than she had in a long, long time. Marya was still the same woman she loved so much, and Anne had her friend back.
She was wrenched from her thoughts by a voice she didn’t recognize.
“Merchling, I found the—” A tall, lanky boy with deep Zemeni skin burst into the room in a whirlwind of energy. He cut himself off when he saw Anne. “Oh, hello. Who are you?”
Anne smiled at him, bewildered and amused at the easy, casual way he had about him. “I’m Anne. Who are you?” She said, mimicking his cadence. Wylan was staring at him in disbelief. The boy didn’t seem to pick up on either of these things.
“Jesper. Did you bring pastries?”
“Yes I did. Would you like one?”
“Yeah!” Jesper picked one up and took a bite. “This is delicious,” he said, his mouth still full. Anne couldn’t help but laugh.
“Ghezen’s hand, Jesper.” Wylan said, exasperated.
“What did I do?”
Wylan rolled his eyes and grabbed Jesper’s arm, nearly dragging him from the room. “I’ll let you catch up,” he said, and then more quietly, “I really need to give you some etiquette lessons.”
“Like…teaching me which fork to use at dinner?” Jesper said, his mouth still full of pastry.
“Yeah. And how to chew with your mouth closed. And how to be polite.”
“I’m very polite.”
Wylan scoffed, and then they were out of earshot.
Anne and Marya rang for tea and sat down at the large dining room table. Anne looked curiously at the hole in the ceiling. “How did that happen?”
Marya looked up, still chewing on a pastry, that vague quality back in her gaze. “I’m not really sure.” She closed her eyes. “These are delicious, Anne.”
Anne smiled. “Thank you. I know they were always your favorite.”
Marya nodded, her eyes still closed. “He’s gotten so big, hasn’t he?” She said abruptly.
“Wylan? Yes. He has.”
“I wish I got to watch.” Her expression was troubled. Anne reached out and took her hand, squeezing gently.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
Marya opened her eyes. She squeezed back.
“Aya…” Anne hesitated. “What happened?” She’d never forgotten the last thing Marya said to her. I have a plan.
There was a long pause before Marya spoke. “He hit Wylan.”
Anne’s heart stuttered. “Jan did?”
She nodded, and there was anger in her face. “I decided I wouldn’t take it anymore. I was going to leave.”
Anne put the rest together for herself. Jan must have found out. She felt a rush of hatred so strong it almost scared her.
They were silent for a long moment. “How’s Albert? And Sophie?” Marya asked. Her questions seemed erratic, out of place, like she was working with only fragments of thought all mixed together.
“They’re good. Albert’s going to university.” Anne paused. “I’ve had another son. Since you’ve been…gone. His name is Finn.”
Marya nodded, a small, sad smile on her lips. “I’d love to meet him.”
They talked like that for hours. Marya spoke infrequently, mostly listening. Anne filled her in on everything that had happened when she was gone, and brought up old, happy memories. At some moments, when Marya smiled, when she laughed, it almost felt like no time had passed at all; at others, it was like she was barely there, her eyes cloudy and unfocused. Anne wanted to find Jan Van Eck, in hellgate or wherever he was, and pummel him.
At some point Wylan came back, watching them and listening, eerily similar to the way he used to.
Anne had lost track of time. “Oh, Ghezen! I’m supposed to be back now. Sophie needed my help with some assignment her tutor gave.” She stood. She didn’t want to leave. Some part of her almost felt that if she let Marya out of her sight, she’d disappear again.
They embraced like sisters.
“Will you come back?” Marya asked. “Next week?”
“Of course.” Anne kissed her cheek. “I wouldn’t dream of staying away. But I really do have to go for now.”
Marya nodded, a small smile on her lips.
“I’ll walk you out,” Wylan said. She’d almost forgotten he was there.
“Thank you.”
Marya watched them go.
At the door, Anne hesitated. “Can I ask…”She hesitated. “What happened?”
Wylan sighed, his expression troubled. “I thought she was dead until a few weeks ago. We found her in an asylum near Olendaal. My father had her committed. For hysteria, and persecution disorder.”
Anne pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. “That bastard.”
“I don’t know what they did to her, but she hasn’t been the same since.” He paused. “Today she was the most…present, I guess you could say, that I’ve seen her. You did that.”
She nodded, watching him. She could tell how much all of this was weighing on him. She wondered what it had been like, all those years Marya was gone. He hit Wylan.
She couldn’t imagine that it had gotten any better once Marya was no longer in the way.
Anne laid a hand on his shoulder. “If you ever need anything, Wylan, I’m right down the street, okay?”
He gave her a small smile, and she could tell he was grateful. “Thank you, Mrs. Boreg.”
“Anne.”
“Sorry. Anne.”
She left the house feeling lighter than she had in years. She could tell there was a long road ahead for Marya, but she was glad to have her back.
She went to the Van Eck household every week for tea from that day forward.