Page 127 of Ulune's Daughter

Kellan nods, looking around. “We’re a little early. Professor Dybo probably won’t be here for another hour. Want to explore a little?”

“Sure. Where is here?”

“You tell me. Before we reach the castle, tell me where we are.”

I grin at the challenge. “Okay.”

She offers me her hand again. “We’ll attract less attention if we look like a couple of tourists. I’m not particularly worried about safety. Only Professor Dybo knows we’re coming, and I don’t see any reason she’d tell anyone. I can’t imagine either of us will be recognized, but you are who you are and neither your parents nor the college would be happy if you were kidnapped during a field trip.”

I frown at her. “I am who I am—who do you think I am?”

“A prince of the Cait. I know you keep a low profile at Bevington, but having met your older brother and your parents, I have a better idea of who you are.”

I scoff. “I’m no one important. My father’s important. My brother’s becoming important. I’m just a college student.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Kellan says gently, unzipping her jacket to reveal a charcoal-gray tee beneath. “One of my very good friends is married to a prince of Thistlemist. I’ve seen the pressures piled on princes of Faery, even ones far from the throne. She’s dragged him all over the world. He’s handled it ... well, mostly gracefully. He wasn’t very happy with the outside toilets at the place we stayed in Madhya Pradesh.” She grins. “If we stay overnight, I promise to find somewhere with indoor plumbing.”

I laugh. “Okay. I promise you, though, I’m not important. No one calls me a prince. No one other than my parents gives a shit what I do.”

Kellan shrugs. “Speaking of your parents and your older brother, is there anything we need to talk about?”

“Uh, I don’t think so.” I should have anticipated that question. Kellan’s so forthright; she wouldn’t dodge a potentially uncomfortable subject. “This isn’t a consolation trip, is it? Before you fire me as your TA?”

She smiles. “No. I anticipate you’ll outgrow me in a year or two and want to do your own research, but as long as you’re happy to work with me, I’m going to keep exploiting your linguistic talents for my own nefarious ends.”

That draws a chuckle out of me. There’s nothing nefarious about Kellan. Not even after meeting her slightly sinister older “sister.” I notice she doesn’t offer to explain that meeting. Maybe she’s still processing it. Or maybe she doesn’t think I deserve an explanation. I hope that’s not the reason.

“Happy to be exploited. Seriously, I’ve learned so much from the work we’ve been doing. It’s more than anything I imagined when I stalked you into hiring me. And this—” I look around the woodland. Still no clue where we are, but it’s somewhere new, somewhere exciting. “This is great. This is just what I hoped for. Being out in the field. Doing the research instead of just reading about it.” I squeeze her hand. “Thank you for bringing me.”

“You’re welcome.” She squeezes back. “Let’s go.”

She leads me through the woodland, away from the huge chestnut. My internal compass and the position of the sun tell me we’re walking east. The sun’s lower over my shoulder than it was when we left Massachusetts.

“Are we in Europe?” I ask, beginning to piece together clues like the thick, deciduous forest, the warmth, and the position of the sun.

“We are,” Kellan says. “Guess what country?”

I shake my head. The temperature in November tells me it’s southern Europe rather than northern Europe. I’ve traveled to Spain, Monaco, Italy, Greece, Albania, and Bulgaria with my parents and cousins, but mostly to the big human cities that also host large communities of Cait.

“Breathe deep,” she says, drawing the index finger of her free hand in a circle. A breeze, cool and fragrant, with the slightest citrus edge, brushes my cheeks. Behind the citrus, a salt tang. That’s the ocean, somewhere close.

“I smell ... lemons? And the ocean. Definitely the ocean. Fish, seaweed, and brine.”

“Very good. It took me a while to catch the lemons when I first came here. All large bodies of water have a distinctive scent to an Air-mage. The most distinctive is the Sargasso Sea. I can smell sargassum most strongly in Bermuda, but with certain winds, I can catch it up and down the east coast of the Americas. The Med smells older to me, calcified, full of broken shell and stone. Take it in to catch the richness of fish oil, the piney depth of pitch, the warmth of rosemary, the old honey of amber, and always, always, that citrus edge.”

“Italy,” I guess. “Southern Italy.”

“That’s an A. Spain always smells more of olives to me, while Greece has a very faint bergamot and white jasmine scent. If you smell lemons, I almost guarantee you’re somewhere in southern Italy.”

“I’ve only ever been to Rome,” I admit.

“Welcome to the toe of the boot. We’re in Scilla, on the Straits of Messina.”

Fucking cool.

Chapter39

Circumvolution

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