Page 4

“I’m proud of you, my love,” he said, turning to me, the intensity of his words palpable. “I’mhappyfor you. I’m mad at myself.” He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to worry you, and instead I made it all worse. But...”

“Why are you mad at yourself?”

“Because I’m selfish, Ned.” He laughed bitterly. “I want to keep you with me always. But I know I have to let you go.” He glanced back at the book cart, heavy and dusty, the wooden shelves unable to fully protect the texts from the dirt road. “You think I want this for you? You think I want you to marry a farmer or a butcher or a fisherman, that I want you to always wonder if you’ll have enough to feed your own babes?”

“You always took care of Nessie and me—” I started, but he was having none of my words.

“I got this cart from my father, and he from his.”

“I can still work with you on the book cart when I come back,” I said quickly.

“No!” The words burst from him. “I don’t want you to. That’s my point, love. You can leave.”

I watched the red-and-yellow-striped leaves Jojo hadn’t eaten yet. “I’m not going to be gone forever.” My voice was barely a whisper.

“I hope you are,” Papa said, a fervent tone underlying his voice. I looked up at him, startled. “Or,” he added, a small smile peeking from behind his mustache, “not forever. But Neddie, my love, your path has always been longer than this little road. You’re meant for the city streets, for ships across the sea, for places where there are no roads. I don’t want you to take my book cart. Maybe whoever Nessie marries will, but it won’t be you. I’d never fold you up into books sold to strangers. You’re going to live your own story.”

Tears stung my eyes. “I thought—”

“Who do you think wrote the Emperor?” Papa said, and I heard the note of pride in his voice.

“You wrote the Emperor?” I laughed.

“Him, the governor before he died, the new governor after, that headmistress of the school, the chancellor of the city—”

“How many letters did you send?”

“When they rejected you that first time, I was a bit angry,” Papa conceded. “I wrote everyone I could think of. I guess someone eventually noticed.”

“Papa.”

“Aye, I’ve been upset,” Papa said, switching the reins across Jojo’s side and getting her back on the road. “But not at you. I don’t like being reminded that you’re not my little girl anymore.”

I dropped my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. “I always will be,” I promised.

TWO

Nedra

It was gettinglate by the time we reached the dock at Hart. Papa waved to someone on a flatbed cargo boat as Jojo plodded down the path. Two people—a girl about my age and a boy probably a few years older but quite a bit larger—were lifting crates onto the boat. They stopped and waved back when they saw us coming.

“You’ve heard me talk about Oslow and Mae,” Papa said, his eyes on Jojo. “Their kids took over the farm. Carso—the oldest one—he makes weekly runs to Northface Harbor. He agreed to take you over.”

I tried to recall them. Papa traveled every week across the northern part of Lunar Island—from the tip to the forest—and he knew someone from every village, but it was hard to keep up when all I ever heard were stories about strangers.

“Room for her trunk right here!” the boy said cheerily as he and my father hauled my belongings off the cart, and I hopped down.

The girl stuck her hand out. “I’m Dilada.” I noticed the dirt making crescent moons under her fingernails. She pointed to her brother. “Carso.”

“Hi. I’m Nedra,” I replied.

Papa and Carso wedged my trunk between two crates of turnips, clumpy red clay still clinging to the purple skins. Carso put a basket of carrots on top of it.

And then it was time to go. Papa looked at me, his eyes a little too watery, his hands on his hips until I threw my arms tightly aroundhim. He dropped his chin to the top of my head. “Write us,” he said, his voice a little choked. “And don’t forget about us.”

I squeezed tighter.

Dilada and Carso climbed into the boat. They weren’t rushing us exactly, but it was time to go.