Penwick

Brynwell in February sat under a pale sky that seemed determined to remain undecided between snow and rain (which made for a turbulent balloon ride from Wyrdlan). June had made a few trips to the city since starting Penwick. She had come to explore their bookstores, pick up a decoration or two for her dorm room, and once, memorably, for a disastrous attempt at shopping alone that resulted in her purchasing a hat she never wore again. Today, however, she was there on invitation.

Her father met her near the entrance to Aurell Row, scarf wrapped carefully, wearing two different black gloves that he likely hadn't noticed weren't from the same pair.

“You look freezing,” June observed.

“I am invigorated,” Phinehas corrected with a wink as the pair headed to the Larksmoor Theatre. Phinehas had been invited to a rehearsal of Drainmuss and Death, and was told June was welcome to attend as well. It was nice seeing her father more often, she thought.

Inside the grand theatre, lamps glowed overhead, and the stage was alive with motion. Set pieces that were half-built were propped against the wall, packets of scripts plopped on the ground, actors drifted across the stage with scripts open, some barefoot, some in thick socks against the cold boards.

“Don’t mind us,” Phinehas called gently.

Several members of the company waved in acknowledgment. June recognized faces from the New Year's bonfire, but names had faded. She slid into a velvet seat midway down the house, smoothing her coat beneath her as she crossed her legs.

Onstage, an actress stood near center stage, script closed but held loosely in one hand as she listened to a short, wiry elderly man speak. "That's Nicolas, the director," Phinehas whispered, gesturing to the old man, "and you might remember Liora? She's the one playing Isolde."

June nodded, not particularly interested in the names of each individual involved in the production.

The director clapped loudly, a heavy Spanish accent permeating his speech. "Right! Running through that last scene again, this time with the costume change, yes?"

June watched, almost wondering if she was spoiling the experience of opening night by being here. It was interesting to see, but without the polish of a finished product, would it taint her opinions? Beside her, Phinehas leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on his knees, gaze fixed in attention.

He murmured something inaudible under his breath halfway through the scene, and his foot tapped the way it always did when he had something to say.

When Nicolas called for a reset, Phinehas waved at Liora. She smiled, quickly hopping off the stage and making her way down to the pair.

“Try it as if you’ve already forgiven him,” he suggested, voice steady but animated. “You won’t tell him that, of course, but the audience should sense it.”

It was like June didn't even exist.

Liora considered this, chin tipped down, brow faintly furrowed. “So the power shifts quietly,” she said. “Before he realizes it has.”

“Yes, exactly."

A moment passed. June cleared her throat and stood.

"It's nice to see you again, Liora."

“June,” she said warmly, as though this were not the second time they had ever spoken. “Have we frightened you off yet?”

“I’m not easily frightened,” June replied smoothly.

“Rehearsals can be brutal,” Liora said. “We devour each other for sport.”

“Only on Tuesdays,” Phinehas added.

The adults laughed. June didn't see what was particularly funny.

As the rehearsal progressed, as Liora delivered the line June had once spoken at seven years old, softly, thoughtfully, transformed through adult understanding, Phinehas did not glance toward June for confirmation. He was firmly fixed on the performance.

June folded her hands more tightly in her lap, expression composed, eyes steady. She pretended not to notice.

But she noticed everything.