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  Trigger Warning: Depiction of a premature birth.

  Two weeks passed in the blink of an eye, and while I only continued to grow more excited about my life in Fevara and bringing luck magic to others, my companion was beginning to lose steam.

  We’d exhausted yet another lead and were taking a break at a cafe, having lunch.

  Juno rested a cheek against her palm and picked at her steak while I devoured the sad I’d ordered full of nuts, greens, shredded onions, carrots, and a surprisingly sour dressing I went through two small bottles of.

  I never thought I’d be happy as a vegetarian, I thought. But here we are.

  “Do you want the st piece of bread, Juno?” I asked, pointing to a basket with red cloth over the top.

  She continued to poke at her food without answering.

  “Juno?”

  The messenger looked up startled.

  “I’m sorry. What were you saying, Tilda?”

  People continued to eat lunch on the patio around us. It was an unseasonably warm day. The cold wind that had pelted the city for the st week seemed to need a breather.

  A pack of feral children ran by on the street, heading for a candy store around the corner. One was leading the group screaming about chocote.

  Same, kid. I thought. Same.

  “I asked if you wanted the st piece of bread,” I said.

  A brief smile returned to her face, and she motioned for me to go ahead and snatch it. So, I did, with no hesitation. My bashfulness had receded considerably in the st two weeks.

  The bread wasn’t warm anymore, but my bunny belly enjoyed it all the same.

  I scratched some fur on the back of my neck and looked at Juno again. Now she was staring at the kids running for the candy store. A blue sign above the door read “Andy’s Candies.”

  Good luck, Andy, I thought.

  There must have been 10 kids in the group, all excitedly holding coins and shouting about what they wanted to buy.

  Juno sighed as the st child vanished into Andy’s Candies. I spotted a flurry of activity through the front bay window as they formed a line in front of the register, all neat and orderly. Apparently, the shop owner had them well-trained.

  As I came dangerously close to finishing my Eine-approved big sad, I watched as my companion had yet to take her eyes off the candy store. Something about her posture and stare led me to believe Juno was having a moment. And it didn’t look like a fun moment.

  I knew she was getting frustrated with a ck of progress on finding the missing princess, but what if her current feelings ran deeper than that? This stare, full of ment and slow, forlorn blinking, couldn’t have been caused simply by work.

  A couple of rainbow pigeons flew down onto the sidewalk. They must have been perched on the candy store roof. I found some crumbs in the bread basket, so I tossed them over to the birds. They excitedly cooed and pecked at the cobblestone. Above them, clouds raced by on a breeze and briefly hid the sun.

  It was this moment when my brain chose to remind me that Juno hated remaining in one pce for long. Staying on the move was how she kept the darker thoughts at bay, outrunning them. And this job had kept us in Kylson for days longer than she expected.

  What if those darker thoughts had caught up to her and were currently swarming her brain?

  Taking a deep breath, I slowly reached my hand across the table and poked Juno’s fingers. She quickly flipped her hand over and took my fingers into her grasp. My heart was just a pitter-pattering as fast as it could. I’d gotten a little better at not flinching when Juno’s fingers found me these st couple weeks. But there was probably always going to be a part of me that I was slowly coming to recognize as gay panic.

  That’s the proper term, isn’t it? I thought, trying to keep my expression neutral. I mean. . . if I’m a girl with a crush on another girl, that makes me gay, right?

  Despite my hopes after leaving the milk bar, my little feelings for Juno had not simply faded like mist into the afternoon sun. They’d managed to stick around and maybe even swell to three or four times their original size.

  I couldn’t help it. Show a girl deprived of affection her whole life even a shred of feminine decency, and I’d worship at that woman’s altar for years to come, despite being a goddess.

  Maybe it was the way I was constantly (literally) looking up to Juno when we weren’t sitting down. Or perhaps it was the way the sunlight would hit her silver hair and find ways to spin off into rays of orange and yellow.

  I adored the way Juno was always organized and seemed allergic to letting her long hair out of that low ponytail behind her. And her sea-gray eyes that reminded me of vivid ocean memories from a childhood trip to Galveston? I could swim in them all day. Fuck, I was hopeless. I could have sworn gay girls had a term for that, too. But I regretfully never got to spend enough time in their communities back on Earth to find out what it was.

  Juno was dressed in her usual white button-down shirt and gray vest today. I was wearing a new blue sundress that Bel had recently altered for me.

  Well, of course I’m having a better time than Juno is, I thought. I’m getting to explore the city making deliveries, going shopping, and eating at cute little cafes. And she’s trying to find a sliver of hay in a needlestack.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked.

  Juno seemed taken aback by this question.

  “Oh, uh. . . just the search and some stuff.”

  I nodded.

  While I couldn’t ask her about the “some stuff,” I could go over the search with her. And maybe I’d jog a helpful idea or two in the process.

  “Okay, then. Why don’t we go over what we’ve learned so far in the st two weeks? Maybe looking back at old clues with fresh eyes will lead to a new path for us,” I suggested.

  Juno fshed me a tired smile.

  “Yeah, it couldn’t hurt,” she said. “We know that the missing princess is Amaz Munjiah. She’s 16 and the younger sister of Queen Toreen Munjiah who rules the nation of Ageera to the north. Amaz has been spotted twice in Kylson, once by a diplomat from Ageera and once by Gyn. And since then, she’s evaded all attempts to find her. We don’t know why she’s hiding in this city, but we know she’s used the alias of Dorahn Emyrz.”

  I picked up the thread from there.

  “Using guild records, you were able to find two parcels delivered to a Dorahn Emyrz, both small letters paid for by patrons who used the name Ys Applegate, which is a popur pseudonym for customers who wish to send their letters anonymously through the organization.”

  After finally taking a bite of her steak while I talked and then a nibble of asparagus, Juno resumed the discussion of clues.

  “Both parcels addressed to Dorahn Emyrz were delivered to a boarding house called Sunview Terrace, and the nddy said she no longer had any tenants there under that name. So we’ve been inquiring at other boarding houses in Kylson and coming up empty.”

  Those kids ran back by our table, bags of little chocote spheres, iced croissants, cupcakes, and more. Gods, their hands were going to be sticky with sugar for the rest of the day.

  But as they ran by screaming and ughing, Juno’s eyes were drawn to them again, in particur, to one of the boys in the back who appeared to be six or seven. His head was covered in thick blond wavy hair. And the boy’s brown eyes were the size of dinner ptes as he unwrapped a giant sucker that was half cherry and half blueberry.

  “That’s what he’d look like now,” Juno whispered.

  “What?” I asked.

  But my companion didn’t answer me. She was tearing up, the edges of her eyes growing a bit misty.

  “Hey, are you okay?” I asked, reversing our hand positions and squeezing her fingers gently.

  The messenger didn’t answer me for a moment. She just looked at the ground after the kids ran by.

  I froze, unsure of what to do or say. I’d never seen Juno like this.

  The messenger used her free hand to wipe the edges of her eyes.

  “Sorry, Tilda. I think I’m just tired and frustrated over the ck of progress on this search.”

  Shaking my head, I grabbed her fingers with both hands now and lightly squeezed.

  “Hey, we’ve made progress, okay? No, really. Gyn herself confessed she hadn’t been able to unearth that alias. I know it’s slow, but we’re getting somewhere.”

  When Juno didn’t respond, I looked at the checkered tablecloth for a moment. My companion finished her meal, or what she wanted of it, and slid the pte to the center of the table.

  After I paid for lunch, we left the cafe, and an idea sprung into my mind.

  “Hey, why don’t we take the rest of the day off from the search?” I asked.

  Juno’s eyes widened.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because we’re clearly at a dead end and need to step away for a bit, come back to it tomorrow with fresh eyes. Maybe a little rest and fun will help the creative juices flow, and inspiration will strike,” I said.

  She raised an eyebrow at me.

  “I’m serious! Look, I overheard one of the messengers at headquarters this morning talking about a boardwalk that juts out into the river. There’s, like, games and stuff there. It’s called Luck Isnd. I think, as your Luck Bunny, it’s only fitting that I take you there. . . right now. . . if you want, I mean.”

  Juno crossed her arms and looked me up and down.

  “Tilda, dare I say you’re starting to sound a little more confident. It’s extra cute,” she said, trying and failing to hide a smirk.

  I felt my face warming, and I coughed, kicking a small stone down the sidewalk, giving my giant fuzzy feet something to do.

  “Well, it’s just a suggestion. If you don’t want to —” I started before she interrupted me.

  “Oh, I want to.”

  My heart may have skipped a beat at those words.

  “G — great,” I stammered. “Let’s get going.”

  But in the end, it was Juno who hooked her arm into mine and led the way north toward the river.

  ***

  Luck Isnd was a little smaller than expected, with a small pier hovering about 12 feet above the river. But with the warmer day, it was a refreshing experience.

  I’d learned on the way this particur stream of water was called the Kylsa River. And damn did it stretch far across, to the point I almost couldn’t see the other side.

  North of the pier, a rge quarry sat where sand was taken for gsswork. I marveled at the long stretch of beaches filled with red and gold sand. I’d never seen them in that color before. With the midday sun hitting the beach, it looked like the shoreline was on fire.

  Fishing boats floated nearby, both recreational and commercial. I watched one crew pulling in a small net of fish from the water below with a team of four men and two women.

  In the opposite direction of the quarry, a long stretch of log buildings with rge chimneys puffing out gray smoke lined the beach. Signs for different commercial gssworks were nailed in the sand outside, and the logs had been painted bright colors, some blue, some yellow, and a few red. The one closest to the pier had a sign that said “The Morning Window Company.” Its logo was a simple window with sunlight shining through.

  Different-colored nterns hung under all the signs I could see. Though none were lit at the moment.

  Beyond the gssworkers, I spotted the Kylson Port with three long docks stretching out into deeper water where the bay had obviously been dredged. A rge ship with white sails and several crates on the deck slowly lined up with a dock in the distance. It looked like a small army of workers on the docks were ready to unload the ship.

  “Well, what do you want to try first, Luck Bunny?” Juno whispered.

  My rge ears twitched in her direction. I looked back over at the different tents and stands that were set up with challenges.

  All around me, people were ughing, handing over coins, aiming carefully, swinging with all their might, and so much more. A flurry of activity roared around us, and I found excitement in my bones that I hadn’t felt since I was a kid at the county fair.

  “That one!” I shouted, pointing at a green tent with little sailboats swimming around an enchanted cauldron with a small current pulling the watercraft in circles.

  A man in a sailor’s uniform complete with shoulder pads and a thin white cape grinned excitedly when we approached. His poofy orange hair and freckles gave him a softer look.

  “Evening, dies!” he said, waving an arm over the cauldron.

  I beamed, still not quite over the euphoria of being included in groups with “dies” yet. Juno and I waved, looking up at the prizes hanging from fishing nets up above us in the tent canopy.

  “Welcome to Squidhunter,” he said. “Some of these boats have a dangerous purple squid attached to the bottom, just waiting for some fool it can pull overboard and devour. Find a purple squid within three chances, and you walk away with a whizzcloak.”

  Again, our eyes wandered up to the cloaks at the top of the tent. They looked like regur brown and bck cloaks except for some white sigils sewn into the bottom.

  “What’s a whizzcloak do?” I asked.

  The man pulled one down and slipped it over his shoulders.

  “Observe,” he said, holding up his hands and shouting, “Whirling Whizzler Whistles!”

  Upon his magical command, the cloak flew up around him like a parachute and unched a series of bright sparkling lights like fireworks that lit up the entire tent.

  My eyes widened at all the colors present in the light show. Blues, indigos, reds, greens, and more dazzled my attention span for a solid 20 seconds before fading away. The cloak sank back down to the ground.

  “It’s the perfect trick for a grand showstopper moment when you need everyone’s attention around you! It can be used once per hour, up to four times a day. Dazzle all those around you,” he said.

  Suddenly, I wanted one.

  I was a kid back at the Washington County Fair, a tiny roller coaster bringing screams from my cssmates behind me as I tried to find the right rubber ducky to pull from the game pond. I never did win anything but candy. Certainly no big prizes. One stall had a cool leather jacket I wanted. You had to pop 10 balloons in a row with 11 darts. I spent all my allowance trying to win, and Mom yelled at me for not using the money on rides instead.

  Nine balloons, I thought. That’s the closest I ever got.

  Tonight, I wouldn’t be denied. I was a goddess, and this. . . THIS was my second chance at winning that leather coat with a giant dragon painted on the back, breathing fire. The leather coat with the belt that went around your tummy. The leather coat with pockets on the inside and outside. The leather coat that was going to fix my gender issues once and for all, the ones I didn’t even know I had.

  “I’m winning that whizzcloak,” I growled.

  “That’s the spirit!”

  After I paid the man, he flipped over a small hourgss filled with golden sand on top of a nearby pickle barrel and said, “You have three chances or until this timer runs out to find a squid. Good luck!”

  I was a Luck Bunny, literally born of the stuff. There was nothing that would stop me tonight.

  Trying to peer into the caldron gave me no clues. The water had a silvery sheen to it. Next, I looked at all the toy sailboats. They were identical in every way, all 20 of them. Two sails. One sailor at the wheel. A carved anchor on the side.

  Damn, I thought, realizing my time was half gone.

  Grabbing one boat at random, I found it to be ordinary. No squid on the bottom. Behind me, Juno patted my shoulder.

  “Come on, Tilda! Two more tries. You can do this.”

  And I could! This was going to happen. I’d make it happen.

  Grabbing a second sailboat, I was bummed to find a ck of Squidward on the bottom.

  Shit! I thought. Am I a Luck Bunny or not?

  Wait. I was a literal goddess. My power could solve such a tiny problem in no time. And all at once, I felt a wave of magic push outward from my body. Each sailboat crawled to a near-frozen speed as time bent to my whims, providing me with an opportunity to see and manipute luck.

  The attendant’s body was wrapped with red and green strings, as was Juno’s. Game noises around me became distorted and otherworldly. Nearby people were nearly frozen in pce.

  I’d been using my power as Opha had instructed, to spread luck to those in my path over the st two weeks. I helped a lost child find her parents again. I made sure a couple about to lose their home came into some instant earnings to save their family house. I even brought luck to a three-legged puppy abandoned in an alley, ensuring it found a loving, but lonely grandmother who adopted the poor thing.

  Each time I’d done it, I wound up feeling tired, but. . . fulfilled. A warmth soared through my chest, and as crazy as it sounded, I felt like I was achieving my grand purpose, one lucky act at a time.

  The noise in my head had already quieted considerably when I realized I’d become a soft girl. But the st two percent of that mental noise? That vanished entirely when I brought good luck to people.

  It was the same feeling I got bringing a child an expected birthday gift in the mail, knowing they were waiting for me beside the mailbox, hoping and wishing that present from their uncle arrived. And you know the uncle. That one who bought their nephew something entirely too dangerous for them to have, but their parents couldn’t take it away because the kid was too excited about it.

  That was what I loved about being a mailman. Most days I felt like Jerry working Newman’s route, happily bringing people letters on a Sunday.

  Here and now, looking down at those toy sailboats floating in the cauldron, I didn’t exactly feel great. Opha wouldn’t stop me from using my power like this. She’d given it to me with trust that I’d use it in the right circumstances.

  Annoyance crept into my heart, and I ground my teeth as I stared up at those cloaks hanging from the ceiling.

  I could cheat. But I wouldn’t. I wanted to earn that damn cloak with my own two paws. No magic!

  With a deep breath, I felt time return to normal, and I flubbed my final guess. Because of course I did. But no matter! I could just pay the man and try a second round.

  I flubbed my second and third rounds as well, to the point that I started staring up at the attendant with an eyebrow raised.

  “The squid is in there. I assure you, miss,” he said.

  With a huff, I pyed a fourth round and a fifth round. Juno would dramatically hold her breath before every guess. And when the boat I lifted came sans cephalopod, she’d shake her fist to the sky and cry how unfair the gods were being, as though a personal crime had been committed against her family.

  Soon enough, I began to care less about the cloak and more about making Juno ugh. I started making little voices for the sailors who were hoping and praying their boat didn’t have the squid.

  “Please!” I said in a cartoony voice while holding up one of the boats. “I have three cats at home. Don’t let the squid target me! My cats desperately need me to return safely and feed them.”

  I introduced Juno to the Jaws theme, even though this wasn’t about sharks. She ughed all the harder.

  Before long, kids had gathered around to watch the show I was putting on. I invented a captain persona for myself, adopting the name Seahawk, searching for my nemesis, the purple squid!

  “Call me Ishmael,” I rasped.

  “I thought you were Captain Seahawk,” one of the kids watching said.

  “Call me Captain Ishmael Seahawk,” I grunted.

  The kid crossed their arms. They couldn’t have been older than three or four.

  “No way, dy! That name is way too long. I’m gonna call you Captain BunBun,” he said with all the certainty of someone defending their doctoral thesis.

  I must have pyed that game for the better part of an hour without finding the squid. Shrugging and finally out of coins I’d brought, I stood up, popping my back in several pces.

  The attendant looked sympathetic until several children immediately formed a line to py the game after me. Then he forgot about me entirely.

  Taking one st look at that cloak, I snorted. Juno was still giggling, and I shrugged. Maybe that was a better prize, just getting to make my companion ugh.

  We pyed a few other games and strolled around the boardwalk. It didn’t take long to cover it all. Luck Isnd wasn’t all that big. I’d been inside a Bave and Duster’s down in Tulsa that was bigger.

  While waiting in line to try something called “sweet moss,” Juno was quizzing me about Moby Dick after I’d told her about my Ishmael joke.

  “So. . . the story is about a guy trying to kill a white whale?”

  “More or less,” I said, trying to remember AP Literature in high school.

  “Does he ever kill the whale?” she asked.

  We shuffled closer in line to the food tent.

  “Well, that’s not the real point of the story,” I said.

  “What is the point?” Juno asked, cocking her head to the side. I struggled to remember some of the deeper themes we discussed and came up bnk.

  “Um. . . something about being mad about the ocean. It was a really complicated metaphor,” I said.

  The sweet moss turned out to be some kind of grassy-looking cross between bread and cotton candy topped with powdered sugar. It was served on a stick and smelled heavenly, like everything that was bad for you to eat but you craved regardless.

  Sweet moss was. . . well, sweet. But it was also a little earthy. Something told me I didn’t want to ask how they made it. I just wanted to keep eating this ball of deliciousness warped around the stick in my grasp.

  With our treats in hand, Juno led me over to a bench at the end of the pier. The sun was getting low in the sky, and it filled the Kylsa River with a streak of amber rays dancing on the water and highlighting any sails in the distance with a heavenly aura.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t win that cloak,” Juno said, tearing into her sweet moss.

  Shrugging, I stared out at the water.

  “No big deal,” I said.

  My companion looked me over and then cocked her head to the side. It was the second time I’d seen her do that this afternoon, and fuck me if that wasn’t the most adorable expression. She looked like those videos of German shepherd puppies confused about whatever their owner was saying.

  “I could tell you really wanted it,” she said.

  Taking a moment to chew (gods, this sweet moss was difficult to chew), I finally got space in my mouth to speak again.

  “Yeah, but the longer I pyed, the less it became about getting a whizzcloak and the more it became about — uh, something else,” I said, cutting myself off in the most unnatural way imaginable.

  Juno finished her treat before me and scooted closer. As the sun was starting to set, the cooler breeze returned.

  With guts I certainly didn’t possess, she asked, “What was the game about in the end if not the cloak?”

  My stomach sank, and the heart hammering in my chest may as well have been an Initial D character with how fast it was moving. As my throat kept trying to form words, I felt my fingers twitching.

  At st, I answered, “The point of the game eventually shifted from the cloak to. . . making you ugh.”

  I squeaked out those st words, feeling like the bench I was sitting on would catapult me out into the river at any moment. Shit. Why did I have to say that?

  She’s going to think I’m being weird, I thought.

  To make matters worse, I added more words, blubbering, “Um, it’s just — you seemed bummed earlier. Not about the kids at the candy store, but the ck of progress in finding Princess Amaz. And when I saw that I had a chance to make you forget about that, I leaped at it.”

  An ominous silence fell over the two of us. I was quaking with anxiety on the inside, sure that Juno was going to call me out or tell me to go home and stop being a freak.

  To my surprise, the messenger did neither. She leaned her head to the side and rested it on my shoulder.

  “You bunnies do like to leap,” she said in a faraway voice.

  I didn’t remark on it. I didn’t say a word. With the weight of her head on my shoulder, I froze like the good little statue I’d become.

  With a strangely morose chuckle, Juno said, “You’re a very sweet girl, Tilda.”

  She sighed.

  I flinched, sensing something shifting between us and feeling absolutely terrified at the tectonic activity in our retionship.

  “I’m gonna tell you a story now, okay, Bunny Goddess?”

  “K,” I whispered.

  “Once upon a time, a mother-to-be sang in her kitchen while her husband fixed dinner. She had everything her heart wanted in life, and a beautiful baby boy on the way.”

  ***

  Nine Years Ago

  The pain came suddenly as an earthquake strikes without warning. One moment, Juno and her husband, Pierre, were preparing dinner together. He worked as a day borer in the vilge, repairing houses and carts. She worked as a teacher in the local school.

  Everything changed in a horrific moment as Juno’s vision swam, and pain split her abdomen like an axe into a tree trunk.

  Agony befell her, and Pierre, torn between running to fetch a physician and staying with his wife, ultimately decided on the former at her urging and cries for help.

  Juno’s legs were uncooperative, so she remained on the kitchen floor where she’d colpsed. Something was wrong, and in her heart of hearts, she knew it wasn’t herself in the greatest danger. . . but her unborn son.

  As she screamed at the top of her lungs, sweat fell from her brow, and blood soaked through her clothes.

  “Please. Make it stop,” she cried in a desperate prayer to whichever god she’d st left an offering for. It was so hard to think, to remember. The pain would not abate, refusing to let Juno retreat into her mind and memories.

  Shutting her eyes and crying out for her husband, she eventually heard Pierre return.

  “I’m here, love. I’m here. I brought Miss Zua. It’s gonna be okay. I’m here,” he said, taking her hands. They were cmmy and drenched with sweat, like most of Juno.

  “Can you move her to your bed?” Miss Zua asked.

  Pierre did his best to gently scoop up Juno, but she flinched and cried out in pain at the movement. Everything hurt. No relief came.

  The expectant mother began to lose track of time. All she knew was the searing agony of her body seeming to rip itself open.

  “Pierre, please. Please, honey. Make it stop. Please,” she cried, unable to open her eyes.

  Miss Zua got to work, opening her bag and mixing two or three powders for Juno to drink. At long st, she received a measure of relief, but her body was still at war with itself.

  “My boy. Is he okay?” Juno rasped, her voice thick with dread. Her body wouldn’t stop shaking.

  Miss Zua had no words for Juno yet, only Pierre. She gave him careful instructions that he followed as well as he could.

  Minute after minute, Miss Zua worked, applying every ounce of medical skill she’d learned through her years as an apprentice healer and town physician.

  Juno’s cries dulled to a whimper as her body shifted into a new kind of pain. It was one she’d talked with other mothers about but hadn’t yet expected for herself.

  She’d counted each week carefully, and things like this weren’t supposed to happen for another three months. But her body decided on its own that tonight was the night.

  With a sudden scream, Juno bolted upright, her eyes wide open. Every fiber of every muscle felt like it was burning white hot.

  And in the face of pain like that, her thoughts scrambled. She lost her sense of pce and thought. All the teacher knew was misery.

  As if by some act of mercy, if it could be called that, Juno’s mind finally reached its limit, and the expectant mother fell backward onto her pillow, no longer making noise.

  When she finally returned to the world, her pain had lessened considerably. Juno felt a cold, damp rag on her forehead.

  The sunrise outside her bedroom window brought forth pink promises of a new day. But in the numbness of her heart, Juno only stared forward.

  For several minutes, Juno could only process bits and pieces of her night before. Her mind was slow to stir.

  But she eventually came to recognize the sounds of her husband sobbing. Normally, a rge and boisterous man with long shaggy bck and grey hair, Pierre now looked like a hollow mess folded in on himself.

  He sat in a chair next to the bed, a white bundle of cloth resting in his p.

  By the looks of it, Pierre had been wrapped in grief for a while. His sobs were dry and raspy, a throat torn from grief.

  And where Juno should have screamed and thrashed, she instead found herself strangely numb to it all, as though her mind had tied her consciousness to a tree and refused to allow her any closer to the grief.

  “Let me hold him,” Juno rasped.

  She wasn’t sure Pierre heard her at first, but slowly, as though carrying a massive boulder strapped to his back, her lumbering husband rose from the chair and brought the baby’s body to his wife.

  “Oh,” she groaned, choking back a quick sob.

  Pierre said nothing, but gently pced the baby in Juno’s tired arms. They shook but held all the same.

  Juno’s heart was next to tear, and she held her baby near, as close as she could, even though her baby was already so far away.

  “We hadn’t decided what to name you yet,” Juno whispered. “We had the name narrowed down to Theo or Patrick. I wonder which you would have liked more. I’m sorry we didn’t make up our minds. We thought we had more time. But. . . we didn’t.”

  Pierre knelt beside the bed and carefully wrapped his massive arms around his wife and son. Clearing his throat, he spoke next.

  “I wanted to get you started early on learning woodworking like me, son. I was so excited about the idea of taking you to a house I was repairing and showing you off to the guys I worked with. I pictured your tiny hands wrapping around a hammer or the handle of a saw. Hands that would grow up strong like mine. I spent the st month making you this.”

  From the folds of his clothes, Juno watched Pierre pull out a tiny wooden carving shaped like a hammer. It was polished smooth and painted brown. She remembered how her husband used to whistle on the deck as he whittled it.

  Pierre timidly pced the toy next to the bundle of sheets.

  “Oh, my darling boy,” Juno choked out. “While we’re so very sad that you’re not here, your father and I want you to know how happy we were to have you in our lives for this short time. You brought us so much joy, and we’ll always love you.”

  Pierre rubbed his eyes.

  “You’ll always be our pride and joy, no matter what,” he sobbed.

  Juno and Pierre leaned down to kiss the bundle of sheets. It was a slow and mournful kiss, full of all the hope they had for their baby, the dreams of a future ripped from their grasp by indescribable misfortune.

  After a few minutes, Juno began to rock her baby boy back and forth, knowing she’d have to let him go soon. But two things she dreamed of more than anything else while pregnant were rocking and singing her baby boy to sleep at night.

  So she decided to do that now, while she still could.

  With quivering lips, she sang.

  Oh baby bird of mine, sweet little thing.

  Hush now, the day is done, hear your mother sing.

  Still kneeling beside the bed, Pierre cleared his throat and tried his best to accompany Juno in their one and only song to their child.

  Oh baby bird of mine, tender precious song.

  Close your eyes. Rest your head as Father sings along.

  Juno and Pierre came together for the final verse.

  Oh baby bird of ours, treasure of our heart.

  Enjoy your dreams. Softly sleep. A new day soon will start.

  ***

  Present Day

  I’d lost track of when I’d started crying. My bunny nose was running, and I didn’t know if there were enough napkins in all of Kylson to stop my snot.

  “My husband and I tried to put the pieces back together. We spent months being as patient and loving with ourselves as we could. But Pierre and I eventually realized there was no going back to the way things were. And there was no going forward for the two of us.”

  Juno had kept her eyes on the river while telling me her story. I could feel her tears dripping down onto my shoulder.

  “Eight years ago, after I’d regained most of my strength, I came home to find a letter from Pierre to me. He’d left me most of his earnings, only took a little bit for his travels. His letter was mostly just a long series of apologies and a certificate of divorce. Pierre said it was just too painful, that he was a broken man, and he had to go.”

  “I’m so sorry, Juno. I don’t know what to say.”

  She wiped her eyes.

  “I don’t think there is anything to say. I’ve been in such a shitty mood tely because this is my first real clue to finding Pierre so I can give him MY letter. And get MY closure. I feel like it’s slipping from my grasp with every day we don’t find Amaz.”

  The sun had set now, and game attendants were lighting torches outside of their tents. It looked like a whole different crowd had come to visit Luck Isnd.

  “I spent most of my life after losing my boy feeling like I’d been cursed with bad luck. That was around the time I started praying to Opha, hoping things would change. I became a messenger to travel and find my ex-husband, to give him that letter. And now you’re here.”

  I turned to face Juno as she lifted her head to stare into my eyes.

  “And now I’m here,” I whispered, unsure how to describe the feelings in my chest at this very moment.

  “I just feel like. . . Opha finally answered my prayers. You showed up. And then the governess offered to help me finally find Pierre after seven unsuccessful years of searching. That’s. . . that’s gotta be a sign, right? That I’m finally getting close?”

  I wanted more than anything to give Juno the reassurance she was craving. Her eyes searched mine as though they might find divine hints about the future. In the end, I realized that giving her the answer she wanted would be cruel to both of us.

  Softening my voice, I took Juno’s hands and said, “I don’t know what any of this means. I’m just a girl who stumbled into godhood, Juno. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I do know I’ll keep doing it at your side. I won’t leave you. Is that. . . is that enough?”

  By the end, my voice had all but faded.

  Juno closed her eyes and squeezed my fingers. The ghost of a smile touched her lips.

  “Yeah, Tilda. That’s enough.”