Plan A had been going to the chocolate shop. Instead, Asimi had wound up wandering around Prasinos while waiting for Zeid to finish up his birthplace business. She had decided she did not in fact want chocolate badly enough to revisit the store. Unfortunately, Zeid was upset, and chocolate was the only cure she knew. So. She was going back anyway, to try and fix that kicked-puppy look.

  Her heart kicked restlessly at her ribs as she approached the storefront. Clearly, they’d put all the gold she’d given them to good use; the place had gotten an upgrade since the last time she’d been here. The grimy, cracked windows had all gotten replaced, and the door now swung smoothly on its hinges. The displays of various boxed chocolates had all been dusted off.

  She’d never gone back before — never returned to the places she’d left behind. In her mind, they had all stayed stagnant, as though she could pop back at any time and find it exactly the way she’d left it. Knowing things could change without her gave her an odd sense of loss — the realization that no matter how many places she saw, she could never see it all . . . and the idea that people could move on without her as easily as she moved on without them.

  Ergh. Rumination. Gross.

  The shopkeeper waved at her and she waved back, smiling sunnily. Her stomach churned. Maybe her allergies were acting up.

  Zeid didn’t seem that interested in the assortment of chocolates around them. He kept glancing at the expiration dates that had been crossed out on the boxes.

  Asimi settled on buying a box of truffles. They took it outside to eat, sitting on the dusty street.

  “Soooo?” she asked.

  He sniffed one before putting it slowly in his mouth. He chewed for a moment, then said, “It’s definitely chocolate.”

  “What else would it be, coconut?”

  He shrugged. He still looked tired, but less sad. His eyes weren’t watering anymore, which was a relief. “How do you know about this place, anyway?” he asked, after a minute. “Are you from somewhere near here?”

  “I’ve been all over the place,” she answered, settling back into her old rhythm. “For, like, the past seven months, I’ve been going wherever I want, whenever I want. I stayed in Prasinos for a few days and sniffed out the chocolate.” She popped a truffle in her mouth. It didn’t taste as good as she remembered.

  “See anything cool?” he asked. He wiped his chocolatey fingers on his pants. “Meet anyone?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve met a lot of people. Haven’t stuck around long enough to remember any of them, though — this is the longest I’ve been in one place since Aconite got her head chopped off.” Not entirely the truth. But he didn’t need to know about her old job, or Tharros . . . or any of the other places, really.

  “Congrats,” he said.

  “Yeah, well . . . I don’t know how much longer I’ll stay. Maybe until the Presentation Ball.” She’d read about so many fancy parties. She’d been to dozens of town celebrations, rowdy bar nights, but never the kind of high-class event in her fairytales. Fingers crossed, there would be a mysterious murder in the middle of it.

  “Where would you go?” he asked.

  “Dunno. Maybe somewhere else entirely — another kingdom, one of the islands off the coast of the continent . . . somewhere new. I’ve always wanted to see Synoro.” The windswept fields. The floating islands.

  “You don’t have anything you’d miss?”

  “Pfft, no,” she laughed. “It’s not like I have a family. There’s good chocolate everywhere.”

  “No family,” he repeated, his green eyes dull as he stared down at the truffle in his hands. “. . . Your life sounds pretty sad.”

  She nearly choked. “Wow, rude.”

  “I guess if that’s the life you want, then it’s the life for you,” he mumbled, popping it in his mouth. “I can’t imagine a life without a family.”

  She stopped.

  He had a family?

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Of course he has a family, you peanut. Everyone has a family.

  “. . . Is that who you came to visit?”

  “Yeah. My mom.”

  Tentatively, she asked, “Is she nice?”

  He smiled, and his entire face seemed to glow. She’d never seen someone who wore his emotions so obviously before. With an unbelievable amount of tenderness, he said, “She’s the best person you’ll ever meet.” It was all frankly disgusting.

  She popped another truffle in her mouth and looked away. “How many people have you met?”

  “Not that many,” he admitted. “But she’s definitely the best person in the world.”

  She scoffed. “Sounds biased, but okay.”

  “You should come meet her,” he said. “Before we leave.”

  “Eeeh,” she responded, trying to sound nonchalant. She tapped her fingers over the cobblestones, restless again. “Maybe.”

  “Are you going to return to Dimanti after this?” he asked. “Or is this it? Bye forever?”

  “Yeesh, don’t get all broken up about it.”

  He held up his palms. “Hey, no judgement.”

  She crossed her arms, leaned back against the dusty brick. “I’ve got a ball to attend,” she said, after a moment. “And I can’t leave before we paint those pretentious statues in the throne room.”

  He smiled, which she took as a success.

  “So,” she said, swallowing the last truffle and licking her fingers. “Where is this ‘mom’ you mentioned?”

  ?????

  Zeid was disgruntled to see the cranky customer from that morning just leaving the shop as he and Asimi arrived. He glared at their back and hoped they could feel the weight of their sins pressing down on their shoulders.

  Philia Pnevma was sitting at one of the tables with her forehead pressed against her hands.

  “Hey, mom,” he said, closing the door.

  She looked up. “Zeid,” she greeted. “And . . . who’s this?”

  “I’m Asimi,” Asimi introduced, holding out her hand even though his mom was too far away to conceivably reach it. “Poet, prankster, amazing fashion icon, the list goes on. Oh, and I’m also the chosen one of the Freedom Stone,” she added.

  Poet?

  “It’s wonderful to meet you,” Philia responded, getting up and walking over to shake her hand. “What brings you to Prasinos?”

  “Chocolate,” she answered, her eyes darting over Philia’s shoulder to the pastries on the counter. She shimmied to the side as his mom turned back to look at him.

  “. . . We’re about to leave,” he said quietly. He wanted so desperately to beg her to come with them, but he couldn’t. Not with Asimi there.

  “Ah,” she murmured. “Palace life . . .” She sighed. “I wish I could have taught you how to write properly. Maybe they can. Ask them to, okay? And keep me posted.”

  “. . . Okay.”

  “Take this,” she added, retrieving a white pastry box. “A bit of home. And take care of yourself.”

  He looked down at the box, then back up at her sad grey eyes, and felt his fingers tighten around the gift as a lump formed in his throat. “. . . Okay.”

  She kissed his forehead and patted the box again. “Don’t forget to write.”

  “Hey, can I take these?” Asimi piped from behind the counter. She popped up, her arms loaded with chocolate pastries.

  Philia blinked, and her smile came back on her face. “Erm . . . certainly! Are you sure you don’t need a bag to carry all of those, dear?”

  “I got it!”

  She laughed. “All right — be careful, then.”

  “Oh — wait,” Asimi said, dumping the boxes on the counter. She dug a fistful of coins out of her pocket and plunked them down. “There. It was nice meeting you, Zeid’s mom!” She gathered the boxes up again, a ridiculously large pile compared to her short body, and skipped out the door.

  Zeid couldn’t stop himself from glancing back as he followed her. His eyes stayed fixed on that bakery door until it disappeared around the corner.

  He stared down at the box in his hands as they retraced their steps — through the streets, out the gates, to the train station. He sat on the wooden floor of the station and waited for the metal snake to come barreling back over the rails, to take him to whatever his new life was.

  He pried open the white box and found, inside, an apple pie.