Elena’s heart raced as if she had been running, as she sat frozen on the cool marble bench, trying to fit Arta’s statement into a context that made sense. In all the years Ele had been her companion, no one in the village had been able to hear or see him. When she was a little girl her neighbors and family would humor her, but the older she got the less endearing her family found it.

“My name is Ele. I’m Elena’s friend,” Ele said slowly, searching Arta’s face.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Ele,” Arta smiled, and Elena shook her head once as if she could snap herself out of a dream. How many dozens of people in Carpi had treated her with scorn until she had learned to pretend she couldn’t see him? How many inventive and effective punishments had her mother devised before the lesson had sunk in?

Elena rubbed her wrist; now that she was thinking about it the dull pain from earlier in the day had returned. The restless girl, the sleeping boy, and the boy who sketched with charcoal were all treating the conversation as if it were small talk, like they were discussing the weather.

“Can...can everyone in the city see him?” Elena ventured a guess.

“Everyone?” the restless girl at the end of her bench had stopped shaking her leg, and was instead staring at Elena with raised eyebrows. “Do you not know...you don’t know about Echoes do you? How small was your town? Haven’t you ever met another Stormtouched before?”

“Of course I have!” Elena bristled at the girl’s pitying tone, “Carpi might be small, but we’re not so small as all that. The General of our standing reserve is a low-level Lanisti, and my great uncle is a Faberi, just like me.”

“And neither of them could see Ele? Neither of them had anyone who always hung around with them? Are you really from such a backwater that no one knew anything about Stormtouched?”

“Isadora,” the boy next to Arta looked up from his sketch, “don’t be mean. If they didn’t have any Stormtouched before...Elena, was it...then how would they know?”

“We did have Stormtouched, I just told you,” even though the boy had defended her, Elena was starting to dislike the entire group, ‘Isadora’ especially. “Uncle Chroli couldn’t see Ele, and I’ve never spoken to the General, but I’m sure he couldn’t see Ele either. You’re the first, besides...” Elena lowered her voice without thinking, “...besides a Rhetor we saw in the street today. Do you think she could’ve done something to make Ele suddenly visible?”

“Elena, no.” Arta was clearly choosing her words carefully, trying to be gentle. “The Rhetor saw Ele because she is, by definition, a Stormtouched. If your uncle and general couldn’t see Ele, it means they aren’t Stormtouched.”

“But...”

“It makes sense when you think about it,” Isadora interrupted, “they picked the two Storms that are the easiest to fake. I feel bad for all the Carp who overspend on your fake Faberi’s fake goods and your fake Lanisti’s fake leading.”

“Now listen-” Elena stood up to face the girl, but her mother’s sudden sharp exclamation from the doorway broke her diatribe before she had even started.

“Elena,” Joanna’s voice was quiet, but it always seemed more dangerous that way. The single word conveyed volumes of oft-repeated lectures, scoldings about how a Lucciano should act, about never losing her temper. Elena’s wrist throbbed as she sat back down without a word.

“Hello miss!” Arta said brightly. “You must be Elena’s mother! We were just talking about how Elena is the only one in your village who is actually Stormtouched. You must not know much about the subject since you never talked with her about it.” Elena sucked in a breath at the disrespect, but Joanna didn’t so much as blink. She sat next to Elena, sliding through Ele who scowled and moved to the other side.

“You see?” Arta said. “Normal humans. They can’t see us, hear us, touch us. To Mortalis, we Echoes don’t exist.” Elena had composed herself by this point, hands folded in her lap, mind racing. Arta was one of these “Echoes”, like Ele? How many others in the city were there? Would Elena have to be careful of everyone she spoke to from now on in case she risked making a fool of herself?

“Don’t look so miserable! Aren’t you glad to know you’re not crazy? Isn’t it vindicating, having proof that everyone in your village was wrong and you were right?” Arta’s voice was soothing, but Elena couldn’t quite muster the relief that the Echo-girl was expecting of her. Ignoring someone other than Ele felt strange, being in this huge city felt strange, and she suddenly wished that she could be back at home where everything was familiar and safe.

But if I did that, I wouldn’t be meeting Bernardo De Luca today, Elena reminded herself. I wouldn’t have the chance to become his garzona. An apprenticeship was the first step on the road to the courts; first a garzona, then a journeywoman, then an artist in her own right. From Milian courts she would work her way up, until finally the Queen of Italoza herself would be Elena’s patron.

I can handle strange, if it means reaching my dreams. She tried to avoid looking at Arta, who was fiddling with the paintbrush behind her ear. At least discovering that Ele is real is the strangest thing that will happen to me today.

“Miss Joanna and Elena Lucciano? I am Master De Luca’s page, Pietro. I believe you have an appointment to see me.” Elena looked up up from her musing to meet the eyes of a young boy, and she cursed her thoughts. The boy was dressed in very fine clothes, a velvet cap with a feather sitting jauntily in it. Every inch of him, from his eyes to his skin to the perfect curls of his hair was carved out of very fine white marble.

Author's Note:

Surprise! It's a double-update day!