Where is she, who is she, what is she now?

The Queen of the Dead disappeared somehow.

Did she run, did she hide, is she stuck without a key?

Close your eyes now and sing what you see.

I see Irida Amaya hiding in a tree,

With jewels in her hair and a flagon of mead.

Fingers pointed, who’s to blame?

Close your eyes now and sing it again.

I see Irida Amaya, dead beneath the ground,

Killed by her lover, chased down by his hounds.

Vision scowled over to where a circle of children sat, giggling to themselves as they sang, clapping their hands in time. Clapping rhymes were played everywhere but it was only in Awnn that songs about Irida Amaya had ever been popular. It was certainly the only place they were still sung over a decade after the woman’s disappearance. Fox used to make Vision sing that very song but Celia had found out and they’d both been convinced that it was best to sit out of that particular game. Beside her, Glass stretched out his legs and sighed. Vision glanced at him, watching his wide mouth turn down at the corners as he considered the spectacle.

“How does it work?” he asked, “How do they know the words?”

“What do you mean?”

“I had never heard that song until… well, until I came to these parts, but now I hear it all the time. It is never the same twice.”

Vision shrugged, “Cos it changes. Some parts are the always the same but mostly it’s meant to change. That’s the game, seeing who can make up the best rhymes.”

The children finished another verse, then Vision demonstrated in a quiet soprano.

“I see Irida Amaya in the Ether far above, leaving those behind her cold without her love.”

Glass smiled shyly, “You have a pretty singing voice.”

Vision leaned against the wall at her back, tucking in her legs to keep them from being crushed by a passing cart, “I never liked this song. ‘Sides, my voice ain’t pretty, Glass.”

He shrugged and went back to watching the children, frown deepening.

“I don’t understand how children without any education can rhyme.”

“That’s like saying you don’t understand how they can talk if they can’t write. We don’t have writing, but we ain’t stupid. It’s just sounds.”

“You only think it’s easy because you can read,” Glass prodded.

“I can’t read,” she said stiffly.

“You can. Deny it all you like but I caught you reading Red’s journal last night. I’d wager you can count, as well. Why won’t you admit it?”

“Because I can’t read, and I can’t count. Men like Red don’t like it when girls can do stuff better than they can. I’d get beaten if you went talking stories like that.”

“I don’t think Red would beat you.”

She felt a flash of frustration. The men she worked with saw Red as some kind of benevolent leader, or a savior, even. Why was she the only one to see him for what he was?

“The only reason he keeps me around is to help him with reading and writing,” Glass said gently, “Red isn’t jealous of those skills.”

“It’s different” Vision grunted, “You ain’t a thief and you ain’t a girl.”

He fell into a pensive silence. She watched him fondly, slowly overcoming her exasperation. The man was like an ungainly puppy, all feet and elbows. His straw-brown hair was an awkward length, too long for the short cut he’d had and not yet long enough to tie back. Time in the sun of late had risen freckles across the width of his nose. His ears and mouth were too large but Vision all found it sweetly endearing. Glass – she refused to think of him as William, as he insisted – was a harmless academic. He listened to his conscious, and he’d never killed or maimed somebody. Even if there had been a violent bone in him, which there was not, she still felt confident that she could protect herself from him if need be. Several months ago, he had been an aspiring poet, when his father had died, leaving him bereft. He had never been cut out business or politics. Without money or allies, he’d been forced to the slums, where a young boy had broken one of his teeth, earning him the moniker ‘Glass.’ Vision decided that the flavor of Glass’ quiet had turned sour, so she leaned over and kissed him softly, brushing her lips against his.

“Cheer up,” she said, “It ain’t all bad out here, is it?”

He managed a weak smile, “It’s… very different. I suppose there are some things I don’t mind.”

“I’m glad to be here, despite everything,” she said, “Awnn is my home. These last years travelling nearly undid me.”

Glass began to look very uncomfortable. The reason that Vision and her brother had left Awnn was not a subject he liked to discuss. He cleared his throat.

“I’m very pleased that you found a decent crew, like Red’s, to come home to.”

“Lucky,” she snorted.

“Why don’t you like him? I don’t see how you could have done any better. You are always telling me to relax and be happy. Can’t you just be happy?”

“Not for long,” she said bitterly.

“So, it’s alright to brood? Happiness is so short-lived, for you.”

He wasn’t really talking about her; he was making a point. If she refused to be happy, what business did she have policing his feelings? He didn’t realize how different things were for her, because she was female, but then men rarely seemed to. He was derelict, but he wasn’t in danger in the way that she was.

“You could try not talking like a wealthy merchant’s son. That would make you happier, I’d wager.”

He sighed, “I would be happier if I didn’t have to work so hard to hard our relationship from the others.”

“You’d better not stop doing that,” Vision warned, “Red will kill you if you slip and what happens after that won’t be fun for me. He’s the jealous type.”

Glass shot her a skeptical look, “Is it really Red you’re worried about?”

“Really, Glass? I won’t have this conversation again. I’m not frightened of Bones.”

He arched an eyebrow but she refused to be drawn into another argument. They lapsed into silence awhile. The rest of the crew would find them soon and Vision would have to go to confront Celia in a place that had once been her home. It was a task that she looked forward to with equal dread and anticipation. She owed the woman who had raised her a lot, including an uncomfortable apology for disappearing these two years past. Fox should really be there with her, but she knew better than to expect that. She would weather the woman’s formidable anger alone. She began to tremble. Glass’ expression turned soft and he took her hands in his. His palms were warm, and soft – so, so unlike any other man’s she knew. A poet’s hands.

“What are you afraid of?”

“I don’t want to go to Gretta’s alone.”

He hugged her. The movement was slightly clumsy but his compassion shone through bright and clear.

“I’ll go with you,” he offered.

She nodded into his chest and simply lay there awhile. He kissed the top of her head.

“I wish you would tell me your name,” he whispered.

That broke the spell. She pulled away from him and sat back on her own, hugging her knees.

“Not this again. You know my name, Glass.”

“And you know that my name is Will. I’ve asked you to call me that.”

“If I did, I’d just get more of your teeth bashed out.”

“I know you have a real name.”

“Not all of us grew up in fancy houses.”

“But you did,” he insisted, “That silver pendant you always wear? It didn’t come from around here.”

“I took it from a corpse, because I liked the way it sparkled,” Vision snapped, ignoring his hurt expression, “Don’t insult me by looking so surprised. You know what I am, and it’s a thief.”

He inhaled sharply and turned his head away. She was too aggravated to regret her words. Glass expected her to share everything with him, as some kind of proof that she loved him. Every day, he pried into secret parts of her life and every day that he did, it bothered her more. Sweet though he may be, Glass was bad at translating subtlety and worse at weathering bluntness. No matter how she asked him to stop, he was always hurt, but he never let it lie. He stood, now, without looking at her.

“I don’t believe a word. I’ll see you at Gretta’s.”