The next morning, mother and Jeanne said their goodbyes to the woman. The woman saw them to the main road, and mother curtsied while motioning Jeanne to do the same. She had always taught Jeanne to curtsy, how to grab a dress or garment at exactly the right height and to bow just at the right angle. Mother had said all proper ladies should know how to perform one, and by now, Jeanne thought herself pretty good at it.

"And say thank you to our host," said mother.

Jeanne nodded and smiled at the woman. "Thank you, uhm…"

The woman patted Jeanne's head with a smile. "Aine. That is my name. Try and say it."

"On-on-" Jeanne stopped. The name sounded like 'onion', but that wasn't exactly how the woman had said it. The name was not like anything she had heard before.

"Pardon me, little one, my accent bleeds in when I say my name," said Aine as she giggled at Jeanne's attempts. "This should sound much easier for your tongue. Here, say it like this: An-ya. Anya."

"Anya," said Jeanne without trouble. That was far easier to handle. She smiled proudly, and Aine nodded in approval.

Then, Aine looked at mother, but mother could not meet her eyes.

"The coin and elixirs should last you three weeks," said Aine to mother, motioning to the waist pouch that now rang full and heavy with coins, and mother nodded weakly. "I wish you nothing but luck."

Aine gave mother a long parting hug before sending them off.

_________________

Jeanne skipped around the streets of Riviera in glee. Mother followed close behind her, making sure she didn't get into serious trouble, but for once, mother did not stay ahead of her, always stopping her from going here or there, so she explored.

This was the first time Jeanne had ever been in a real city. In her whole six years of living, she had never stepped foot in anything bigger than a small town. Most of the time, she had lived in little villages, and never long enough to get to truly know them either.

As a result, she had grown up friendless and clueless about much of the world, but she knew that as long as mother was at her side, she would want for nothing.

Jeanne held a small mug of honeymilk in one hand and gnawed at a soft chunk of fluffy white sweetbread at the other. Mother had bought her anything she wanted today, and that had put her in a wonderful mood, the sugar fueling her excitement as she took in the many sights and sounds of the bustling city.

There were so, so many people and so many buildings that were so tall and it seemed like she could spend an eternity here and never get tired of it. There were enough people here to fit a thousand villages, Jeanne thought, and the buildings all looked like the towering and sparkling palaces that mother had told her about in her stories.

Jeanne ate and drank her fill of sweets, let street performers wow her with tricks like breathing fire or walking on thin stilts, and listened to bards for the first time, watching with mesmerized eyes as they sang with closed-eyed passion, their fingers strumming at their instruments.

All throughout, mother had smiled at her and even encouraged her to explore. Most of the time, mother never let her approach strangers or wander around, but today was an exception, and Jeanne made the most of it.

But when the sun began to set, mother called Jeanne back and led her to a quieter part of the city by the docks. There, they came upon a big but plain building. Unlike the stores that had flashy and colorful signs, the only sign the building had on it was a rickety old plaque carved with the image of a nondescript spoon. Its wood had started to chip in many areas while any decorative painting at its walls had long since been stripped away.

The building gave Jeanne an uneasy feeling, and she didn't like it much.

There, mother had knocked on the door, a wooden, rickety old thing painted blue, and an elderly woman had appeared wearing a shabby apron dress. She was small and squat with wrinkly, squinty eyes and big hands.

"Matron," said mother with an acknowledging nod.

"Sister Lumi," nodded the elderly woman. They exchanged quick but knowing looks. The elderly woman gave a grave stare to Jeanne before her head swayed form side to side, her grey eyes flitting about nervously. After this moment of caution, she opened the door wider and said, "Come in, quickly. I have made your arrangements, but there are still some topics left to discuss."

The old woman led them through a cramped corridor where the floorboards creaked at every step and into a small study.

The building smelled like salt and fish, and Jeanne did not like it at all. She clung tightly to her mother, to the warmth and scent of lilac and honey, but mother pried her apart and told her to wait outside the room while she talked with the old woman behind closed doors.

Jeanne sat next to the door for the better part of an hour, but she didn't try to eavesdrop. Mother had done so much for her today, so she wanted to be a good girl and not do anything wrong like sneaking around mother.

Mother came out the room while Jeanne was playing with her hair, twirling it around her fingers.

"Mama-," said Jeanne, wanting to ask where they were going next, but mother just hugged her. Tightly enough that Jeanne felt the breath leave her body.

Before Jeanne could regain her breath, mother knelt down so that their eyes met. For once, mother did not seem tired, her eyes alert and rimmed with tears.

"Jeanne, my little sun, my shining light," said mother with a trembling smile. "Mother will have to leave for a while. Matron Madelina here will take care of you while I am gone, and do not worry, she is a wonderful and nice woman. Far better than most."

"Why? Where are you going, mama?" said Jeanne. She didn't know why, but she felt her breathing quicken as panic began to tighten her throat.

"Even I do not know, my precious little sun, but know that wherever I go, I will still always be with you in your heart and memories." Mother swallowed a deep breath and rubbed her eyes dry before gently embracing Jeanne. "Jeanne, I am so, so very sorry that the only life I could have ever given you was that of a fugitive, always running, always suffering, but know that this is not your destiny.

You will be a shining sun that lifts this world from its cold sunset, my visions are certain of it, so be strong and always look towards a brighter future. Do not be like your mother who could only run from her past."

Mother kissed her forehead before abruptly standing and turning around. Jeanne wanted to reach out to her mother, to tell her that she had no reason to be sorry, that she didn't even know why she had to be sorry, but mother was already leaving at a pace that Jeanne's little legs could never catch up to.

"And I hope that one day you can forgive me."

The blue door closed behind mother, and Jeanne rushed up to it, swinging it back open. She ran out the door, into the open, her head turning from side to side, but she could not find mother. There were too many people, but surely, one of them had to be her. She could hear Matron Madelina's steps following behind, but the elderly woman could not keep up.

"Mama!"

Jeanne ran as fast as her legs could carry her, looking up at strangers faces to see if they were mother. As she looked at the faces of confused strangers, she felt mounting fear well up like a knot in her chest. Where before she had marveled at how many people there were, now she felt intimidated by the sheer mass of men and women, all of them seeming to loom large and crowd against her, but she swallowed her claustrophobia down and kept looking and running.

She didn't want to stay in that strange building that reeked of salt and fish with the old lady that she had never seen before. She wanted to stay with mother, with her warmth and her love and her care and her sweetness.

"Mother!" she started shouting as she ran through the darkening streets of Riviera, remembering how much mother had wanted her to speak proper. Maybe, if she spoke properly more, mother would forgive her and come back. She wanted desperately to say that she was sorry, that she would be good now, that she would never ask for honeymilk or sweetbread or complain ever again.

But in the end, mother never came back.