Queens of All the Earth Read Online Free

had a thorough, quiet cry over the dejection of a long day of stressful travel. The shaking and possibly the effort of cleansing herself of that sticky unhappiness finished for her the work of waking.
    A gnawing hunger pulled on her nerves, and she tentatively stole down the ladder. Miranda, in her sleeping mask and earplugs, would never know.
    In the twilight and the chill, slightly autumnal air, the dormitory felt suspended, a bubble in antique glass, somewhere between home and Barcelona. Olivia touched the bunks as she passed, the sting of cool metal grounding her. She swam through the evening atmosphere to the door and, with a creak, peered out. Here were the sounds of life again, warm brightness, and the scent of food. Gathering courage, she slipped out at last and pattered toward them.
    In the common room, a Spanish pop station played cheery dance beats under the susurrus of a dozen people attempting to converse in at least four languages—Romantic, Germanic, and some that were neither, or so heavily accented they sounded only like a jumble of meaningless sounds. Among one group, the prevalent color seemed to be a bold shade of blue, displayed on shirts and scarves and even in the pattern of a kilt. Elsewhere, a cluster of twenty-somethings in stylishly decomposed layers of tank-tops and uselessly thin sweaters lobbed vague recommendations at each other.
    A man in his thirties spoke more quietly to two familiar shapes, who had first appeared to Olivia as dark pillars but now revealed themselves as the reader from the corner and an older man, visibly related. Dancing around the edges and into the middle of it all, and then out again, was one young woman who seemed to be trying to speak to everyone at once.
    The smell that had pulled her toward this confusion, she identified as a combination of omelets, spaghetti, and stir-fried green vegetables. As a meal, the collection was about as organized and sensible as the words coming from the mouths of the combined crowd.
    The light fell on Olivia and soon she was seen.
    A young man in a black staff shirt greeted her, in Spanish, with an infectious smirk. She didn’t understand much of what he said, except she thought she caught Miranda’s name. Something about his broad smile assured Olivia of its permanence, but at the same time made her feelspecial, as if its warmth was extended to her most of all. However, he quickly turned with equal nonchalance and directed his attention to brighter objects.
    Looking past the staffer, Olivia inadvertently met the tall reader’s eyes again, and recognition ignited his. Olivia, with a burning feeling, realized she was once again standing directly below the sunburst.
    The boy stepped toward her. He smiled in a quiet, sad way, with his mouth closed.
    “Do you want anything?” he asked, shrugging toward the tables scattered with food.
    “I—um,” she began and stopped, surprised at how hoarse her voice was. The boy’s relative looked over and joined them before she could find another word.
    “Why, hello there,” the older one said cheerily. He was barely her height, a soft, gray-haired man with a round face and young eyes. “You must be Miranda’s sister,” he said. She found her hand being grasped warmly by both of his, and then released. “Now, now,” he said, taking something out of his pocket and shaking it out. It was a handkerchief. “Such a pretty face,” he said in a soft Southern burr, patting her cheeks with the worn cloth. “Now why’s it all wet?”
    She wished she knew. Olivia sniffed. She hadn’t noticed that her eyes were still welling. She wished she could sink into the floor. The older man just smiled gently.
    “Let Greg get you something,” he said. “You just sit yourself down.”
    Olivia couldn’t. She was already embarrassed by her tears and certain she was be the least interesting, least traveled person in the room. And apparently, they all knew about Miranda’s tirade.
    Olivia shook her head and,