Cade stood at the back wall. His shears clicked every time he cut a branch from a tree. Dirt smudged his brown leather pants and his wrinkled white shirt, and sweat clung to his forehead, making clumps of blond hair stick to his brow.
His eyes widened as he took me in. He placed the shears aside.
“Sabine!” Dirt smudged as he attempted to wipe it off his clothes. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“What can I say?” I raised both hands in a questioning gesture. “I was hoping you loved surprises.”
“I guess so.” His smiled showed his dimples. “What brings you here?”
Nervousness fluttered in my stomach. Could I really just ask him? What if he said no or turned us in? I clasped my hands behind my back and cleared my throat.
“Cade, I need your help.” I spoke as firmly as possible. “Please.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “Anything.”
I glanced at the workers behind us, who cast curious stares in my direction. “I’d prefer if we speak outside.”
He narrowed his eyes at my unusual request.
“If it’s no trouble,” I added.
He shrugged. “Sure, it’s no problem.” He led me back the way I’d come. When we stepped to the path, he shut the door behind us. His cobalt eyes met mine, made brighter in the sunshine. I caught my stuttering breath. No need to let him distract me.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
A breeze stirred the trees lining the path. “Do you remember that rose you gave me when you did the magic trick?”
He smiled. “It was an illusion, but yes.”
“Are you good at sleight of hand?”
“I’m okay, I guess.”
“Then...” I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “How are you at taking things from people? Things like necklaces?”
“Necklaces?” He cocked his head, curiosity written on his face. “Miss Sabine, what’s this about?”
I squared my shoulders. “I need the queen regent’s necklace. Her key, actually. She’ll be wearing it at the ball, and I thought maybe you could ask her to dance—that is, if you’re planning to attend.”
He crossed his arms. “You want me to steal her key?”
“Not steal, exactly...”
He gave me a sidelong glance. “What for?”
I debated on coming up with a story but thought it best to be honest. “It’s a key to the observatory. She banned the prince from going up there, and I don’t think it’s right. I’m his instructor, and he shouldn’t be banned from learning something he’s interested in.”
“I see.”
“Will you help?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I wish I could, but I don’t know if you understand how hard it is to get into the queen regent’s good graces. If she found out I’d stolen her key, she’d have no problem sending me away from the palace. I’d be out of a job.”
I sighed. I should’ve known.
“But...” he said. “That’s only if she finds out, and I have ways of returning objects to people without causing suspicion. Mind you, I’ve only done this sort of thing during magic shows, and only my nieces were in attendance. I’m afraid they’re very gullible, too. Are you sure you want my help?”
“Absolutely.”
“Fine.” He sighed. “But I have a small favor of my own to ask.”
“All right, what is it?”
He took my hands. “Will you dance with me at the ball?”
His dirt-smudged fingers felt cold in mine, and I attempted to smile back. “That shouldn’t be too difficult.”
He tucked my hair behind my ear, his fingers trailing down my cheeks. I flinched, forcing my feet to hold their ground. It’s okay. He’s just touching you. It’s what normal people do.
He released my hands. “You okay?”
I sighed to hide my nervousness. “Fine. I just have this thing. Sometimes when people touch me...” Too much time without human contact in Vortech’s facility, plus side effects of being EPC, I could’ve added, but didn’t. “It’s okay.”
He gave me a concerned glance, but he didn’t press the issue. “I look forward to seeing you at the ball,” he said, smiling as he straightened his shirt. “Let’s hope I scrounge up something a little better than this to wear.”
I cast him a curious glance. “Wear?”
“Yes. It’s a formal ball, after all.”
Darn it all. What was I supposed to wear?
“What’s the matter?” Cade asked.
“The ball,” I sighed. “I’ve got exactly two uniforms, one pair of street clothes, and a nightdress to my name. Do you think I could get away with this?” I tugged at my vest.
“You want to wear your servant’s uniform?”
“I don’t want to wear it. But I don’t have anything else.”
“Well, I have good news,” he said. “It just so happens that the greatest seamstress in Ithical resides at our palace. Her name is Mrs. Jennings. My mother used to work for her.”
“Really?” I questioned. “How long ago was that?”
Cade gave a casual shrug. “Twenty years ago, at least, although Mrs. Jennings has been here forever. Her room is on the second floor. Little gray door near the kitchens. You can’t miss it.”
“Second floor. Gray door. Got it.” I glanced back at the palace. If Mrs. Jennings had been here that long, would she have known Rosa? And possibly several other agents before her? “I guess I’d better pay a visit to the seamstress. Thank you, Cade.”
“Sure, no problem.” He smiled warmly. “I suppose I’ll see you at the ball, then?”
“Yes, at the ball.” I left him standing on the path as I returned to the palace. I tried to shrug off the feeling of his eyes following me, relieved when I heard his footsteps retuning to the greenhouse. At least he’d agreed to help. But how could I be certain he wouldn’t betray me and tell the Queen regent? Then again, perhaps I was worrying too much.
When I made it back up to the second floor, I spotted the gray door near the kitchens, so I knocked lightly.
After a moment, the door opened, and a slight woman stood inside. Wisps of white hair framed her wrinkled face, a few loose strands falling from her bun. She stared unfocused at the wall behind me. The grayish-blue hue of one of her irises was too cloudy to be a natural eye. Was it made of glass?
“Hello,” I said politely. “I’m looking for the seamstress. Is she here?”
“I’m Mrs. Jennings, the seamstress.” She spoke with a voice that would have once commanded attention yet had grown shaky with age. “Who are you?”
“My name is Sabine Harper.” I stood tall. “I’m the prince’s new caretaker. Would you have time to help me? I need a dress for the ball.”
“A dress?” She shuffled back, rustling the layers of her black gown. “But the ball is in less than a fortnight.”
“I know, but I’ve only just arrived at the palace. I didn’t know there was a ball until yesterday. Could you please help me?” I hoped she heard the desperation in my voice.
“I’m afraid I won’t have time,” she said. “I’m already behind schedule making gowns for the ball as it is. If you’d given me a month, perhaps I could. But with such little notice...” She shook her head.
“I understand,” I said patiently. “But you don’t have to make anything. Do you have anything hanging around? Anything other than servant’s clothes? They’re all I’ve got.”
Her brow creased. “You’ve only got servant’s clothes?”
“Sadly, yes,” I answered.
“Well then,” she said with a sigh. “We can’t very well leave you in that, can we? Come inside.”
I stepped inside and she closed the door. Bolts of fabric in rich colors surrounded me, and the scent of clean linen filled the air. An arched window allowed sunlight to stream into the room. Dust motes floated as Mrs. Jennings led me to an area with a full-length mirror. Suits and dresses in various stages of completion hung in open armoires. Hig
h frilly collars and long rows of pearls beaded the gowns’ bodices.
Mrs. Jennings stood at the long line of gowns. Her crooked fingers grasped each piece, feeling the fabric of each one, as if she could divine some inner message from the touch of the velvet and satin. Dark colors—deep plums and reds, comprised the collection.
“Nothing, nothing, nothing,” she muttered, moving down the row. After tugging on each piece, the dusky velvet heavy in her hands, she turned to me. “I’ve got nothing.”
“Nothing?” I pointed. “What about that burgundy one?”
“Burgundy?” she chuckled. “Too dark. It hardly suits a girl with a free spirit like yours.”
Free spirit? How could she know a thing like that? “Honestly, I don’t care about the color.”
“You should.” She stepped toward me, reaching out and grasping my face between her hands. Her rice paper skin reminded me so much of Mima June. A deep pang of nostalgia tugged at me.
Mrs. Jennings ran her hands down my arms, to my hands, then back to my face again.
“Beautiful bone structure,” she said. “Very different. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” She cocked her head. “Are you not from the island?”
Panic quickened my pulse. “Of course, I’m from here. Where else would I be from?”
“I’m sorry.” She smiled and patted my cheek. “I’m an old woman. You’ll have to forgive me. Must’ve been nearly a decade ago when there was someone here who reminded me of you. Unusual bone structure. I have an eye for these things.” She pointed to her glass eye and chuckled.
She knew Rosa? “What happened to the girl you knew?”
“Ah, a very good question. She worked as a maid for the queen, I believe. After the queen’s death, I never saw her again. Rose was her name. Smart girl, though she seemed a little fearful. She asked me about the Spirit Caves.”
“Spirit Caves?” I questioned, my heart thudding.
“Yes, the ones out past the canyons,” she explained in a hushed tone. “I told her I didn’t go there. No one does.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Haunted, they say.”
Haunted? Interesting. “Where are they exactly?”
“Near Edenbrooke. Out past the canyons, though I do hope you’re not planning to go out there.” She shook her head. “Those who do never come back. At least, that’s what the old stories say, and who knows how reliable those are.” She chuckled. “Well.” She clasped her hands. “Let’s stop this talk of spirits and find a dress for you. I imagine it will need to be something unique.” She tapped her lips. “I think I might have an old gown that might work. Follow me.”
She led me past the mirror and into a smaller room. A stained-glass window painted red and purple squares on the rug. After Mrs. Jennings’s revelation about Rosa and the caves, I had trouble focusing on clothing.
A cave near Edenbrooke. Hadn’t Ivan mentioned he’d found Rosa’s things near a cave?
Mrs. Jennings grasped the edge of a table, feeling her way to an open armoire filled with gowns. When she faced it, she grasped a gown, running her fingers over shimmering silk. Lighter colors and simpler designs contrasted those in the other room. Storing away the puzzle pieces of Rosa’s disappearance, I did my best to focus on the dresses.
“Why do these dresses look so different from the others?” I asked.
She chuckled. “Because they’re out of style, that’s why.”
“But they’re beautiful.” I smoothed my hand over a lilac-colored gown.
“I don’t make the styles, just the dresses. Here.” She pulled a sea-green gown from the armoire. “What color is this one?”
“Green.”
“Hmm.” She frowned.
“It’s fine,” I argued.
She clucked her tongue. “No, it won’t do.” With a sigh, she hung it on the rod.
“How about this one?” I suggested, holding out the lilac gown. She felt for my arm, then clutched the gown.
“Is this the lavender one?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Bah.” She made a face. “It’s not right. Something more stunning for you, I think.”
“Stunning?” I questioned impatiently. “Honestly. I only need a dress. It doesn’t have to be anything special.”
“Nonsense.” She reached the end of the row and stopped at a silver gown, running her fingers over the light, shimmery fabric. Tiny crystals had been sewn in an ivy-vine pattern that covered the long, sheer sleeves.
Mrs. Jennings pulled it off the rod but held it to her chest.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
She frowned. “It’s a very old dress. If you wear this, you must take care.”
“Do you trust me with it?”
“We’ll see, won’t we? Let’s try it on, then.” She led me to a small changing room, and as I dressed, the shimmery fabric felt light against my skin. When I stepped out, Mrs. Jennings walked to me. Her hands grasped my arms. She knit her eyebrows.
“Is it okay?” I asked.
She didn’t answer, only ran her fingers over the sleeves, then tugged on the skirt. I scanned the gown, the tiny crystals sewn into the bodice on the sheer overlay, and ran my hands down the long sleeves, wondering if I looked hideous. With Mrs. Jennings’s dour expression, I couldn’t be sure.
“Well, the hem will have to be taken up a bit. The bust and waistline will have to be taken in a bit as well...”
“But how do I look?” I asked.
“I can’t tell.” She laughed. “I’m blind in one eye, nearly blind in the other. You’ll have to see for yourself.”
She led me back to the first room where we stopped in front of the mirror. If it weren’t for my hair worn in a loose ponytail, strands sticking out sloppily, I might not have recognized my own reflection. The person in the glass didn’t look like the disheveled person I’d become so accustomed to seeing in the mirror. She was a vision of flowing cloth and soft curves.
The silver fabric contrasted the dark undertones of my olive-brown skin and brought out the gray flecks in my eyes. My collar bones still protruded more than I would’ve liked, thanks to Vortech, but I’d filled in a little. Was it possible I could be attractive?
Thinking of Morven’s and Cade’s reactions when they saw me wearing this made my stomach twist uncomfortably. Heat rushed through me, and I wasn’t sure I could go through with attending the ball and drawing attention to myself. Maybe I’d just wear my servant’s uniform after all.
“Well?” Mrs. Jennings asked. “How is it?”
“I think it works,” I said, clearly understating, yet not sure how else to describe it.
“Then it’s yours.” Mrs. Jennings finally smiled, and I couldn’t help but smile back. When the time for the ball arrived, I would be ready.
Chapter 14
I cracked an egg and emptied it into a skillet. Popping grease mingled with shouted orders. Steam rose from the pots surrounding me, holding the scent of poached pears. Stifling a yawn, I tried to focus on the task of cooking His Royal Majesty’s breakfast.
Bodies scurried around me. Maids carrying jugs of cider, servants with baskets of lemons or pears, and trays of porridge being carried to the nobles. None carried yellow cerecite with them. Not in plain view, at least.
The queen regent wasn’t in the kitchen, of course, but I doubted she would’ve been doing the deed herself. Most likely she’d hired someone to do it for her. But who?
I’d had two weeks to ponder the question as I waited for the ball. In the last fourteen days, I’d taken the opportunity to work on my map. I’d checked off nearly all two-hundred-and-forty-two rooms. So far, I’d found nothing, although I had heard some strange knocking in the dungeon and chalked it up to rats. Or ghosts. Still, I wasn’t giving up hope. It was now more likely than ever that at least one of the objects was locked in the tower.
I’d spent most of my free time in the greenhouse with Cade. I was fascinated by the flowers and plants created
from the green cerecite, and it felt nice to spend time with someone who I could laugh with. We also traveled to the surrounding city often enough, and I was learning to navigate the streets myself.
I’d also fallen into a rhythm of teaching the prince, although he’d taught me more than I’d taught him. I’d prodded him to tell me as much as he knew about the white cerecite, and he’d taken me to a room where the seven orbs had once been kept in ornate glass boxes designed to keep them in their primary state for several weeks, though they were all missing now. In the time I’d spent with him, I’d come to grow fond of him despite his seemingly rude exterior, which I was now starting to see as a mask.
However, the past two weeks hadn’t gone without trouble. More often than not, I’d found myself looking over my shoulder, feeling as if I were being watched. I’d spotted a tall hulking figure on more than one occasion, and my suspicions of why Ivan needed to follow me didn’t lead to any satisfactory conclusions.
In the kitchen, I’d begun the task of cooking the prince’s breakfast, which I’d accomplished quietly so far.
I jumped as stomping footsteps approached behind me. Spinning around, I faced Mrs. O’Connor. She stood over me, her cheeks blotchy and lips pinched, a wooden spoon clutched in her fist. She wiped the sweat beading on her forehead.
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you in my kitchen. For the past fortnight at least!” Mrs. O’Connor shook the spoon in my face. “I’ve ignored you until now, but not today when we’re all about to lose our minds preparing for the feast. What are you doing here, Miss Sabine?”
I stood straight. “I’ve been making the prince’s food. He refused to eat the porridge.”
“Why?” she snapped.
I sidestepped a maid who rushed past me and grabbed an empty tray. “Because he didn’t like it, I assume.” I spoke over the clanking silverware. “I told him I would make it.”
The 7th Lie Page 12