Shard of Glass

by Emily Deady

  She giggled. “Oh, can we?”

  A very good theory indeed. He kept his face steeled in a smile and reached out his arm. She slipped her hand inside his elbow and followed his lead. As they walked through the painted hallways, she made flattering remarks about the palace, but he only heard half of them. Fortunately, his mild nodding seemed to be all the affirmation she needed. After a few short minutes, which felt like an eternity, they finally entered the elaborate ballroom.

  The girl on his arm gazed up in awe.

  It really was magnificent to anyone seeing it for the first time. In the center of the room, one could look all the way up to the distant ceiling, where elaborate candelabra would illuminate both the dancers below and the paintings above. Around the sides of the room, three layers of slim balconies extended out, accessed by a web of spiral staircases. The open doorways flooded the room with fresh air, and Onric caught a light whiff of clove along with something else. The centerpiece of the entire hall was a raised dais against the back wall. It was currently empty, but no doubt during the ball it would seat his entire family. Normally, he loved sharing a meal with his family, but under the watchful eyes of the entire kingdom it was going to be miserable.

  “Take me to the top balcony,” the girl demanded. He tried to remember her name, which his mother had told him just moments ago, but his brain was coming up blank.

  He simply nodded at her request and walked her up the nearest spiral staircase.

  By the time they had reached the first balcony, she was breathing heavily. No doubt the extra layers of her gown were weighing her down. He paused for a moment to let her catch her breath. A few servants quietly made their way through the hall, some cleaning and some carrying different objects for decorating and furnishing the room in preparation for the ball. Without his permission, his eyes lightly scanned the room for Ashlin as they always did. She had not been officially assigned certain duties at the palace, and it seemed as though the steward just had her filling in wherever the need arose.

  Onric had run into her a few times, and though he would never admit it, he was always keeping an eye out for her. Each night he and Blossom would wait for her by the side gate, and the highlight of his day was the moment when he would wrap his arms around her to both steady her and keep her warm on their quiet ride through the midnight streets. Every day, though, she seemed surprised to see him, as though she expected him to stop showing up. He hoped she would soon realize that he would be there for her as long as she needed it.

  He still felt guilty about the incident with the needle, and he wanted to explain his actions to her. The more time he spent with her, the more he felt he could trust her with the knowledge of his investigation into the magic.

  He realized the young lady on his arm was staring up at him expectantly. Had she asked him something? He looked back down at her. “I’m sorry, could you say that again?”

  Her smile dimmed a little. “I asked how many invitations were sent for the royal ball.”

  “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “My mother has been handling those types of details.”

  “What have you been doing to prepare for the ball, Your Highness?” She closed her eyes halfway, in what was likely an attempt to be coy. Onric thought it made her look half asleep.

  “I have been seeing to the proper defense of the castle and city.” He shrugged. “We will have many notable guests, and we want to make sure everyone is safe.”

  “Oh! Who else has been invited?”

  “Uh, well, I’m not entirely sure who has been invited.” Onric had no idea who to brag about. He had never paid much attention to status. “Um, my brother will be there, of course . . .”

  “Right, your brother.” She started moving up the next flight of stairs. “And when will we get to meet Prince Ian?” She looked back at him, her eyes doing the half-closed thing again.

  Onric clenched his teeth. Ian had gone out on a military training venture with his best knights and had taken Erich with him. They were rehearsing battle sequences in the open countryside while he and Aden were stuck at home doing their dirty work. Ironically, the flamboyant Erich, who was part of Ian’s special guard, would have actually loved to spend all day escorting beautiful ladies around the palace. But life was not fair, even for a prince.

  “His Royal Highness the crown prince is on patrol with the military squad, which he leads.” Onric couldn’t help the little bit of spite that came out with his words. He often felt that his duty to the palace guard held very little merit.

  “Oh.” The girl on his arm scrunched her mouth into a pout. It could have been an attempt to cover up her breathing, though, which had grown labored again.

  They rounded the next spiral of the staircase, and Onric caught a familiar glimpse of his new favorite sight, a brown kerchief. Ashlin was sitting on the staircase, scrubbing the banisters with a cloth. A small pail was on the step below her, filled with the scented oil used for polishing.

  Seeing them, she quickly dropped into her customary curtsy and pressed herself backwards into the railing to let them pass.

  Forgetting the girl on his arm, Onric stopped moving, though he could not stop the genuine smile that spread to his face. “Ashlin, have you had a chance to look at the mystery tapestry?”

  “Not yet, my Lord.” She glanced up at him. “We’ve been a little preoccupied with cleaning the ballroom before we decorate it.” She smiled lightly, but her demeanor was guarded.

  “I would love to help you unpack it . . .” He felt the hand at his elbow stiffen, reminding him that he was not alone. He bowed lightly to Ashlin. “Excuse us.”

  He allowed the girl on his arm to lead him further up the staircase. Arriving at the third balcony, she let go of his arm to take in the view. She was snickering.

  He looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

  “You just bowed to a servant girl,” she whispered up at him, though her whisper came out with a hiss between her laughs.

  “Did I?” He shrugged. He honestly hadn’t noticed. He didn’t think of her as a servant girl. He just thought of her as . . . someone who deserved his respect.

  The girl was looking over the edge of the balcony at the floor far below. Despite her exertion, her face had drained of color. “Let’s go back down.”

  Onric’s lips twisted into a smirk. Some people demanded respect more than others. He held his arm out towards her, and she grabbed it tightly.

  He turned to take her back down the same staircase. “Are you afraid of heights?” he whispered, leaning his head down towards her ear.

  “No,” she spat, sweeping down the stairs.

  Ashlin quickly stood again, backing out of the way like she had previously. The staircase was plenty wide, but it was as though she wanted to take up as little space as possible. The girl loosened her grip on his arm, taking half a step away from him.

  If he had not been looking towards Ashlin, he would not have seen what happened next.

  The girl lifted her foot to take another step, but she swung it outwards, hooking it around the pail of scented oil and sending it flinging it down the staircase. It rattled all the way to the ground floor, dripping oil as it went and drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

  “You clumsy girl!” the woman on his arm snarled, her face twisting into a ugly glare that reminded him of a monster. “Clean that up at once.”

  For a moment, Onric was too stunned to do anything. Then he saw the deep red that crept into Ashlin’s cheeks as she dropped to her knees and attempted to mop up the spreading oil. It was dripping down the stairs and over the edge to the steps and floor below. It was a mess.

  He also saw a smug smile on the face of the attacker, and he had the sudden urge to shove her down the stairs.

  Instead, he gestured towards the back of her dress with a loud cry, “Oh no! There’s oil on your gown.”

  The girl instantly grabbed her skirt, attempting to swing it around her body, but in the act of doing so only succeeded
in actually soiling the gown by dragging it through the oil she had just spilled on the step in front of her. “Where?!”

  “All over your hem. It’s being soaked up. Hurry, hurry, go get someone to look at it before it spoils your furs.”

  “Look what you’ve done!” the girl screamed at Ashlin before hurrying down the stairs, soaking up half of the spilled oil as she went. Onric did not give her a second glance as he dropped down beside Ashlin.

  “I’m so sorry.” He looked around for something to help her with. “At least her massive dress cleaned up most of the damage on the way down.”

  Ashlin looked down the staircase where the pools of oil had been swiped smooth by the voluminous skirts. He saw her shoulders start to shake as a small giggle escaped her throat. “You could almost say,” she laughed, “that she did most of my work for me.” Her smile was no longer guarded.

  He laughed with her. “She’ll probably smell of patchouli and clove for the rest of her time here.”

  “I know I certainly will.” Ashlin was still attempting to mop up the largest of the spills. The rag she held was completely soaked, as were her hands.

  Onric looked through the railing at the other servants below. “Can we get some extra rags up here to mop this up?”

  “Of course, Your Highness!” The steward himself was already at the base of the staircase, climbing up the steps with a stack of cloths over his arm.

  “Careful, it’s likely slippery,” Ashlin called down to him.

  He rounded the spirals without mishap, dropping rags onto the spillage as he went. “Are you alright, my girl?” he asked as soon as he reached their level. He quickly bowed to Onric as an afterthought.

  “Yes, thank you. I am quite alright,” Ashlin reassured him, grabbing a few rags from him.

  Onric grabbed a rag himself and started wiping up the oil.

  “Your Highness, there is no need . . .” the steward stammered.

  “My good sir, if you send me away, I will be obliged to check in on Lady . . . uh . . .” He chuckled. The rest of the servants in the room had gathered below the staircase, mopping up the final spills. Everyone in the room could hear that he had forgotten the woman’s name.

  “Lady Clumsy-Foot, my Lord?” The steward kept a straight face. Ashlin started laughing again.

  Onric nodded. “Don’t make me go,” he whispered.

  Steward Daniel handed him another rag.

  Chapter 11

  Ashlin shyly watched the young man sitting two steps below her as he carefully wiped up the oily mess with a scrap of fabric rag. He wore his hair loose, but not quite long enough to reach his shoulders. It was a very dark brown, with the slightest bit of waviness that gave him a constantly disheveled look. Perhaps that was why she found it easier to speak with him. Other than the fine construction of his clothing, nothing about him seemed particularly princely. He was an average height and carried himself with confidence, but he was never arrogant or distant. He just . . . was.

  Her heart warmed.

  At the moment, he was entirely absorbed with the task at hand, eager to do his best in cleaning up the slick mess.

  “I would never have guessed that such a small pail of oil could spread so far,” she said, afraid to admit to herself that she wanted to take this opportunity to converse with him.

  He smiled up at her, flicking his head to the side to get the hair out of his eyes. “That might be the most subtly vicious thing I have ever seen.”

  Ashlin smiled in agreement, although she thought he might have another contender if he had seen her stepmother wake her before dawn this morning. Her stomach turned at the memory, and she moved her face to the side so he would not see the frown between her eyes. Her stepmother was not vicious; she was just being thorough. Despite her mind’s reassurances, Ashlin could not quite calm the uneasy feelings in her core.

  The day had started out difficult, but Lady Cabril and Stasiya had left at midmorning to go fabric shopping again. Stasiya still had not decided on a fabric for her ballgown. With the house empty, Ashlin had sung her way through her chores, something she would never do if she were not alone.

  She was slightly concerned that Stasiya would ultimately choose a dark, heavy velvet and demand a voluminous skirt full of ruffles. Velvet ruffles were quite in fashion but terribly annoying to sew. Now that she was officially the scullery maid, cook, gardener, and lady’s maid to two women during the day—not to mention palace servant by night—she had no idea how she would find time to construct a ballgown in two weeks.

  So far, though, working at the palace had been more enjoyable than she’d anticipated. The actual work itself was not difficult, the steward was just and kind, and she loved the nightly rides home on Blossom.

  Or was it the small moments with Onric that always made her smile?

  “Are you alright?” Onric’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  She turned back towards him. “Yes, just a little tired.”

  “Daniel,” Onric called down to the steward, who was ensuring that the floor was entirely clean and not slippery at all. “This room is looking better than it ever has. Are you quite satisfied with the plans for decorating?”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” the steward replied, “the plans are quite solid, but we are still searching for the appropriate items that fit the queen’s criteria.”

  “Do you mind if I steal Miss Ashlin to the old eastern tower to continue the search? I think I saw an antique tapestry up there that would make a beautiful addition, and she’ll likely have a better eye for ascertaining that sort of thing than I do.”

  “That would be most appreciated,” the steward responded.

  Onric turned his brown eyes towards her and raised his eyebrows. “What do you say, Ashlin? Shall we uncover this hidden treasure?”

  She could not say no to the eager warmth in his pleading eyes. “That sounds wonderful.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Climbing up the tower stairs, Onric opened the door and stepped aside to let her enter first. She noticed immediately that someone had been here in the last few days. The wall under the windows had been cleared of all chests and crates, creating a long open space on the stone floor.

  “What’s this?” She turned back towards him in surprise.

  “Well, I have spent some time in the library researching tapestries. And you were right, they were mostly used as a way to pass stories down through the generations.”

  She smiled. She had of course known she was right, but it was nice to hear him say it.

  “So, I’ve been rather looking forward to unpacking it with you and may or may not have cleared away an area to unfold it in.”

  “But what if it is not a tapestry?” she replied. “What if it is another . . . family portrait?” She dropped her voice to a pointed whisper for the last two words.

  He laughed. “That would be most unfortunate, but I must admit I also have ulterior motives for doing this with you.” He looked down, breaking their eye contact.

  She raised her eyebrows at him, not wanting to guess what he might mean.

  “I, well . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I have been wanting to talk to you about that needle. To explain myself.”

  She waited, not uncomfortable with the silence in his pauses. He had mentioned a few nights ago that he wanted to tell her more, and she had been wondering what he meant.

  “So, I learned in my research this morning that tapestries were at their highest point of appreciation during the reign of the Majis queens,” he continued. “So, if this is a tapestry, it might contain a story that would tell us more about the Majis and how to protect ourselves during the Return.”

  Ashlin had always felt that she was fairly good at getting to the meaning behind a person’s words. But maybe she was wrong. “You are not making any sense.”

  “If it’s a tapestry, it could tell a story that helps us—”

  “No, that part makes sense,” she cut in. “How does this pertain to the
needle?”

  He took a step closer to her, his face serious. “I thought I needed your help because I knew that you could sew well.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I found the needle at the monastery that day, and I thought it might be spelled. I wanted to test it to see if we could learn anything about the magic.”

  He watched her expectantly, gauging her reaction.

  She kept her face neutral, as she was still not entirely sure what he was getting at. Spelled objects were so rare that they were almost considered a thing of children’s tales. But the penalty for using one was imprisonment. “Isn’t that what the Council is doing, though—why they’ve confiscated all the magical objects?”

  “Well . . .” His face was serious, but his eyes were begging her to understand. “Just between you and I, they really have not given us anything to work with. Even the advisor they sent has not been hopeful about their findings. I’m not taking this defense lightly.”

  She believed him. The reign of the Majis had been brutal. At that time, the non-magical had been forced to live as slaves, with neither freedom nor the ability to accumulate wealth. She had grown up hearing tales of the original quotidian heroes who rose up against the power of their overlords and freed the entire continent, splitting it into the five kingdoms: Allys on the northern shores, Falqri to the South, Iseldis in the East, Etrar to the West, and Chendas in the center, uniting them all. On the east coast of the continent, Iseldis was closest to the Isle of Exile. As a child, Ashlin had lain awake at night, wondering if the powerful Majis had found a way to break free from their non-magical containment and come back early to demand retribution. Her father would wrap her in a tight hug and tell her whimsical stories of children who could wield magic but used it to create toys and clever tools that would get them out of their chores. She would fall asleep, safe in his arms, dreaming of a kind of beautiful magic that didn’t exist.

  “We truly have nothing to defend ourselves with against their magic?” She could not keep the disbelief from her voice. The Council had had two hundred and fifty years to research the magic behind the spelled items and the source of power for the Majis. Surely they had found something.