Shard of Glass

by Emily Deady

  Onric nodded. “Nothing worth noting. They say they have created a series of defense spells that can be used by a specially trained quotidian and that they will send them to us at next season’s session, but will we have enough time to implement them? Some are afraid that the Majis have been returning for some time, disguising themselves as non-magic users but prepared to take us down from the inside when the time comes.”

  For a moment, Ashlin’s fears from her childhood surfaced. She had been terrified when she had learned that the Return would take place during her lifetime, but once again her father had eased her worries, saying that he himself was not worried about it and that they should trust the Council to properly prepare for the reintegration. But he had been wrong. The Council had not prepared. They would be attacked and slaughtered, made to pay the price for a few generations of freedom.

  Suddenly, her own problems felt very small in comparison. “Let’s hope this maybe-tapestry has some clues for us, then.”

  Onric smiled at her, looking relieved. He probably felt better for having shared his worries and secrets. No wonder he wanted to be a hero. He was obviously trying to be a hero for Iseldis by finding a way to protect them all.

  They went to the back chest, and Ashlin carefully removed the canvas she had placed over it. The prince went to the other side of the chest and buried his hands in the rolls of fabric. Together, they slowly lifted the large pile out of the chest.

  “Gently, gently,” she couldn’t help whispering as they lowered it to the ground.

  It was, indeed, a tapestry. The bundle of fabric was rolled into a massive scroll that was several hand-lengths tall. Placing it against one corner of the room, they carefully unrolled it a few turns. It was stunningly beautiful and seemingly untouched by time.

  Ashlin sank to her knees to study the first panel. A brilliant sky-blue background was framed by a thick border of leaves and flowers. The actual image depicted multiple figures on different types of terrain. Each figure wielded a different type of tool, and the areas of terrain closest to the figures contained more vegetation. The whole image was filled with blues and greens, with occasional splashes of red, yellow, and purple. It was breathtaking.

  Onric paced around it. “Are they gardeners?”

  “I don’t know. That seems like the obvious answer.” Ashlin reached out to gently touch the stitching on one of the figures. “I don’t recognize any of the tools they are using. I can’t imagine that shovels and plows have changed that significantly.”

  “Let’s unroll the next panel.”

  “Wait, I’m not done looking at this one yet.” She was trying to understand how the stitches had been constructed. Many of them were simple, especially the thin, dark outlines. But some of the solid crosshatching and textures were incredibly intricate. When she moved her head, the light played off the textures in different ways, making it seem as though each object were real and could be lifted off the fabric.

  She lifted the edge of the tapestry to inspect the back of it. Even the reverse was stunning. This was truly created by master artisans. The embroidery was anchored with tiny interlocking stitches on the back side so that there were no knots or lumps to disrupt the shape of the fabric from the front. She realized she could probably learn more about sewing from studying the back of this piece of art and deconstructing what the masters had put together.

  The prince had stopped moving and was standing beside her, waiting for her to finish.

  “Alright, let’s keep unrolling.” She stood. “Carefully, though—we don’t know if the whole thing is in as good a condition as this first section.”

  He had already stepped around to the back side of the roll. “Absolutely. We will take it slowly.”

  She helped him unroll the tapestry to show the next panel. It was the same size as the first, about twice as long as it was tall. And again, it was edged in a border. This time, the border was brown and filled with brambles. The image itself depicted much smaller figures, which were spread throughout the space. These were using regular gardening tools, but the land around them was fairly desolate. Mostly brown and gray. A thin line of blue seemed to denote the ocean on the horizon.

  “You’re right.” Onric dropped to his knees on the other side of the unrolled strip. “This panel has been damaged.” He pointed to a few areas near the edge where the base fabric had torn, disrupting the stitches.

  “I could possibly patch that,” Ashlin said. “It might take some practice to emulate the stitching pattern, but since the damage is around the edge it would not be too noticeable. Especially if we found the right color of thread.”

  “That should not be a problem. I can make sure you have access to the best thread and filaments.”

  “You might need to have a tanner dye some specially to match. These colors are surprisingly vibrant.”

  “How old do you think it is?”

  “I was hoping you would know.” She looked up at him.

  “Maybe some of the scenes further in will show what king or historical event inspired it.”

  They began to unroll another section. She gasped. The next panel was almost completely destroyed. It was full of a tangle of threads, but the stitches had been broken, and the base fabric was full of holes.

  “It looks like a rodent’s breakfast,” Onric said.

  They kept unrolling, but the damaged section was about as long as both the panels before it. Ashlin could not tell if it was two damaged panels or one long one. Her chest fell at the loss of such beauty. “But how did rodents access this inner panel?” she asked. “Wouldn’t they have nibbled away at the end that was available?”

  “I don’t know. That’s a good question. I don’t suppose you could restore this much damage?”

  She quickly looked up to see if he was serious. He was smirking at her. She smiled in return. “Oh yes, I could easily repair this. It’s not as though I need to know what the original image is supposed to be, do I?”

  “I was thinking you could just do a scene about us.” He shrugged, looking back down at the ruined tapestry at their feet.

  She followed his gaze, unable to quickly think of a witty reply.

  “Maybe if we look further ahead, we can piece together what this part of the story might have been.” He was serious this time.

  “That’s actually a good idea.”

  “I can have good ideas, too, you know.” He sounded mockingly hurt.

  “Let’s see.” She continued to gently move the still-giant fabric scroll. The next section was much less damaged, but they had run out of physical room to unroll the tapestry any further. “How much longer do you think this is?” she asked.

  “At least twice the current length,” he replied, sizing up the amount of fabric left. “This could probably wrap around two walls of the ball room.”

  “Do you think it would be a good addition to the ball, then? It’s not too old or ruined?”

  “Well, I would have to leave that in the hands of the steward, but if you truly can repair some of the damage, it would be quite the eye-catching piece. I’m sure my mother would be pleased. Do you think we can fill in some of the missing gaps in this story?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  They went back to the beginning of the scroll and rolled up the first two panels they had already seen, carefully adjusting the length of it down the floor so they could unroll the rest of the new panel. The new image was still intact, but it was so magnificent that it took Ashlin a few moments to understand what was happening.

  A single woman in a brilliant blue dress stood at the center of the image. Hers was the lightest area of the panel, and the threads got darker and darker as they traveled away from her to the edge. A crown was on her head, and bright-gold lightning flashed from her outspread fingertips. The lightning spread throughout the panel, shattering buildings and landscapes wherever it touched down.

  “It’s the Fall of the Majis,” Ashlin breathed. “This must be Queen Delphine at the height of her
oppression.”

  They unrolled the next panel, and sure enough, it depicted the queen kneeling with her head bowed, a broken crown on the ground beside her. On the layer above her, the three heroes of the quotidian raised their swords in victory, grotesque smiles on their faces.

  “They don’t look quite like I pictured them.” Ashlin ran her fingers over the stitching on the heroes’ faces. A knotted black cord had been used to create the defined lines of their facial features.

  “I’m afraid I have to ask you to stop searching these crates.” Onric spoke over her head, but she could hear a joking tone in his words. “You keep finding the most unflattering portraits of my ancestors. No wonder they were hidden away up here.”

  He was a descendant of these heroes. She had not thought of that. “Is this what you were looking for, my Lord?” She looked up at him, remembering that she was conversing with a member of the royal family. Something she was still under orders not to do.

  He knelt across from her, his eyes taking in the image. “I think so. This seems to have been made right after the Fall of the Majis. Hopefully the rest of the panels give us more information on the Majis themselves, and not just the victory celebrations.”

  He seemed disappointed. Ashlin stood and continued to unroll the tapestry. “Maybe there is more here than we realize,” she offered.

  Over the next few hours, they carefully rolled and unrolled the giant scroll to access all of its content. There were other areas that had suffered severe damage, but the rest of the images did not seem unique. They continued to be breathtakingly beautiful, but most depicted normal images of life in the kingdom and the castle.

  “I’m afraid this won’t help you much in your search,” Ashlin finally admitted when they had reached the last piece.

  “Do you think . . .” Onric paused. “Do you think it’s possible that the damaged panels were intentionally destroyed?”

  She waited again, letting him finish his thought.

  “It looks like rodent damage, but it also seems so targeted. The damage only took place within some panels.”

  “I guess it’s possible,” she replied. “But why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe because it is exactly the information I’m looking for. What if the Majis knew they were about to be conquered, so they purposely damaged the parts of the tapestry that could reveal their own weakness?”

  Ashlin was skeptical, but she had to admit it was possible. “Let’s take a closer look at one of the missing panels.”

  “It really does just look like little nibbles and bites have been taken out of the threads and fabric,” the prince admitted, slightly defeated, after they had reexamined it.

  “Yes,” Ashlin said, wanting him to feel heard, “but if your idea is correct, they could have used magic to make it look like an accident.”

  He lifted his eyes. “That’s a very good point. I’m glad I trusted you with the truth.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled.

  “I don’t know that we will ever find out, though.”

  “Well, for now, I’ll see if I can repair some of the lesser damage, and maybe we can trim out the destroyed panels . . .” She stopped. She couldn’t handle the thought of cutting this masterpiece, even if it was damaged. “Well, we can fold the damaged panels behind it for the ball. I’ll chat with the steward.”

  Chapter 12

  Ashlin watched the fabric ripple through her fingers. It was simultaneously airy and weighted, falling from her hands like a waterfall.

  She could not believe she was holding the blue silk—the brilliant, subtle, shimmering azure blue silk.

  Her stepsister, who refused to wear anything but the height of fashion, had somehow returned from the dressmaker’s shop with the most unusual choice. The delicate blue silk was even more perfect than Ashlin had remembered.

  Stasiya was loudly giving instructions on what she wanted her dress to look like, but for once, Ashlin was not listening. Since when had her sister done anything different, much less exercise good taste? To most people, the blue fabric would come across as simple, bright, maybe even childish. She would have expected her stepsister to turn up her nose at the very thought of a light blue dress.

  “And with that, I’m sure I’ll properly stand out.” Stasiya finally stopped talking.

  She wanted to stand out. She must have gone into the shop and looked for the most unusual fabric she could lay her eyes on.

  Suddenly, Ashlin felt a little lightheaded. She took a deep breath, but her chest felt too tight to accept additional air. It was just a length of blue fabric. She should not be mourning over something so frivolous. But she still felt the need to escape to the kitchen and sob. She was probably just tired. She was always tired these days. And she had barely eaten that morning. Surely she would feel better after she ate.

  But she was tired of mourning. She had done nothing but mourn for seasons on end. She mourned her father, she mourned her old way of life, her old friends, her old activities. She mourned the fact that she could not apprentice under Mistress Cedrice.

  She was already mourning the fact that she could not go to the ball, and the fact that her sister was stealing her very name to go in her stead. She did not have it in her to make yet another sacrifice for someone else who had given her nothing. She merely wanted to be accepted and loved, to share the burden of their household and worries. But she had been carrying them alone for too long. She could not spend countless hours over the next few days turning this beloved blue silk into a dress for someone else.

  During the past week of working at the palace, she had felt the smallest flicker of hope for something more. She wasn’t sure what it was yet, but it was something that seemed so much bigger and more powerful than the petty judgments and standards of her stepfamily.

  Each time the steward complimented her on a job well done or the prince turned his laughing eyes to her, she felt a little more stable on her own.

  “I don’t think I can do it,” she said to herself, her voice confident though it was no louder than a whisper.

  “What was that?” Stasiya asked.

  “I don’t think I can sew this dress.” She spoke just a touch louder.

  “Of course you can,” Stasiya said. “You are more skilled than most seamstresses in the kingdom!”

  The compliment was nice, but it was not enough to change Ashlin’s mind. She had to find a way out of this. “I don’t know that this is the best color for you, though.” She carried the fabric to the sofa and held it up under her stepsister’s face.

  Stasiya’s eyes grew large, filling with concern. “I know it’s different . . .”

  “Well, sometimes different is good, but I’m afraid this blue makes your face look awfully pale.” It was true. Her stepsister’s reddish hair and green eyes did not go well with the crispness of the blue. Greens had always suited her better.

  Stasiya’s face fell. “Mother!” she cried, getting up and racing from the room.

  Ashlin knew that cry. It was a mix of anger and disappointment. A dangerous combination. Leaving the silk in the parlor, she quickly went to the kitchen and furiously started preparing the evening meal. She had done her best to avoid sewing the gown, but the knot in her stomach made her question whether it would be worth it. Perhaps it would have been less painful in the end to just sew the dress.

  The door creaked open. Ashlin pretended not to have heard it as she chopped the brown potatoes on the counter in front of her. But even without turning around, she could sense the change of energy in the room. Her stepmother was not pleased.

  “Ashlin.”

  Her heart pounded. She set the knife down. She tried to put on a light smile, as though she hadn’t done anything wrong, but the trembling in her jaw made that difficult. She turned around.

  Her stepmother stood in the doorway, her hand still on the doorknob, her head held high and her gray eyes icy cold.

  “Yes, my lady?”

  The older woman sighed deeply, her shoul
ders slumping as she exhaled. “Your sister is terribly upset.” She stepped into the room and walked around the table, dragging her hand along the tops of the chairs. “Did you have to mention the color of her hair? You know that is a sore spot for her.”

  Ashlin blinked as tears burned in the corner of her eyes. Moments earlier, she had been so full of anger and frustration that she’d had the courage to stand up for what she wanted. But in an instant, it had dissipated. Instead, she was left with the feeling of shame and regret. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I know you are. And honestly, you are probably right. I had doubts myself about her choice of fabric at the dressmakers, but I couldn’t bring myself to question her when she was so excited about it.”

  Ashlin wanted to sink into the floor. She wished she had the same amount of self-control.

  Her stepmother stopped pacing. “Let’s just sew the dress up and help her feel good in it, shall we?”

  Ashlin nodded.

  “I knew you would understand. Perhaps, to make it up to your sister, you could beat out her feather mattress and the rugs in her room.”

  “Yes, madam.” Sensing that she was dismissed, Ashlin turned back towards the counter.

  Her stepmother walked past her to leave the small kitchen. “While you are at it, you might as well do all of mine as well. And don’t forget the rugs in the salon and dining room.” She closed the door behind her.

  Thoroughly chastised, Ashlin wiped her hands on her apron and retrieved the charcoal sketch she had done of her original dress design. Even if the crisp color was not the most flattering for her sister, at least it could still be the best dress at the ball.

  Chapter 13

  “Stop pacing, Onric. I can’t focus.” Queen Cara spoke to her son without lifting her eyes from her desk.