by Emily Deady
“I was wondering . . .” She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him. “Have you learned anything about the spelled needle?”
“The could-be-spelled needle?” He was still teasing. He couldn’t help it. She took everything so seriously.
“Yes, the might-possibly-be-spelled-by-a-Majis needle.”
He grinned in victory. “Yes, I have tried it a few more times.”
“And?” She was watching him carefully, as though looking for something deeper in his answers than what she was asking for.
“No luck. All I’ve accomplished is a bundled mess of fabric and stitches. If it is spelled, it certainly is not making my sewing any better. Why do you ask?”
She was suddenly very interested in scratching one of the stitches on the tapestry with her fingernail. “N-nothing. Never mind.”
He stood and approached the other side of the table. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“My father was Lord . . . on Lord Cabril’s ship when it sank.”
“I’m so sorry.” That would explain some of the sadness behind her eyes, then. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, but she continued speaking as though she did not want to dwell on that fact.
“Your words about the Majis and their power over the sea made me realize that they are partially responsible for his death.”
Onric’s spine stiffened. He still was not sure where these thoughts were going, but he was starting to tie the pieces together. “And you have an idea about the Majis?”
“Perhaps. This idea could have consequences and . . .” Her voice dropped, along with her eyes. “I don’t have the protection that might come with a certain status.”
You’ll always have the protection of my status. The surprising thought seemed to slam through his head, smashing against his skull. He wanted so desperately to say it aloud. But that would be highly inappropriate and likely do the complete opposite of offering her calm or safety. He had enjoyed the incredible privilege of his station in life, and while he wished he could offer that to everyone, sometimes his gift could be a burden. Although he had only known Ashlin a short time, he could not deny that he wanted to offer her everything that was within his power to give. Especially after spending the past few days entertaining the various women whom his brother might choose from. The women who were supposedly the very best that the five kingdoms had to offer. In contrasting his every interaction with Ashlin to them, he clearly knew he had to take his growing attachment to this quiet seamstress more seriously. It was not that he had started to build his dreams around her, it was just that . . . every time he thought of himself in a future situation, she was always present as a permanent part of his life. This realization gently electrified his entire body.
These thoughts had all gone through his mind in the space of second, but they felt right. He felt right. But she didn’t. She was scratching the stitch again with her fingernail, though her eyes were still trying to gauge his reaction. She had been asking about the needle and then speaking of doing something dangerous. “You want to try the needle again?”
She did not nod, nor did she shake her head. She watched her hands as they gently ran across the surface of the tapestry.
“You want to try the needle . . . on the tapestry?” It was brilliant. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
“Never mind. It was a bad idea to begin with.” She shook her head. “The risk is too great. What if it destroyed the tapestry? Now that the steward and Her Highness are aware of it, we could not hide our actions.”
“True. But if we did try it,” Onric replied, “what do you think it would do? If it were spelled and did work?”
“I had wondered if maybe . . . if the needle were indeed spelled . . .” She danced around the words she was trying to say.
Having realized many days ago that she often took an extra moment to frame her thoughts, Onric waited.
“The tapestry is so old,” she continued, “and it’s possible that it is from the same era as the needle, so I was thinking that perhaps the needle might be able to reconstruct, somehow, the damaged panels of the tapestry. I’m sure it is not strong enough to do it, though.” She was back to nervously fingering the stitches on the tapestry.
“It’s brilliant,” Onric assured her. “I’m embarrassed that I did not think of it myself.”
She gave him a confused smile.
“I’ll be right back.” Onric dashed out the door.
Chapter 16
Ashlin kept stitching with her regular bone needle. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was dry. What she had proposed was punishable by years of imprisonment at the very least, and she had spoken it to a member of the royal family. What if he returned with the palace guard?
She shook her head. He was the head of the palace guard. He would not have had to leave the room in order to arrest her. And what was she thinking? Of course he would not be arresting her. The only reason she had shared her idea with him was because he had first shared his search with her.
Mistress Cedrice was right. Her father would not have wanted this for her, for their family. But she was also not completely at fault for his death. There should not have been such a fierce storm during the warmest season. The least she could do now was try to protect others as much as she could from the sorrow and despair that would follow in the wake of the Majis.
She looked up as the door creaked open. Onric stepped inside the room and carefully looked back down the staircase. He paused for a moment, listening, then closed the door.
“Just making sure I was not followed.” He stepped to the other side of the makeshift table, across from her, and held out his hand. It was clenched in a tight fist around a silver object. “Before we try this, I want you to know I am responsible for any negative consequences that might befall us. My examination of magical objects is not entirely done in secret . . . I want to assure you that those with more power than I are aware of what I am doing and have given their permission for it.”
Ashlin felt lightheaded. If even the king and queen did not trust the protection of the Council, then they were in serious danger. She nodded. “I understand. But I too want to do my part in protecting Iseldis from further sorrows.”
He opened his fist, revealing an elaborate silver needle case. Mistress Cedrice kept her most expensive bone needles in a similar case. Ashlin had always planned on getting herself a silver case for her own favorite needles, someday when she was a successful seamstress.
“Shall I make the first stitch?” Onric asked, his voice filled with concern.
“With all due respect, Your Highness, I’m not letting you anywhere near this tapestry with a needle, magic or not.” She attempted to smile despite the gravity of the situation.
He smiled. “You make an excellent point.”
She reached across the makeshift table, taking the needle case from his hand. A strange sensation immediately sparked up her arm, and she nearly dropped the case. Was the magic already affecting her? Her cheeks started to warm as she realized she had brushed his hand with her fingertips. The innocent contact with his skin had caused the tingling reaction up her arm, not the needle case. She could feel herself blushing as she hoped he had not felt it too. She tilted her face down and focused on examining the intricate case to hide any feelings that might be visible on her face.
Pressing her thumb against the delicate clasp, she opened the case and stared at the needle within. She had seen it before, of course, but she had not known its history or potential then. It was larger than most regular needles, and not smooth. The iron had not rusted, but the patina was dull and shadowed. Even the point of the needle itself looked dull, and she was not sure she would be able to drive it through the dense fabric and stitches of the tapestry. She hesitated to pick it up, but they were not going to learn anything by staring at it through the case.
“You’re sure it didn’t do anything to harm you when you tried it?” She looked up at him.
“No. Nothing that I’m aware of
. Although if it made me less smart, I would not necessarily know that, would I?”
She appreciated his attempt at humor. “I think you’ve always had a problem in that area.”
This was it. The needle probably did nothing. If it did, Onric would have figured it out by now. Besides, it was more likely that nothing would happen than that something bad would. She looked at the tapestry to give her strength. One of the damaged panels was visible, and she imagined it complete and filled with color. She imagined Stasiya and her stepmother, happy and content. She thought of her father, ever inquisitive and intrigued by anything he had never seen before.
It was just a needle. She picked it up.
Nothing happened.
It felt as rough as it looked. The eye of the needle was large. Most bone needles were carved to be slim, leaving only the smallest possible opening for the thread to go through. But a material as rough as iron could not be manipulated into something so delicate. It would make threading it easier, but likely the sewing part would be more difficult.
Picking up a strand of green thread, she strung it through the needle’s eye with ease. Since she was embroidering, not sewing a seam, she did not knot the thread into a loop but left it a single strand. She didn’t want to test it on the tapestry first, just in case something bad did happen. She did not want to further damage the tapestry.
She fingered the edge of her sleeve, but also decided against that. What if it destroyed her dress? In front of the prince!
She reached up to her head and tugged the kerchief free. The motion loosened her thick braid, which had been looped up around her head, and it fell down across her chest. With a flick of her head, she tossed it back over her shoulder to keep it out of the way.
Gently folding the kerchief in half, she pressed the tip of the needle against the fabric. Before piercing it, she looked up at Onric. His eyes were glued to her. He nodded. She looked back down and forced the needle through the fabric. The loose weave of the linen kerchief separated easily around the dull tip of the needle. She pulled the thread through the fabric but stopped before completely pulling it out.
Nothing happened.
Returning the needle to the fabric, she made another stitch very close to the first one.
Nothing happened.
She continued until she had a row of small, even stitches lining the edge of her kerchief. “I suppose we had nothing to worry about.” She looked back up at Onric. “This is just a regular needle. A clumsy regular needle.” She felt giddy with relief, but a small weight of disappointment settled in her heart.
She tugged on the thread, and since it wasn’t knotted, the whole length slipped free, leaving a small row of holes in her kerchief. She rubbed the fabric to ease the weave back into its original place.
Chapter 17
Onric picked up the needle from across the table and placed it back in its case. “I am a little disappointed, although I suppose I should be relieved that we only flirted with danger.”
“But flirting with danger doesn’t make one a hero.”
“Yes.” He looked at her across the table. “Exactly.” She had seen who he was and what he desired, and in just a few simple words she had encapsulated that. His chest felt warm. He felt . . . seen. She hadn’t looked at him and asked about his older brother, nor had she looked at him and made assumptions based on his family or status. She had just seen . . . him. It felt wonderfully refreshing.
“Where did you find it?” She was using her kerchief to tie up her braid once again. He wanted to ask her to stop. She was beautiful every time he saw her, but the sight of her tangled braid with the curls slipping loose was incredibly appealing. Seeing her so casual made her feel more real. It was a good thing the table was still in between them.
“That night in the storm?” he said. “Ian and I had been visiting the monastery, but we also stopped to see the old monk who left his community and still lives on the shore. He had managed to save several items from the library.”
“But how did you know to search there?”
“You haven’t heard the legends of the monastery?”
“You mean the ones about how it was originally founded by the Majis?”
“Yes.”
“But they are not true. The Majis built forts, not monasteries.”
“I don’t know if it’s true or not. But if it is true, then it only makes sense that they would have hidden treasured items there when they had to leave.”
“But this needle isn’t spelled.”
“Then why was it so important that it was saved from the looting?”
Ashlin paused. She did not have an answer for that. “I . . . I don’t know. There is certainly nothing else special about it. It’s not even a good needle. Maybe the needle case is the important part?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Onric reexamined the case in his hand. What would a magical needle case do? Lock itself? Explode? He dipped his head down towards it and gently blew on it.
Nothing happened.
“What was that?” Ashlin asked him.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t really sure. Just . . . I don’t know.”
She laughed at him.
“Well, do you have any ideas?” He smirked back at her, slightly hurt by her making fun of him.
She shook her head, still giggling. “Maybe try whistling over it.”
He slipped the needle case back in his pocket, wanting to change the subject. “I do wonder why that old monk held onto it for so long.”
“Did he say anything when he gave it to you?”
“No.” Onric tried to recall the monk’s words. “He let us peruse his stores, which were mostly made up of manuscripts. I didn’t want to risk taking one of those and ruining it as we traveled. Fortunately, we did not take any, as the storm surely would have damaged the parchment. And the needle was the only item small enough to carry away. When I asked him if I could borrow it, he said, ‘Of course, Your Highness. It might teach you things you never knew.’ I was hoping that might mean it was spelled. We didn’t directly tell him what we were doing, of course, since that could have had dire consequences for all of us, but he most definitely guessed. Maybe he was just a crazy old man.”
“It can’t hurt to try it one more time.” Ashlin had stopped laughing.
“Why? It obviously doesn’t do anything.”
“Then it obviously won’t be a problem if we try it again.” She held out her hand.
Taking the needle case from his pocket, he dropped it in her palm. “Is there something we can do differently?”
She had taken out the needle and was tapping it against her hand. “What sorts of fabrics did you test it on?”
“Just scraps. The blanket on my bed, the edge of my sleeve.”
“Then let’s try it on something important.” She picked up the black filament she had been using to repair the tapestry and threaded the needle again. She moved down the makeshift table until she was standing in front of the damaged panel of the tapestry. She looked back up at him, uncertainty in her eyes despite her confidence a moment prior.
He shrugged. “The worst outcome is that nothing happens.”
She pressed the needle through the fabric, slowly pulling the thread through afterwards until it was taut.
He blinked. It looked as though the black thread had let off a light shimmer as she pulled it through. But after his blink, the effect—whatever it was—had disappeared. He glanced back up at Ashlin, disappointment filling him.
She was standing still, frozen as a statue.
A panicked fear grasped at the edge of his mind as his eyes flicked up to her face.
Her eyes and mouth were open wide in a look of stunned awe. “It’s the wrong color,” she whispered.
“What?”
“It’s the wrong color.” Her eyes sparkled as she quickly pulled the thread out of the tapestry and needle, but the look of awe and excitement remained on her face.
Terrified that she had actually go
ne mad, he rushed around the table. “What do you mean? How do you know? What’s happening?”
“I don’t know!” she cried. “But I pulled it through and instantly knew I should be using blue.” She threaded the needle again with the same blue that was the color of the sky in the other panels.
Before she could make another stitch, Onric placed his hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “Are you sure you are alright? It didn’t harm you?”
She smiled up at him. “I’m fine. Just excited. Let’s see if this works.” She made another stitch. Onric saw the faint glimmer again, but this time he didn’t mistake it for a trick of the light. He looked back at her.
“This feels right.” She made another stitch. And another.
“What’s happening?” Onric asked, his eyes darting between the light glimmer of the thread and the joyful concentration on her face.
“I don’t know. I just know that this is right.” She paused to remove some of the broken threads from the damage that were cluttering the area she was now re-embroidering. “Watch how the needle goes through the fabric.”
“The glimmer? I’m seeing that.”
“No—well, yes, I’m seeing that too. But watch the needle, not the thread.”
He carefully watched her make the next stitch. He didn’t see anything unusual.
“Notice how the needle is so thick, but it is not leaving large holes in the fabric of the tapestry? The tight weave is unharmed.”
He watched her make another stitch. The needle went through the heavy canvas backing with ease, and it left no trace of having been there.
“Do you want to try?” She held the needle out to him.
“Will I ruin it?”
“I don’t think so. Here,” she placed the tip of the needle right next to the last stitch she had taken, “make the stitch right here.”