Shard of Glass

by Emily Deady

  “You have no right to toy with my heart when you have no intention of honoring it!”

  The horse stopped. She did not. She was too busy wiping the tears that had risen to her eyes. Her teeth chattered, and her arms were growing numb in the cold. Her seething anger had slipped into exhaustion. She had always prided herself on her ability to face difficulties with grace and a smile. But in this moment, she just felt miserable. Lonely, misunderstood, and miserable.

  Suddenly, she felt a warm cloak falling around her shoulders. The horse and his rider had not turned around to go back to the castle. Onric was walking at her side now, his cloak around her shoulders, and Blossom on his right.

  “You are right,” he said. “I do not know those things.”

  Her sniffles turned into sobs. He let her cry as he walked next to her until her home came into view. He paused where she usually got off the horse. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked.

  She shook her head, slipping the cloak from her shoulders.

  “Please keep it.” He pushed it back towards her. “I should have given it to you long ago.”

  She paused, uncertain. She desperately wanted to hold on to its warmth. With a nod, she pulled it tightly back around her shoulders.

  “I . . . I feel so helpless leaving you here,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t want to come back to the palace with me?”

  His concern warmed her from the inside out. “No, I am not in danger here.” At least not the danger he was inferring. “Thank you for the . . . walk.”

  He bowed his head in acknowledgment. “I would never toy with your heart,” he whispered without lifting his head.

  “You already have.” Her throat hurt from the rawness in her words. “And I will not let that happen again.”

  She turned and made her way to the kitchen door, checking carefully that her stepmother was not waiting for her before she entered the room in the new cloak. Climbing into bed, she wrapped herself in the thick fabric, savoring its clean fresh smell.

  Though her body was exhausted, her mind refused to rest. Her stepmother was right. She was too trusting. She should never have let down her guard and imagined that anything more existed between her and a prince. Of course he was only interested in her because she could offer him what he needed without requiring anything in return.

  If only she had not fallen in love with how easy it was to be herself in his presence, and how enjoyable it was to banter with him. At least she had not fallen in love with him, fully. It would be much more difficult to step away from him if she had.

  Her mind ran through their every interaction. Had he only pursued her company because she was a good seamstress whom he could manipulate into performing his illegal activity? He had defended her in front of his father, but perhaps that, too, was only a show.

  She rolled over, hugging the cloak closer to her body for warmth. It reminded her of him. She wanted to cling to it, to stay safely wrapped in it. But it was only a cloak.

  Chapter 25

  Ashlin wanted to drop the needle. She wanted to throw it into a blacksmith’s furnace and watch it melt into nothingness. Perhaps they could stoke the fire until it was so hot that the melted iron would burn and turn into ash, and then nothing would be left of the needle at all.

  Instead, she dutifully made stitch after stitch, slowly restoring the damaged panel of the tapestry. It wasn’t truly the needle she was angry at. She was angry at herself for enjoying the slight hum of approval the needle emitted when she chose the right color and made the proper stitch to bring the tapestry back to life. The magic itself felt wonderful. It felt like singing a happy song in harmony on a sunny day with a group of people she loved. All day long she looked forward to escaping to this easy task that made her feel light and happy, where she could hum away the hours.

  The magic was so subtle and affirming that she found herself wanting to use the needle. It reminded her of the stories her father had told her when she couldn’t sleep, stories about magical toys created by inventive children and tools that cleaned themselves.

  She enjoyed using the needle, and she hated herself for it. She could not forget that the very object in her hands had once been enchanted by a Majis. The power it held had been derived from someone else’s pain. Perhaps the Majis enchanter had tortured a prisoner, or oppressed a quotidian family, or stood on the outskirts of a battlefield and channeled the large-scale chaos into the needle itself.

  She knew she should not enjoy the process of using it, but nothing about it felt evil. Pulling her thread taut as she tightened another stitch, she could not help the light smile that crept onto her face. The needle was helping her to create a tapestry of rare beauty, and she loved that.

  She wanted to enjoy it while she still could as this was the last panel she intended to complete, even though there were many more damaged panels throughout the tapestry.

  This one was nearly finished, though. All the background color had been filled in, and she only needed to finish the black outlining that depicted the image itself.

  She wanted to enjoy her last few hours working on this project. Onric would be coming through the tower door at any moment to check on the progress, and she had to tell him tonight that she would no longer help with his magic research. He would feign to be hurt, of course, in an attempt to get her to stay. She would not be so dense as to fall for it, though. Just as she did not trust her feelings about the needle, she knew she could not trust her feelings towards him.

  As if reading her thoughts, the prince himself gently pushed through the tower door and entered the room. He moved more slowly than usual, as though afraid to upset her.

  “My Lord,” she said, dipping her head and hoping her formality would set the tone for their conversation.

  “Ashlin,” he replied.

  She tried not to feel disappointed that he had not responded with his joking ‘my lady’ like he used to do. But another small part of her heart wanted to sing for joy that he had called her Ashlin and not Stasiya. She had assumed that he would instantly believe her stepmother.

  “How is the progress?” he asked.

  She reminded herself that he was controlling and manipulative. “Good,” she replied. “It will be finished this evening so the steward can move it into the great hall tomorrow morning before the ball.”

  “Excellent, thank you.” He stood across the table from her, his hands behind his back. Gazing down at the tapestry, he tilted his head and watched her make a handful of stitches.

  Though the image was not complete, they could still make out a part of it. She had expected some sort of battle scene, especially if this panel had been maliciously destroyed. Instead, the thread below her fingers illustrated a beautiful tranquil scene. It depicted a row of figures so tall they took up the entire height of the frame. Many smaller people seemed to be gathered below them, as though they were under the protection of the large figures. Or were they being oppressed by the tall ones? The tall figures were blowing from their mouths, creating large puffs of wind. It seemed like the depiction of a Majis story, but there were no other signs of a storm. Everything else in the image was still and serene. Ashlin assumed the next set of stitches would fill in more of the storm details.

  Her heart pounded and her mouth felt dry. She had to tell him now before she lost her nerve. “My Lord, after this panel is finished, I think it would be best if you found someone else to use the needle in finishing the rest of the tapestry.”

  Her stomach lurched, but her head felt light in a giddy sort of way. She had said it. She had identified something she did not want to do and worked up the courage to state it. Clutching the table for support, she dared to look up at him.

  He appeared to be devastated. Her heart begged her to rescind her words, but she held her resolve. He had never been able to hide his emotions, or so she had thought. Perhaps he had always just been good at acting in order to control her feelings.

  “You will be missed,” he finally responded, hi
s voice strained.

  The silence grew awkward. Ashlin offered no words to break it. They had spent many moments in this very room in silence, and none of them had been awkward before.

  The prince nodded and turned away, walking towards the door. “I’ll come back in a few hours to see the finished panel, then,” he said.

  That was it? He was not going to raise his voice and demand her compliance? She felt an aching pain in her chest, as though her heart was truly breaking. She wanted to call him to stay. Even if he was using her to further his own means, it felt so much better to be used than to endure this painful separation.

  He stopped and turned back around. “Ashlin.” He ran his hand through his hair. “About yesterday . . .”

  She looked up immediately, her firm resolve betrayed by the eagerness in her voice. “Yes?”

  “I spoke in haste yesterday, and I apologize for that. I realize now that I had my own opinion of what was right for you, and I forcefully pushed that opinion upon you. Whether or not my opinion was right, it was wrong of me to attempt to bend your will to mine.”

  Her heart responded against her will, expanding and releasing the pain it strained against. She wanted to believe his words, which were so kind they brought tears to her eyes. If she had not previously recognized that he would resort to using kind words in order to change her mind, she would surely have fallen for his deceit. “Thank you for your apology. I appreciate your concern.” She added a small smile to her words so they would come across as genuine, but she made no move to rescind her earlier statement.

  He paused again, but she refused to move first, wanting to wait until he left the room.

  “I do have one more thing to say,” he finally continued, still facing her, “and I would not be true to myself or to you if I remained silent.”

  She clenched her jaw as she bit her lip. This did not sound like it was going to be something she wanted to hear. She crossed her arms.

  “From the moment I met you, I have been entranced by your smile.” He stepped forward, his eyes on the ground below him. “I realized that first stormy night in the kitchen, when you had no idea who I was and you spoke to me like you would to an equal . . . I realized that your smile was rare and not freely indulged. That night, you held it back from me and you held it back from yourself. When I found you again just hours later at my doorstep, I immediately wanted to find a way to always keep a smile on your face.”

  He was standing on the other side of the makeshift table, his eyes roaming the tapestry.

  She felt as though time had stopped, her every sense focused on his words.

  “I felt as though, over the past few weeks, I had begun to accomplish that mission. But seeing you shrink into yourself in front of your own mother at the seamstress’s shop yesterday made me . . . feel so helpless.” He looked up at her then, his eyelids openly blinking back tears. “And it made me realize that even if I could be there to protect you at all times, as I desperately wish to be, there is only one person in the world who can control your smile. And that is you.”

  Ashlin could feel every beat of her heart, thudding in her chest, pulsing in her head, throbbing in her hands.

  “I do not know anything about your family,” he continued. “You have not offered to tell me anything about them. But I do not need to know them to know you. I know that you do not smile when you are with them. Please reconsider my offer to move to the palace. You do not have to continue working on the tapestry if you do not wish. I desperately want to promise my protection to you, always . . .” He stopped and took a deep breath, looking away for a moment before turning back to her. “But, I cannot take the responsibility of keeping a smile on your face if you refuse to help yourself.”

  He placed his hands on the tapestry as he leaned slightly over the table. Ashlin noticed that his hands were trembling.

  She wanted to run to the safety of his arms, to accept his offer and be close to him forever, even if it was only as a palace servant. Fortunately, the large makeshift table stood in her way and she held her ground.

  “You are right,” she began, keeping her voice empty of emotion. She picked up the iron needle, letting it dance through her fingers. “I did not tell you about my family.” She would not fall for him. She was stronger than this. “My father did indeed die on Lord Cabril’s ship in that storm . . . because my father was Lord Cabril.”

  He raised his eyebrows slightly but did not interrupt her.

  “He should not have set sail that day. He should have left a week prior to that storm. But I could not bear to see him leave, and I begged him to stay. My stepmother said it was the most selfish thing I have ever done.”

  “Your stepmother?”

  “Lady Cabril is all I have left of a real mother. She is all I have left of a real family. She has stayed by my side through the immense hardships of this past year, even though those hardships are . . . my fault.” Even as she said the words, they sounded empty in her own ears. But she carried on, tapping the needle against the table for emphasis. “You do not want me. You do not know me at all. I will not let your lies and sweet words poison me against the only family I have left.”

  Onric stood back, his eyes narrowing. “And your sister?”

  “Stepsister. Stasiya. Her father was not a nobleman so we are trying to give her the protection of the Cabril name.”

  “By taking it away from you?” His voice rose. “This woman steals your name, showers your sister in finery, and hires you out as a menial servant. She struck you. These are not the actions of a loving family.”

  Ashlin shook her head. His accusations drowned her in shame, and she wanted to run away from his slicing words. She wanted to forget them before she was forced to consider whether or not they were true. “See? You are merely trying to drive a wedge between me and my family so that I will choose you.” Unable to hold back her emotion any longer, her words came out in an angry outburst. “You only want me to remain because you can easily control me, and if your unlawful actions were ever discovered you could sacrifice me to the dungeons to suffer the consequences for you!”

  Onric’s shoulders slumped forward, seemingly in disappointment. He had probably never dreamed that she would see through his facade.

  She dropped her head as her lungs begged for breath. Her chest was so tight, she could barely inhale. “You flirted with me.” Her voice was quiet now, but she could not hide the emotion she was feeling. “And you pretended to care for me. When all along you were planning to choose a bride at the ball.” She looked up at him.

  Onric staggered backwards, his eyes wide. “This is what you think of me?”

  “I wish I had never fallen in love with you.” Her jaw dropped at her own admission. She slapped the needle down onto the table, anger growling at her core. “In fact, I will not even be finishing this panel at all. I will not let you manipulate me any longer.”

  “Ashlin . . . please let me explain.”

  Striding past him without another glance, she strode towards the door. “Please inform Steward Daniel that I was not feeling well.”

  “Ashlin!” He jumped after her. “At least let me see you home—it’s not safe after dark.”

  She spun back around to face him, holding her hand out at arm’s length. “Do not step any closer.”

  He stopped, his chest inches away from her hand, and recognition dawned on his face. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Ashlin,” he whispered.

  She fled through the door before he could glimpse her tears. Why did it hurt so much to do the right thing? She had never felt so broken and so strong at the same time.

  Chapter 26

  Onric continued his surveillance of the castle perimeter. He approached the side gate to check in with the guard on duty. Before making his presence known, he watched the man for a few moments to ensure he was following all the directives that had been ordered for the security of the ball that night.

  The guard stood at the gate entrance, facing outward and watc
hing the road that led to the castle. When a cart approached, he stepped forward and spoke with the driver, taking notes in a ledger. He looked in the cart, inspecting its contents thoroughly and respectfully, and he then allowed the driver to continue into the courtyard. He then resumed his position, scanning the road for incoming traffic.

  Pleased with what he saw, Onric stepped across the courtyard and addressed him.

  “My Lord,” the guard responded, “I thought you would be preparing for the festivities tonight.”

  “This is my version of preparing,” Onric replied. He forced a smile, though he knew it did not reach his eyes. The ball, which had started out a nuisance, now seemed like the most difficult event he had ever faced in his life. Many times, in his twenty-four-years of living, he had thought he was in love. But not a single one of those experiences could compare with the way he had felt about . . . Ashlin. The very thought of her name made his throat close up, and he focused on the matter at hand. He was responsible for castle security, and it was the only thing he felt that he had any control over.

  “What can I do for you?” the guard asked him.

  “Anything to report?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary has happened here under my watch.”

  “No one suspicious has entered the castle?”

  “No, my Lord. I have personally recognized nearly every person this morning. So far, most of them are the local farmers providing for tonight’s feast.”

  “Excellent. May I scan the ledger?”

  “Of course.” The guard handed him a small wooden panel. A stack of parchment had been fixed to it by a leather strip at each corner.

  Onric glanced over the entries. He too recognized the names of most of the farmers. He slid the top piece of parchment out of the leather binding and glanced over the entries from the day before. He had already looked at it three times, twice yesterday and once this morning, but he wanted to make sure no Majis could have come into the castle. This would indeed be an ideal event for a Majis spy to wreak havoc at. Hopefully, the quick timeline in which the ball had been announced and executed would prevent such a mishap.