by Emily Deady
Ashlin stared at her stepmother in shock. Who was this cruel woman? Had she always been this way?
Lady Cabril shoved Onric’s cloak into Ashlin’s chest, pushing her half a step backward. “I knew he recognized you that day,” she snarled.
Ashlin grasped at the cloak as her stepmother turned towards the door. “Goodnight, dear,” she threw over her shoulder. “Do be sure to clean this up before we get back.”
Stasiya followed her mother out of the room without a backwards glance.
Chapter 28
Onric felt an old, familiar jealousy squeezing his chest. The girl he was dancing with kept looking over his shoulder to find Ian. Not that he himself felt anything towards this particular woman, but it still hurt to be invisible.
As if reading his thoughts, she looked at him and smiled. He smiled back, then lifted his arm and spun her under it as the dance called for. She took the opportunity to search for Ian again. The strains of the music drowned out the sound of his sigh.
His older brother had been on the dais in the center of the room since the start of the dancing, taking a turn with each of the young women who had waited in a long line that skirted the edge of the room.
As soon as the current song came to a soft close, Onric bowed to his partner and released her hand.
He glanced throughout the room. Staying on the alert as a palace guard was much preferable to imagining which of the women in the room he wanted to present to his father.
Ian bowed over the hand of the next woman in line, a forced smile on his face. Erich was dancing just below the dais, his white and gold shirt easy to spot in the midst of the moving sea of people. Onric watched his younger brother for a moment, enjoying the flamboyant motion of his swinging arms. He had no idea how his younger brother managed to make such big movements even while dancing. Although Erich was eighteen, he often seemed like a child trying to act the part of an adult. Seeing that the woman he was dancing with was nearly twice his age, Onric grinned. At least you could count on Erich to make sure everyone in the room was enjoying themselves.
Onric continued scanning the faces in the room. He was not particularly looking for royalty, but rather he found his eyes scouring the faces of the maids that came through the room offering refreshments and clearing off the tables. He knew Ashlin would not be working this evening, but he could not resist his desire to see her.
He did notice his sister, Meena, dancing near the edge of the crowded dance floor. She was smiling and seemed to be enjoying herself. He took a close look at the young man she was dancing with and recognized him as a young lord from one of the neighboring cities. Dancing not far away from her, his father was also eyeing the young man out of the corner of his eye. Seemingly satisfied with his inspection, King Frederich turned back to his wife, who was also his dancing partner. Onric usually enjoyed seeing his parents happy together, but at the moment it only fed the bitterness inside of him. It was not fair that they’d had the freedom to choose each other out of love.
He quickly looked away, scanning the room for Aden, who was nowhere in sight. Likely he was on one of the upper balconies discussing deeply thoughtful theories with a few of his friends. Onric could not blame him. He needed a break from the stuffy ballroom. The fine embroidery around the stiff color of his brown doublet seemed to shrink into his throat, suffocating him.
He decided to check on the palace guard, to make sure everything was safe and that nothing was causing alarm.
He stepped out of a side door and let the cool evening air wash over him.
He paused by one of the guards stationed out of view of the guests but who still had a full purview of the side door he had just exited.
“Drirsi.” He nodded to the guard. “Anything to report?”
“No, sir. Everything has been quiet out here.”
“Good.” He didn’t move back towards the door.
“How is everything in there?” the guard asked him.
“Good,” Onric repeated. “Stuffy.”
“It can’t be all that bad, sir.”
“I shouldn’t complain.”
“With all due respect, Your Highness, you should go back inside. We can handle the defenses tonight.” The guard had a large grin on his face.
Onric realized that some others might be jealous of his evening, as he did get to spend it dancing with beautiful women. He nodded in agreement, though he would have gladly traded places with Drirsi.
Chapter 29
Ashlin stared at the closed door, still not sure how to process what had happened. She looked at the floor around her, littered with fibers of blue silk. Her hours and hours of selfless work, ruined in a matter of moments.
Her stepmother's words rang in her ears. “You will never be a part of this family.”
She sank to her knees, vainly lifting the fallen sleeve back over her shoulder. It slipped off as soon as she let go of it.
Reaching down, she numbly picked up a torn flower from the floor in front of her. She turned it over in her hand, staring at it as though she had never seen it before. Here she was, doing what she always did. Cleaning. Cleaning a mess she had not made.
She crumpled the flower in her hand. These flowers had looked ridiculous on her beautiful dress, ruining its simple silhouette. Twisting her tightened fist, she released the torn and crumpled scrap of fabric, letting it fall back to the ground.
She was glad those hideous flowers were no longer on her dress.
Her family was gone. That vicious woman could never replace them.
She wanted to curl up on the floor and cry until she ran out of tears, but the flickering flames of the fire cast uncomfortable shadows on the walls around her. This house, which had once been a happy home, now felt like a prison. She did not want to spend another second here, much less another night.
At the moment, there was only one place she wanted to be.
Standing up, she grabbed Onric's cloak, dashed down the stairs and ran into the darkness.
The door to the dressmaker’s shop was locked, as the seamstress closed it at sundown each night. Ashlin pounded on it anyways.
“Mistress Cedrice! It’s Ashlin!” The only other person in the entire city who was not at the palace tonight. She pounded again. After a few more long moments, the older woman finally unbarred the other side of the door and let her in.
“Why, child,” she started to ask, but Ashlin answered her question by pulling open her cloak to reveal the tattered dress beneath it. The seamstress pinched her lips closed and shook her head. “Come, come.” She waved for Ashlin to follow her, leading her up the back stairs to the kitchen. “Sit. Let me get you some tea.”
Ashlin sank into a chair at the modest table. Mistress Cedrice bustled around her in silence, preparing a kettle of tea.
For the first time in her life, Ashlin did not even feel as though she should get up and help the older woman. She remained seated, broken and empty, helpless in her inability to offer help.
The scraping sound of the teapot lid and the swish of the pouring water calmed her. Breathing slowly, she focused on the sights and sounds around her as she could not decipher the feelings inside her.
A small fire crackled in the hearth, so she shrugged the cloak from her shoulders, letting it fall over the back of the chair behind her.
Mistress Cedrice set two round clay mugs on the table along with a small loaf of bread. She pulled the water from the fire and filled her old clay teapot. The warmed clay released the comforting aroma of the smoky tea leaves. Even though the scent reminded her of Onric, she could not deny that it was still one of the most comforting smells she had ever experienced. She closed her eyes as her muscles relaxed.
Finally, the older woman sat across from her and poured them each a cup of tea. Ashlin wrapped her hands around the small mug, which fit perfectly between her palms. She waited for the woman to question her, to judge, to pity. But Mistress Cedrice merely sat across from her, sipping her tea. Her motherly acceptance made Ashlin
feel cared for in a way she had not felt for a long time.
Ashlin raised the cup to her lips, but it was too hot to drink. She had no idea how the old woman was already slurping it. Ashlin contented herself with feeling the warm rough clay between her palms and inhaling the pleasant steam that rose from the cup. “You were right,” she finally said, her voice low and quiet.
“Mhh?”
“You said that family is not something you are beholden to.”
“I said that?” Mistress Cedrice looked over her mug. “I can be quite wise when I put my mind to it, can’t I?”
“You were right,” Ashlin repeated, a small smile creeping onto her face.
“My dear child, I am not going to sit here and gloat over my rightness. I did not want that to be true for you. I want so much more for you, but you have to want it too.”
Ashlin’s eyes stung. She raised the cup to her lips again, sipping the tea despite the heat. Her tongue smarted as the burning water washed over it. She scrunched her nose, swallowing it quickly.
She tried to stop them, but the tears in her eyes had multiplied and nothing could hold them back. They started to fall, running down her cheeks as she took a shaky breath.
She had tried so hard to be loved. She had tried so hard that she had been willing to let someone else take her very name.
“My poor darling.” Mistress Cedrice stood and walked around the table toward her. Ashlin stood, meeting her halfway and throwing herself into the older woman’s arms as she sobbed.
Once again, the older woman remained silent, merely stroking Ashlin’s hair.
Eventually, the tears slowed.
“Did you know that your mother asked me to look after you?”
Ashlin shook her head. “I knew that you were friends, years ago.”
“We were dear friends. And when she was sick, she asked me to look after you and be there for you if she couldn’t be. She never wanted to leave you.”
Ashlin clung to the older woman. “I feel so alone.”
“You are never alone, my dear.”
“Then why do I feel that way?”
“Tell me about someone who makes you feel like family.”
Onric was the first person that came to mind. But she started with a safer option. “Well, you of course.”
“That’s because I am family. Is there anyone else who makes you feel that way?”
“Well . . .”
“You don’t have to tell me, just think about it. You are not as alone as you might think.”
Ashlin thought about Onric, about the way he made her laugh and wasn’t afraid to be a little stupid around her. How he waited for her to formulate her thoughts before he jumped in to speak. The way she always felt safe and relaxed with him, as though she could let her guard down and be herself. She remembered laughing similarly with her father, feeling free and accepted.
She took another sip of tea, the smoky flavor filling the back of her throat.
Even when her father was alive, her stepmother had never felt like family. She had always seemed to need something. Ashlin had never felt open and free. Even Onric had seen it, and he had barely known her.
He had never once betrayed her or let her suffer. He had stayed up late each night to see her safely home, never demanding anything in return. Her cheeks grew warm as she remembered the horrible things she had said to him.
He had been right.
She was not her true self when she was around her stepfamily. She felt like a cheap tea leaf that had been exposed to too much smoke, losing its original flavor. She needed to remove herself from the campfire.
If she lived here, as Mistress Cedrice had invited, she could stop soaking up the bitter flavor of the tea. Instead she could enjoy the comfort of Mistress Cedrice’s grandmotherly ways and feel her true self in the quiet cooperation of beautiful fabrics, and in the flexibility of choosing how to spend her time.
“Can I come and apprentice with you?” she asked.
The old woman’s frail hug suddenly grew bolder and stronger than Ashlin would have ever imagined the seamstress was capable of. “I would love that,” she declared.
Ashlin laughed through her tears. Something she wanted to do for herself had brought someone else joy. It was a good feeling.
“Would you like me to help you move in now, while everyone is busy at the ball?”
Ashlin pulled away from her, reaching for her cloak. “Yes.” She paused, gripping the cloak. She had to tell Onric that he was right, and she had to apologize to him.
She wanted to see him immediately. To tell him he had more than succeeded in his quest to make her smile. Even if he was angry at her for her unkind words, she had to let him know he had not failed.
“No,” she said, retracting her earlier statement. “I want to go to the palace and see Onric.”
Mistress Cedrice smiled. “Wonderful. But you cannot go like that.”
“Oh, right.” She looked down at herself. “I’ll just wear my cloak and go in the servants’ entrance. I'm not planning on going to the ball itself.” She dashed out the door.
“My dear, wait for a moment.”
Ashlin spun back around, afraid that the dear old woman would try to talk her out of going. “You asked me who feels like family. Onric feels like family. I have to do this.”
“Of course you do,” Mistress Cedrice responded, “but I have one more gift for you. Come back inside. This will only take a moment.”
Ashlin came back through the doorway, and Mistress Cedrice reached around her to close the door. “Your mother asked me to do more than just look after you. You see . . . Oh, no, of course you don’t see. Close your eyes.”
“Excuse me?”
“Close your eyes, dear.”
Ashlin respectfully closed her eyes, hoping to appease the old woman so she could get to the palace as soon as possible.
At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, she heard Mistress Cedrice begin to hum a song. It sounded familiar, but Ashlin could not place it. The melody was slow and deep, like a song one would sing to a dark, cold world on the brink of a sunrise.
That was it.
It sounded like the chants the monks would sing each morning at dawn. When they used to visit the sea each goldenreign, her father and mother had woken her before the dawn so they could walk in the darkness down the coastline trail to the monastery, arriving just as the first rays of light broke over the horizon of the sea. The monks would gather in the outer garden, singing a low, deep melody in a language she did not recognize. Her father had said it was the language of the earth itself. Ashlin had listened in fascination, trying to hear what the earth was trying to say through the music. The solemnity of the experience had remained with her for years afterwards. Standing here in Mistress Cedrice’s kitchen with her eyes closed, she was taken back to that moment, watching the sun rise over the waves. It was as though the music itself was pushing away the darkness and inviting the powerful joy of the sun to permeate their day.
Mistress Cedrice moved around her, still humming as she went. Ashlin smiled, unsure of what was happening.
“You can open your eyes now.”
Ashlin opened her eyes and noticed a shimmering ripple coming from her dress. She looked down. The dress was repairing itself. Was she dreaming? The loose ends of ripped fabric were sewing themselves back into the dress itself. It was terrifyingly beautiful. The whole thing hummed with a vibrating energy, reminding her of the iron needle. This was magic.
She heard a soft clink. While it was restructuring itself, the dress had dropped the small shard of glass. She stooped down to pick it up, tucking it safely into her palm.
The dress settled around her, having completed its mission. She spun around. It was beautiful. The dress had recreated itself according to her original design. The extra flowers were gone, and the blue silk hung down from her waist in clean, airy swoops.
“Silver embroidery,” she breathed.
“Just like we talked about.”
“But, how did you . . .?”
“The women in my family have passed down some of the songs and stories. I always remembered the ones for creation and design. They were my favorite.”
“So . . . you’re a . . .” Ashlin had so many questions.
“Hurry, child, you’ll be late.” Mistress Cedrice shooshed her out the door. “No! Wait.”
Again, Ashlin turned around at the doorway. “Yes?”
“Your shoes. You can’t wear those threadbare old boots to a dance!”
“I haven’t got anything else.”
“Let’s see what we can do. I can make some, but I need something to start with.” She glanced around the room, pointing at certain objects. She considered the clay teapot, the iron tongs by the fireplace, and the wooden plates on the countertop, but she shook her head at each. “Oh, what was that piece of glass that you dropped?”
Ashlin opened her hand, rubbing her thumb over the familiar feathered texture. “This? It’s nothing, just a piece . . . It was my mother’s.”
“Perfect. Do you mind if I use it? It will retain the same essence, but I will recreate it into something whole.”
Ashlin held out her hand.
“Thank you, my dear. Please place it on the ground. Step out of your boots and place one foot over the glass piece. Careful not to cut yourself, though.”
Ashlin did as instructed.
Mistress Cedrice started to hum again.
Ashlin started to close her eyes, then realized she had not been asked to do so, so she kept them open and looked at her feet. After a moment, she felt the glass piece move and grow around her foot. As it came into view, it shimmered like the dress had but flowed like liquid around her foot. It felt warm and soft, like she had just dipped her foot into a fresh washbasin of heated water or slipped on a velvet slipper. The same motion was mirrored on her other foot.
She gasped as the glass pushed against the back of her feet, raising them off the ground and creating pointed heels. Mistress Cedrice grabbed her hand to steady her but kept humming all along.