by CS Hale
“My queen.” The proprietor gave me a low bow. His long blond braid slid over his shoulder and down toward the floor. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m looking for a gift for the king. I was thinking a telescope, perhaps, but I’m not sure where I’d find one.”
He straightened up. A thoughtful smile spread across his face, and he inclined his head. “We have done such things.” His arm swept toward the back counter. “If you’d like to describe to me what you’re looking for, I’d be glad to write up an order. Though I must warn you, large lenses can be tricky.”
We wound our way through the displays. Necklaces made from glass beads draped from wire stands like garlands on Christmas trees. On another table, several small freestanding and hand mirrors had been grouped in a tasteful arrangement. My eyes traced the curve of one, and a file flicked open in my brain.
“Do you use mercury in the backing on your mirrors?” I asked. The proprietor froze in his tracks. “My people first made mirrors using a silver mercury amalgam. Then they found that a tin and silver amalgam worked better. Some continued to use the mercury, until it was found that mercury exposure could cause madness. Silver nitrate eventually became the most common backing.”
A client from Tendorra Eight had insisted that I acquire some mirrors from Versailles for him before he’d agree to the deal Agçay had proposed. The request was an impossibility, of course, due to their heritage status, but I’d done so much research on the antique ones that were available, hoping to placate him, that my brain now went into analyze mode whenever I saw an old or foreign mirror.
“Trade secrets, I know,” I said when he didn’t respond. “I was just curious.”
The proprietor shifted, turning so I got a side view and not the dishonor of his back. “Tin and mercury,” he said when he’d recovered his voice. He stepped behind the counter and took out a sheet of paper, his eyes low, still hiding his gaze. “What were you looking for?” He dipped a pen into the ink and waited, his hand poised over the paper.
“Well —” I began, ready to rattle off what I remembered of my grandfather’s telescope, when I caught sight of a spyglass on a shelf behind the counter. In that moment, I knew I hadn’t been picturing Valemar staring through the small opening of a contraption as big as I was. However, a spyglass wasn’t much good for stargazing. You could see the moon in greater detail with a spyglass, but it was most often used to get a closer look your enemies.
This time my mind filled with the memory of the Cordair and the Hormani trader walking out of the throne room in their Awrakian armor and the smug smiles they threw me as they left. “Actually, is the spyglass for sale?” I asked as my stomach twisted into knots.
The proprietor picked the spyglass up. And picked up my thoughts. The now serious expression on his face was softened by the pride in his voice. “It is telescoping,” he said, and demonstrated, sliding it to its narrowest length, opening it back up, then closing it again. “Can fit in a pocket.” The proprietor brought the spyglass back to its full length and offered it to me, laid across his palms.
The metal was cool to the touch. Brass, I thought. It sat comfortably in my hands. I held it up to my eye and turned toward the display shelves in the windows. I could trace the variegated colors on the vases. I could see every petal on the flowers in the planter box across the street. I swallowed hard. War was coming. I didn’t know how soon, but the undercurrent had been there since Heymond had first taken my arm. At some point, Valemar would ride to war. I couldn’t stop it, but I could acknowledge that I knew the stakes.
I closed the spyglass back up and handed it to him. “I would be willing to sell it to you if it meets with your approval, my queen,” he said.
“It does.” I laced my fingers together to keep my hands from shaking. “Could I perhaps get it engraved?”
He flashed me a gracious smile. “Of course.”
Daria and I browsed while he took it into the back room. He emerged about fifteen minutes later. The words I’d asked for scrolled across the center section of the spyglass, only visible when it was fully extended. He tucked it into a fabric lined box and held it out to me.
“I, too, hope for the words you’ve placed there,” he said.
I thanked him, and Daria and I rejoined Orin outside. “You look like you could use a pick me up,” Daria said. I hadn’t been able to find my smile. “There’s a sweetshop around the corner that serves the most wonderful lian tarts.”
A bit of sunshine. That was certainly what I needed.
I HAD THE box waiting on the table in my room that night. I put on a nightgown, even though I was sure I wouldn’t be wearing it for long, and covered it with a robe. I had told Valemar that he was welcome in my chambers and now expected that he’d join me nightly.
And he did. He didn’t knock, but I heard the floor squeak outside my room. I slipped a bookmark into my book. Valemar opened the door and came in. His eyes moved from the empty bed to my chair by the lone, high window. The candle next to me flickered in the draft.
“Am I welcome tonight?” he asked.
“Of course. You are my husband.” It had taken me awhile to get there, but I now accepted my role. I picked up the gift. “I got you something today. A belated wedding present.” I held the box out to him.
Valemar crossed the room and took it from me. He opened the lid then set the box on the table.
“I’d been thinking telescope, since I come from the stars. But this is more portable.”
Valemar lifted the spyglass from its cradle and extended it. He held it up to his eye and swung its focus out the window toward the blood-red moon, still nearly full though it was now waning.
“The clouds are much clearer.” He lowered the spyglass.
“I had it engraved.”
Valemar turned it. His fingers traced the inscription. “May you use this for the sky and not the horizon,” he said, reading it aloud. His hand stilled then slowly closed the instrument. He placed it back in the box and shut the lid.
Valemar reached out and stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. “Thank you,” he breathed.
“You are welcome, my husband,” I said. And then I brought his lips down on mine.
Daria had a box of her own when she came to dress me the next morning. “A gift from the Mödatal,” she said. “Some of the tea you shared.”
“Thank you,” I said absently, curled up in bed, my chin resting on the book I’d attempted to read after Valemar had left.
“My queen?” Daria asked as I continued to frown.
“I’m to stay inside today,” I said with a moan. I set the book aside and followed Daria into the dressing room.
“I see.” Daria lifted the sky-blue dress out of the closet and threaded her arms through the neck. I lifted my arms as she placed the gown over my head. “And the problem is?”
“Padrid is with Valemar. I need to stay close for Master Ean.” The clutch of karawack eggs had been Valemar’s consolation when I’d asked to go riding.
“We’re too close to the frontier,” he’d said. “The Cordair frequently have scouts lurking nearby. It’s not safe. They’d snatch you if the opportunity arose.” I’d pouted but he’d just kissed my head and offered the eggs. “Do something inside with Daria instead.”
“There’s always the solar,” Daria said as she began on the laces.
“I can’t sew,” I said. “And they all look at me funny.”
“Well, you are kind of intimidating,” she said with a teasing smile. “The dark, mysterious Moon Princess who’s now their queen.”
“They’re never going to trust me, are they?” I asked, not bothering to filter my whine.
Daria tugged tightly on the strings, briefly cutting off my ability to breathe. “In time. But we need not join them in the solar. I could teach you in one of the smaller rooms that overlook the river.”
“I’m dismal with anything mechanical,” I warned her. A needle was metal, so that made sewing mech
anical, right?
She just gave me a puzzled look. “I’ve tried,” I said. “My hand doesn’t know what to do.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Will I need bandages?”
“Yes! Probably.” An image of Dave doubled over with laughter filled my mind. He would have loved to watch me try.
“Then I’ll come prepared.”
Daria traced a pattern on a piece of fabric using a pencil. A barat leaf, I found when she handed me the embroidery frame. I’d lazily traced the outline of the ones on Valemar’s chest this morning. My finger was certainly familiar with the shape.
My finger, however, was not familiar with the needle Daria handed me. A dark green, silken thread hung from its eye.
“Do I need to knot it for you?” Daria asked.
“You’re so lucky I’m not the Red Queen,” I muttered under my breath.
“Was that a yes?”
“No. I can tie a knot,” I said, and looped the end over itself before pulling it tight.
“Just checking. You did say you hadn’t sewn before.”
“Oh, I’ve sewn. Or tried to sew. It didn’t work out so well.” I shuddered, thinking of my bloody fingers as well as the mass of tangles and knots that had my mother in fits of laughter the one dismal time she’d tried to teach me to sew on a button. Did the cat get at it? she’d asked me. She knew very well it hadn’t. She’d sat next to me the whole time.
“Hold the frame in your left hand and poke the needle through the fabric from underneath at the stem of the leaf.” My hand sought and sought the end of the stupid stem, finally finding it about my eighth try. “Poke it most of the way through then pull it tight from the front,” Daria continued.
“Don’t you dare tangle,” I muttered to the thread as I did what she asked. The thread stopped. I hesitantly turned the frame over to check. No tangles. I blew out the breath I’d been holding.
“Go about a seed-length down and poke the needle back through, just like you did the first time.” This time the thread snagged. “Use your middle and fourth fingers to smooth it while you pull,” Daria said as I picked at the knot. “Here, watch me.”
She held up her frame so that I could see the underside and started a new stitch. The middle finger on her left hand held the thread down and away from the work area while her right hand poked the needle through. Her right hand then switched to the top and she pulled. Her left fingers came together, smoothing the thread as it ran between them. “This way I can feel for tangles and hopefully catch them before they can become knots. But sometimes that happens even to me.”
Her ring and middle fingers went wide as she poked the needle through. Again she pulled. Again, they straightened the floss.
“Why don’t you play with the thread and get used to the feel.” Daria gave me a gentle smile and turned her attention to her own sewing.
I did as she suggested, tugging the thread, releasing it, pulling it through, and pinning it back with my finger. Slowly, I began to trace the outline. We worked in companionable silence, the quiet only broken by my occasional exclamations when I jabbed the needle into my finger. Whenever I did, Daria just bit her lips and closely inspected her own work.
We stopped when lunch was delivered.
“There’s a pot of the tea you requested,” the girl said to me. She placed the tray on the table and bowed out.
I set my sewing next to me on the bench and got up to inspect the tray. Breads, fruits, and meats had been arranged on two plates. I poured myself a cup of the smoky tea and brought a plate to the bench. I balanced the plate on my lap while Daria helped herself.
“Is this the Mödatal’s tea?” she asked as she slowly lowered the pot.
“Yes. Why?”
“No reason,” she said, but the strain in her voice told me there was. There was an odd expression on her face when she sat back down. She gave me a smile that didn’t quite hide it.
“Should I not be drinking the tea?” I asked. The cup was warm in my hands but I hadn’t brought it to my lips.
Daria blew on hers. “There’s no reason not to.” Her eyes avoided mine.
As I debated whether or not to probe any further, Daria gave me an awkward smile and took a sip. I finally brought my cup to my mouth and drank. Honey was what it needed.
Daria picked up my hoop and inspected the long, straight satin stitches she’d me taught me to fill in the leaf. “You’re coming along nicely.”
“Astrid Carr, seamstress. Who would have guessed?” I put a slice of meat on a slice of bread. My new-found skill should have made me happy, but it only confused me.
Daria fixed the last of the jeweled pins that held my hair in an elaborate updo. “Do you need anything else, my queen?”
“No,” I said. “You may go.” She gave me a smile and slipped from the room.
I turned back with a sigh and caught my reflection in the mirror. I didn’t recognize the woman who stared back at me. She had the same eyes, the same curve to her jaw, but the rest of her was foreign. It was the Moon Princess who looked back at me. The Queen of Bánalfar.
I sucked in a bracing breath. A few hours was as much time as PS Carr had to play a role. A few hours and then Astrid Carr got her life back. Negotiations didn’t go on twenty or more hours a day for weeks on end. Time was too precious a commodity.
I longed to strip off the gown, the jewels, and even the makeup. I had known that I wouldn’t get to be Astrid once I had set down on the planet but the strain of playing this current role had settled into my bones. And I hadn’t even done half the work I would need to do to truly become the woman in the mirror.
Make a list, the voice in my head whispered, reciting rule seventeen.
“I don’t want to,” I whispered back.
You need to study the file.
My future would be bound up in the connections I’d make here in Aedenfal but I was tired of trying to figure out how to stop the stares and the whispering.
You haven’t really studied how this society works.
The voice was right, and Orin’s description of a woman’s role in this society meant that at some point, despite my reluctance, I would have to participate in the singing and dancing and sewing.
“Fine,” I whispered to the image that stared back at me. “I’ll join them tomorrow.”
Somehow, I needed to find my place among them. My life might very well depend on it.
Daria found the front panel of a bodice that was to be embroidered in barat leaves and deemed my efforts the previous day sufficient to try working on it. Four women had already gathered to sew in the solar when we arrived. They jumped to their feet and dipped their chins down to their chests as we entered. “My queen,” they all murmured.
One woman with corn-gold hair rose from her place by the window. I’d been introduced to her, to all of them, but I couldn’t remember any of their names. They were a blur amongst the hundreds that had paraded by me at dinner that second night. I kicked myself. I should have found a way to have Padrid or Daria help me study who they all were, found some way to make a guest book. “The best light should be yours,” she said to me.
Daria wavered behind me, but I took her arm and towed her with me to the vacated place. The other women shared a look then shifted to make room for Daria. Without another word, they picked up their frames and continued their sewing.
Daria took the bodice from her sewing basket, threaded a deep green floss onto a needle, and handed it to me. The air was thick with tension as I knotted the thread and began to trace the leaf outline as I had done the day before. Daria had started on her own work when I broke the silence.
“I’m embarrassed to say, but I don’t remember who all of you are.”
Jaws clenched and several faces turned red. Not an embarrassed red.
The woman with the corn-gold hair put her work in her lap and held her head high. “I am Laera. Wife of Garris, Aedenfal’s steward.”
And there it was. In my sessions with Padrid and Valemar, I had learn
ed that Garris oversaw Aedenfal, High and Low. Orin was the seneschal in charge of defense, but Garris was the steward, in charge of administration when Valemar was absent. In Vanerife, Reina, Valemar’s mother, fulfilled that role. It was a role I might be expected to take here or at another of the large keeps in Bánalfar, potentially displacing Garris. And I’d slighted Laera by not remembering her.
“Of course.” I smiled, hoping to erase my offense. “Everything’s so new. There’s so much to learn. So many people to get to know.”
Laera shot Daria a glance and gave me a too-thin smile before returning to her work.
The remaining three exchanged panicked looks. Two quickly returned to their work, leaving the last girl, for she seemed hardly more than a teen, alone with my attention.
“I am Niah,” she said. “My father is Cheál Orie. Our flocks of anapali are the largest on Fairfada. He sent me to foster here with Vienne and her husband.” She blushed and looked at the oldest woman whose hair had once been blond but was now streaked with gray.
“My husband is the master of the weaving guild,” Vienne said. “Niah and our son, Reez, have recently become engaged.”
All the better to ensure your supply of Fairfada grazed anapali, I thought.
“Our last member is Cadalin,” Vienne continued. “Her husband, Ehard, is away on business right now. He’s the chief distributor of our cloth.”
Cadalin was a younger woman with pale, strawberry blond hair. Beneath her sewing, I glimpsed a swelling belly. The four of them were working on what I now saw to be baby clothes. “You honor us with your presence, my queen,” she said.
“I see you are all sewing baby clothes,” I said, not willing to ask Cadalin about her condition in case the Alfari considered such a question rude.
“Cadalin is expecting,” Vienne said.
Cadalin’s hands folded around her belly. Her face became serene. “Sometime this fall.”