by Jenna Rhodes
“Go, drink, and forget.”
Forget? Why in the hell did the elven think she was drinking? Shyna giggled and staggered off, in search of home or another jug, uncaring which she found first.
Shyna came in late as Adeena finished wrapping deliveries and marking them for the impatient women who sent messengers daily, fussing about the Mayor’s Ball. Her cousin pushed her hair from her face and undid the top button on her blouse, and swayed a little on one heel.
“Oh, Shyna. You promised!”
“What?”
“You’ve been drinking.”
“Just a snort or two.”
“And you’re late.” Adeena tied the wrapping carefully about the jade-green gown and put it aside. “In fact,” and she eyed her cousin, “you haven’t even been home! Those are the clothes you wore yesterday.”
Shyna waved at her as if shooing away an annoying gnat. “Quit nagging at me, Adeena. You’ve done it all your life and has it helped?”
“Not one whit. I should send you packing.”
“I’ve done my work!” Shyna narrowed her eyes in her thin face.
“That you have, and it’s been good work.” She sighed. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Put me to work by the doorway and let the sun sober me up.” Shyna put her hand out. “You know I try.”
“Not enough. Mistress Farbranch has been most agreeable, and your time is your own, no questions asked. Think how long you waited for work before this.”
Shyna looked away. “I can’t always help it.”
“You can’t ever help it, and it’s going to be the death of you. Of your hopes, if nothing else.” Adeena took a deep breath. “Go sit at the farther worktable, then. You can trade with my spot. I’ll move your panels over.”
Shyna wove her unsteady way across the shop, banging first one hip, then a knee despite her slimness, as she walked. She sat down where told and waited for Adeena to bring her the day’s job. She frowned a bit, looking about the shop as if bewildered, then closed her eyes to nap until Adeena was ready for her.
Adeena flew about the shop, thanking her shrine Goddess that Lily was out doing a fitting at a lady’s home, and would not be back for a little bit, her daughters delivering two of the first-done gowns, and that no one would be the wiser as Goodie stayed in the back room, cutting out the simpler patterns. Like a true apprentice, Goodie had taken to Lily’s way of laying out the designs quickly, and had a talent with the scissor blades. She did not look up as Adeena flitted in and out, back and forth, pushing delivery bundles quickly to one side, to set up the sewing frames. They were both quite immersed and had done a good bit when Nutmeg breezed in.
She pulled off a woven straw hat, saying, “Oooh, good, you’ve got more gowns bundled up.”
“Are you taking them yourselves?”
“No, I’ll let Walther take these. The others we delivered because it seems Milady Fallbrook has discovered she’s with child since we took her measurements, and she needed a few adjustments here and there.”
Rivergrace slipped in from the back door, where Bumblebee stood tied in the shade with a fresh bucket of water at his disposal, the traces from the cart loosened. He swished his tail in contentment. He did not often get out and enjoyed having the girls back at the reins, it seemed.
Nutmeg put her pins in her sleeve as she talked. “We’re back for the day.”
“And not a moment too soon. We’ve three more dresses to finish for tomorrow night.” Rivergrace pulled up the hem of her skirt as she leaned over the table, putting her frame into order so she could begin stitching neatly but in a great hurry. They worked with little word except to exchange advice or praise now and then, intent upon finishing the works of art for women who had ordered them. Lily came in and quietly joined them, little daggers of silver flashing in their fingers, dipping in and out of exquisite fabric, and none of them stopped till the lamps burned brightly outside, except for Shyna who left at her customary time.
In the morning, Rivergrace reached the shop before Nutmeg who stopped to buy her favorite treat of sugar-dipped fried bread. They had slipped out by quiet agreement, letting their mother sleep in a little. Hosmer strode out on their heels, grumbling, for he’d been assigned evening duty at the gala as well. It would be a long day for him, with a break in the afternoon. “I get to butler for the royalty and the wealthy,” he muttered.
“Maybe they’ll tip you.”
“The Town Guard doesn’t accept tips!”
The three of them shut the door behind them as gently as they could to leave Lily in peace.
She found Walther sitting, huddled up against the door, his messenger bag in his lap. Already, the sun beat down with its heat and the rain lingered only in the humidity steaming out of the ground. He looked asleep, but he bolted to his feet as she drew near. His customary brash expression was nowhere in place.
“Walther? What’s wrong?”
“Got a job for me?”
“We will, in a candlemark or two. Several deliveries, but you can’t be folding or mashing the bundles up. Maids won’t have time to take the wrinkles out for tonight.”
He nodded. The prospect of a job or two did not smooth away the lines etched in his face, however. He looked about skittishly. Rivergrace put her hand on his shoulder. “Come in.”
She had Nutmeg’s keys for the back, as only the shop owner held keys for the business door, and Walther trotted round about at her heels, unusually quiet. Once inside, she pulled up a stool. “What is it?”
He looked as if he could still bolt, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “That Warrior Queen is a friend of yours, nuh?”
“Queen Lariel is a good customer.”
“She nice?”
Rivergrace gazed at him, with no idea at all what he was about. “She seems nice,” she said, quietly.
“That big dance is tonight?”
“Aye, it’s why we’re working so hard on the gowns. Walther . . .”
He shrugged off his precious messenger bag and unbuckled it. “I ain’t supposed t’do this, but I can’t read much. Still. I know the people who sent it and the people supposed t’get it, and I know it’s ’bout her.” He fetched out a piece of paper, not sealed, but cleverly tied in string. “It can’t be good.”
Rivergrace took it hesitantly. “You think so?”
He ducked his chin down.
She looked at the knot. She could retie it the same way, her slender fingers clever with knots. She opened it deftly before Nutmeg could burst in and make Walther’s betrayal even worse. She scanned the single line, written in an even and brisk hand.
Queen Lariel must be Returned.
She swallowed tightly, a prickle of fear running across the back of her neck.
She folded and retied it swiftly, handing it back to Walther. “What made you suspicious?”
“I was chosed, see, ’cause of my old contacts, for the delivery. I dun trust those who sent me, and th’ ones I’m going to are even wurse. I know who ’tis about ’cause they said her name and spat in the dirt when they did. So I wanted ta warn you.”
The only thing she could do would be to tell Hosmer that the Warrior Queen might be in danger, uncertain even of what the note boded. But she took Walther’s instinctive reaction to heart. “I will tell my brother. Without mentioning you.”
Worry fled him in a long exhalation. “I’ll be back, for bundles.”
“Do that.” She watched as he darted out the door.
When Nutmeg came in, almost on Walther’s heels, she did so shadowed by the Kernan guard Hosmer had brought home twice now for dinner. He bowed after guiding her through the door.
“Have a pleasant day, m’lady Farbranch.”
“And you.” Nutmeg held back her little jump until he passed from her view. Then she jumped and did a skip across the room toward the worktables.
“Hmmm. Sugar bread or the guard. Shall I guess why you really went astray this morning?”
Nutm
eg tossed her head toward Rivergrace. “He’s fun and handsome.”
“I noticed.”
“Not that it’s anything serious.” Nutmeg took her hat off and put it on its hook. “Grace, how can you not look at someone and feel different about them?”
“I am already different enough,” she said softly. “Be content that you’re happy. We all take joy in your smiles, Meg.”
Nutmeg looked obstinate as if she would quibble with that, but then the front door unlocked and everyone else flooded in, the room filling with chatter and bustle and the rustle of sweeping dresses as they gathered them together for finishing touches.
The sun marched across the sky. Drivers and maids came and went, Adeena filling the last of the orders until only the most elaborate gowns remained, waiting to be delivered. Rivergrace moved between them, a river of fabric both sensuous and commanding, colorful and serene, a river as diverse and incredible as the people for whom they were intended. She wanted to run her fingers through them, but handled them only as needed to finish. Each one presented a picture of beauty that they would become when worn. Yet, hidden behind that beauty was the menace of Walther’s morning note. She had to find a way to reach Sevryn or the queen’s brother, or even the queen herself. She looked up to see Lily’s gaze on her.
“What do you think?”
“They’re magical and, yet, I think of all the work we put into them.” She held her hand above the dresses, stroking them in her imagination.
“I think the two of you worked the wonders.” Lily put a hand to the back of her neck and rubbed tired muscles there, even as the front door flung open with a loud bang! And Mistress Stonehand flew in, half wrapped bundle in her arms.
“Disaster! Calamity! I ordered jade and what do I have delivered? Blue!” And she tugged on a bit as it fell out of the package in her arms.
“Blue?” Nutmeg and Rivergrace immediately traded looks. That fabric was the distinctive weave chosen for Lariel’s unique dress. Adeena put her hand to her mouth, choking off her dismay.
“We’ll take care of this immediately,” Lily said soothingly, taking the garment from the mayor’s wife. “You’ll have your dress, beautiful and proper, in time.”
“See that I do!” And Mistress Stonehand swept out with as much fuss and unhappiness as she’d entered.
As soon as the door shut, Lily swung about. “What happened?”
Adeena sat with her hand over her mouth, and closed her eyes. She shook her head. “I did it.”
“Did what?”
“Made her dress of jade. I . . . copied the veiled one’s gown.”
“Oh, no! Adeena, you didn’t!” Nutmeg jumped off her little ladder from the dress form she’d been working on.
“I did. She offered a goodly sum of money, I knew we needed it. And now, I’ve sent it off to Queen Lariel by mistake. She’s got the mayor’s wife’s gown.”
“I never saw you sewing it.”
“I did it early, early mornings and late evenings when you left for supper, before you came back. It was for the shop!”
“Our reputation rested on the queen’s purchase, Adeena, and our promise that it would be unique.” Lily caught her lower lip in thought.
Adeena rocked back and forth in dismay. “I’m so sorry.”
“The best course is truth,” Rivergrace offered.
“And trading! We’ll swap the gowns,” Nutmeg told her mother. “We’ve time.”
“I’ll go. I’ll take Walther. He’ll run the dress to the mayor’s wife.”
“You’ll never get in.” Lily fanned herself, with a look of defeat on her worn face.
“Oh, yes, we will! Hosmer’s on guard duty.”
“Nutmeg, I forbid it. You can’t bring shame on him as well.”
“He won’t let us in,” Nutmeg said firmly. “But he’ll at least let us stand by while the proper authority gets asked. No one else would do that. And then, surely, she won’t turn us away.”
“No,” agreed Rivergrace. “We won’t be turned away.” Even if it meant threatening the Warrior Queen herself.
Chapter Fifty-Three
“I’M NOT CARING IF you’re my sisters, I can’t let you through. And no following me over to the Great Hall either, ’cause I won’t be letting you inside. Not even just to watch.” Hosmer stared down at Nutmeg sternly, then up at Rivergrace.
“You have to, you just have to.”
He waved a hand. “Look, I understand the problem. But I’m on duty, and you’ve no passes.”
Nutmeg put her hands on her hips. “Where’s Butterknife? He’d let me by.”
“No, he wouldn’t. You can stand out here for a candlemark if you like, and maybe catch her eye when she comes out, if she comes out this way, but that’s all you can do.” He started to say more, but a strutting Kernan came out of the inn, the doodads and gemgaws on his uniform reflecting blindingly in the sun.
“Guard Farbranch! Move this riffraff along. You’re on duty, recruit.”
“Aye, Captain Whickering, moving them.” Hosmer shut his teeth till Whickering retreated into the coolness of the inn, and cleared his throat tightly. “Looks like you’ll not be staying right here. Find a place off to the side. As for Walther, make him drive the cart round th’ corner. He canna be blocking all the fancy carriages that will be pulling up soon.” He eyed the boy and pony. Bumblebee eyed him back before letting out a pony-snort along with a flick of his thick tail. He shook a finger at the creature. “I’ll be gettin’ respect!”
Rivergrace considered. “Have you a paper and a stick?”
Hosmer shook his head. Walther stood up in the cart. “Ay do,” he said proudly. He rummaged about in his messenger satchel before coming up with the charcoal writing stick and a fist-sized scrap of paper. “ ’Tis me job.” He handed them over to Rivergrace.
“Walther! How grand. Are you readin’ yet?” Nutmeg praised him.
“Na much yet, but I’m learning my scribbles. Can ’most spell my name.”
Rivergrace motioned for Hosmer to turn about so she could use his broad shoulder for a desk. Finally, after thinking up and rejecting several things, she wrote: What danger is Returning to a Vaelinar? and signed her name. She folded it, and steered Hosmer around. “Give this to Queen Lariel herself or Sevryn. He’s the one with gray eyes.”
“It had better be good, or they’ll have my head.”
From what she’d written, they might have it anyway. “Send them out to me if there’s a commotion.”
“You can bet on that, my lass.” He did a military about-face and went inside the large, very grand inn with its many stories and brightly tiled roofing, angling sharply to avoid running back into the ostentatious captain.
They prepared for a long wait, but Hosmer came back out as if slingshot. He beckoned furiously at his sisters. “Now.” The color had drained from his rosy Dweller complexion.
Walther said, unperturbed, “I’ll pull th’ cart over and sit a while,” even as Hosmer hustled them inside.
Thick walls kept most of the summer heat from seeping in, and the windowless halls stood in pooling shadows. Tiled floor made their shoes click as Hosmer quick-trotted them upstairs, and both were out of breath as they reached the third floor. Sevryn emerged from a shaded corner, his brows knotted and his gray eyes darkened in worry. “Whatever did you say?”
Nutmeg glanced toward Rivergrace. “I’m guessing it wasn’t that we have her gown.”
“No. It wasn’t.” She passed through the doors Sevryn opened to them.
Lariel stood in the center of the second apartment room thrown open to them, a simple wrap about her, alone except for Jeredon although the nearby table lay covered with cosmetic trays and hair-styling accessories which they had apparently interrupted. The silvery blue-and-gold jeweled corset lay there as well, waiting to be donned. Jeredon, bow in hand, guarded the third-story window.
“What is this you ask me, and why?” she demanded as Nutmeg and Rivergrace dipped into low curtsies.
She tapped the fist-sized scrap of paper. “Do you know what you’re referring to?”
“I’m at a disadvantage, being neither Vaelinar nor . . . un-Vaelinar,” Rivergrace told her, trying to find a calmness she did not feel. Sevryn’s hand on her arm squeezed a little as if to comfort her. “First, m’lady Highness, we have a mix-up at the dress shop. We have your proper gown out in our cart, and we need to take back the one that was delivered in error, with all apologies.”
“And the second, most urgent mission is an explanation of this.” Lariel stood rigidly. Her thin summer wrap might have been of impregnable armor from her stance.
She couched her words carefully. “A messenger boy was asked to make a delivery. He knew only that it concerned you, from those who had a dislike of you to those whose jobs involve unpleasantries. He wanted me to warn you. He couldn’t read it himself, so he gave it to me. Forgive him, Queen Lariel, he knows it was a betrayal of his job, but he’s good at heart.”
Lariel’s foot tapped the carpet.
“It read: Queen Lariel must be Returned. No signature or seal, and I have no idea what is meant by Returning, but it sounds ill-intentioned.”
Jeredon’s breath leaked out in an angry hiss.
“Return, aderro,” Sevryn murmured, “often refers to death among us. We are the Suldarran, the Lost, and only death can return us to our true home.”
“The writer asks for assassination,” Lariel said.
“Oh, my.” Nutmeg sat down abruptly on a nearby footstool “And I was worried about my sewing.”
“It’s nothing new.”
“It is,” Jeredon told Lariel, “when couched in Vaelinar terms such as those.”
Lariel stared at him, before tapping Nutmeg on her shoulder. “Go get my proper gown, then. I presume this one is to be returned?” She poked a finger at the large bundle still wrapped.