Velvet

by Xavier Axelson

  I shivered at this cruel thought before I went inside, though I did not stop shaking until sleep claimed me.

  Chapter 3

  The next day, I woke to find Sylvain pouring ale into two mugs and a plate of savory beef pasties set out on the kitchen table awaiting us for breakfast.

  “You must have had quite the night,” my brother remarked, and placed a mug before me without spilling a drop.

  My throat cried out with thirst and I reached for the mug. “For once, I’ll agree.” I answered before bringing the mug to my mouth and drinking. Once I’d drunk my fill, I put the mug down and took a beef pasty from the plate before me. “We celebrated Duir’s pending coronation, and I drank among the savages he calls friends.”

  “Aye, but you are no stranger to the savage lands of Duir’s palace. You played with many of his consorts from childhood. You know well the vices in which they partake.”

  “Agreed again,” I answered over a mouthful of the pasty.

  How opposite Sylvain and I were, I thought as he sat opposite me to eat. Slim, graceful certainty blended with nimble strength belied his disability. He wore his hair to his shoulders and allowed his golden brown beard to grow full. Women favored his sensitivities, their eyes lingered over his sun darkened skin, and clasped at his work calloused hands with hopeful, trembling fingers. Sylvain knew the pleasures of women but hadn’t yet found love. In this, my brother and I were the same. I wished him to find someone to love and would show him love in return, but wondered if it would ever be possible. I never saw his blindness as weakness, but many did, and popular prejudice was something neither of us could ever hope to completely crush.

  I, on the other hand, received the gift of my father’s sturdy and powerful frame. I lacked the grace Sylvain inherited from our mother. Mine was not the body one thinks of when they think of a tailor, but this opposition of type makes tongues wag, piques curiosity and leads to opportunity. I wear my hair short and my dark beard is trimmed. A strong jaw, a fine nose, and a mouth quick to expression has rendered the occasional “handsome” comment, but I doubt the sincerity of such compliments. Sylvain says it is this lack of pretense that people find attractive in me. I smile often and find people smile back. Unlike my brother, my pleasure remains solitary, and aside from clumsy kisses, virginal.

  I was glad of Sylvain’s interruption upon these thoughts.

  “And how is our imminent monarch?”

  I sighed and shook my head. “As can be expected, drunk and fucking like a street dog. But his mood is lifted, and seems more himself.”

  “He knows nothing aside from whores and ale. I wonder how we shall all fair at his drunken hands.”

  “You speak strongly this morning, Sylvain. You know Duir as I know him. If not better because you know him from afar, and through lack of sight render him clearer than I who love him as a second brother.”

  “You know him but hide behind your loyalty to him and our father’s allegiance to the throne. If you were not as talented a tailor as you are, nay, if you were not our father’s son, he would look at you as he looks at me.”

  “So it is true, I am loyal. But his royal coin will see me through the future and keep our family alive and fed. I don’t begrudge Duir his foolishness. He will be as good a ruler as Killian!” I finished by raising my mug in a mock salute.

  Sylvain appeared doubtful. “I hope you are right.” He stood and started clearing away the plates.

  “Leave them, let me do it. You were kind enough to ready the meal. Let me clean it.”

  Sylvain ignored my offer and made his way to the stone sink opposite the eating table.

  His ability to move about, often without the aid of stick amazed me. I’d asked him once how he managed.

  “My mind is like the worn paths of the woods, and my memory like the tread upon them. I know every edge and corner of this house. While I would be a fool to leave its walls without my stick, I find my senses and instincts rarely betray me.”

  My eyes rested on the stick propped against the wall opposite the front door.

  “Are you sure I cannot help you?”

  “No, I am nearly finished.”

  Rebuffed, I relaxed and tried to gather my thoughts. It was then I remembered Auberon.

  “I have news of a wedding!”

  Sylvain dumped a bucket of washing water onto the plates in the sink. “A wedding and a coronation? Has Duir begotten a son with a scullery maid?”

  I sat, amused at Sylvain’s continued venom. “No, it is not Duir, but I’m sure you could guess.”

  “I hate guessing as well, you know. Tell a poor blind man, or I’ll worry all day while tending Lady Yarrow’s sheep.” His tone only mildly interested.

  Lady Yarrow was a woman of some means who sought Sylvain’s hand in any household chores and problems she encountered. She recently employed a new shepherd boy and insisted Sylvain come train him in her flock’s peculiar ways.

  “Auberon is to wed Duir’s cousin, Lady Tienne of the southlands.”

  Sylvain laughed. “Duir has allowed one of his men to marry before him?”

  “I was astounded as well, but there is more.” I paused for effect, but Sylvain had begun gathering his day’s food, and seemed more interested in the dried figs he’d plucked from a nearby shelf.

  “How could there possibly be more?” Sylvain snipped before dropping one of the figs into his mouth. “Is Duir to wed a gypsy at midnight?” he inquired over the fig as if to further demonstrate his disregard.

  “He has insisted I create his wedding vest and those of the men who will stand with him on the day.”

  This last item stopped Sylvain’s preparations. “I must show you something.”

  “What is wrong?” I demanded. “Something looms over you like the darkest cloud on Sunday.”

  Sylvain moved from the room. Curious, I followed him.

  “Sylvain?” I called, but he didn’t stop. It wasn’t until we were in the part of the house that served as the shop and my workroom that I realized why.

  In the far corner of the room, piled on a table I normally used for scraps and piecing together smaller garments, lay a pile of what I could only guess was some sort of fabric.

  “What is this?”

  Not waiting for an answer, I walked over to the table and stared at the mass in disbelief.

  “Sylvain,” I started to say, but my voice caught when my fingers touched the material. Soft, delicate and unlike anything I’d ever known, the fabric appeared to move in the morning sunlight. I rubbed my palm along it and discovered it took on a richer shade. I moved my palm back and the original hue returned.

  I heard myself make little sounds of astonished pleasure as my hands luxuriated in discovery. I expressed my delight in a word, “Extraordinary.”

  Purple, plum, wine all represented themselves within the one fabric. “It changes, depending on the light,” I continued, dreamily.

  When a second bundle caught my eye, I moved the purple aside. Beneath the purple was crimson; vibrant, warm and a melody of cherry, red and flame. I licked my lips, there was nothing like it anywhere. The realization made me hunger to use this new material and make it my own. But the bounty was forthcoming. I gathered the crimson, only to uncover gold, burnished and tawny like the setting sun…magic…this was magic.

  Sylvain’s voice woke me from my reverie.

  “A man came to the shop yesterday. He had an unfamiliar accent. He asked for Father.” Sylvain faltered, the pain of loss clear in his voice

  “Did this man have a name?” I asked and swallowed my own sadness.

  Sylvain answered by going over to the box the fabric came in, opening it and, after feeling inside, produced a piece of parchment.

  When he offered it to me, I took it from him and read the words aloud.

  Dearest Samuel, my friend,

  I first must apologize for the delay in sending this to you. The seas have been treacherous and I can only hope you see this before the year is out. Pl
ease send me word of its arrival, for I will worry until I know it has been received. May you find three bundles of crimson, purple, and gold in the make of the rarest velvet, for use by the finest tailor.

  Monsieur Hellier of the Western Wards.

  Underneath the signature the cost, an amount beyond comprehension stood out in stark relief. How had Father afforded such luxurious material? Had he some secret plan his untimely death prevented? I ran a hand through my hair and shook my head in disbelief.

  “Hellier delivered the box?” I asked curiously.

  “No. Only a messenger, though he sounded foreign, and he very well may have lied,” Sylvain answered, regret in his voice. “It is times such as these when I am reminded of my disadvantages.”

  “You mustn’t worry, it is done. He brought something very precious to us. Father ordered this velvet.” The new word made me reverent and I savored the feel of it on my tongue. “It is of some magical workings from the Western Wards.”

  “It is not magic, only hands knowing tricks you have yet to learn, Virago.”

  I could hear the anxiety in Sylvain’s voice.

  “Have you felt it? Have you felt how soft and yet rich it is?” I asked.

  “Yes, but how was it when leather was discovered? Or the ability to wear animal pelts and furs? It is not magic, Brother.”

  I went to the velvet and brought it to my face. “Ahh, Sylvain. I do not ever look at your blindness as a fault, but if only you could see the way it moves in the light, you too would know there is something otherworldly about this.”

  “It is funny,” Sylvain’s voice regained its even tone. “It is exactly the opposite thought I have. I am thankful I cannot see it.”

  I didn’t respond, and in my silence I heard Sylvain leave. Once alone, I had a vision so clear, so strong that I almost choked over its perfection.

  “I will make Duir’s coronation vest of this velvet! Yes, I will make garments of such magnificence that they will be worthy of Duir’s drunken promise.”

  Chapter 4

  “You did not sleep last night.”

  Sylvain stood before me. I blinked at the sunlight streaming through the shop windows. Before me on the worktable were three lengths of velvet, one each of purple, red, and gold. “I will sleep when the vest is complete. I have spent the night drawing and plotting what I hope will be worthy of a king’s coronation,” I replied through a yawn.

  Sylvain went over to the window by the front door and pushed it open. The room filled with sounds of the street. Vendors peddling wares, the rumble of carriage wheels and the pound of horse hooves on the cobblestones. “It’s going to be a fine day, full of light. Promise me you will get away from your work and enjoy the sun.” He left the window. “You mustn’t let this become an obsession.”

  I smiled at his concern, but disliked the expression on his face. “I have every intention of getting out into the world. I am due to see Duir—”

  “That is not enjoyment,” Sylvain interrupted, “that is duty. You have not truly rested since Father was killed. You have not strayed from the shop for more than a trip to relieve yourself or indulge Duir in one of his varied whims.”

  “Duty pays my keep and yours!” I barked, immediately regretting the attack as Sylvain’s face grew morose.

  “I understand I am a burden. For this, I am sorry. I do all I can to earn my way in this world. I will try harder to live up to your expectations.”

  Before I could apologize, he departed. I sighed heavily. I stood to go after him, but a woman’s voice stopped me.

  “Virago?”

  I hurriedly folded the three pieces of velvet and placed them inside the large leather pack I used for transporting materials.

  “Who is it?”

  “Who indeed!”

  I went to the door and opened it to find Therese. I had not seen her since the fated night of Duir’s attack.

  “Therese.” I attempted to swallow my surprise, but the lady caught me.

  “Dear Virago, how I love seeing the shock upon your beautiful face! Yes, I am once again out and among the living.”

  “And how do you find the living?”

  “Dreadful and dull,” she retorted. A sly smile formed on her garishly painted lips.

  “What are you about?” she asked and pushed her way past me into my shop, a mischievous smile on her lips. “I smell a scandal in the air, a secret lover hidden in a closet?”

  I shut the door behind her, comforted in knowing I had stowed the velvet from her prying eyes.

  “Hardly. What secrets could a tailor possibly hold onto?”

  “It is those who cannot hold secrets who are often asked to keep them,” she said with a wink. Therese settled herself into a large chair that I had positioned by the window looking out to the side garden. “I’m surprised you aren’t at court looking over Duir’s shoulder and forcing his arms into a new coronation garment, or have you fallen out of favor?” Therese snapped open an elaborately bejeweled fan and gazed over its gilt edges at my worktable.

  “I am never out of favor with His Grace.” I tried to avoid letting my eyes rest on the leather pack, which lay close enough for Therese to grab, open and expose its precious contents. “I am actually on my way to him shortly.”

  “Ahh, I come in time. I have two points of business.” She paused. “Are you not even going to offer me a dribble after my excruciating journey?” As she asked this, she fanned herself dramatically as though she may languish at any moment. Her brothel, located barely three miles away, in the southern part of town, is a place renowned beyond the borders of Duir’s kingdom. Therese and I shared a friendship of mutual benefit. I would make garments for her in secret. In return, she paid handsomely for my services.

  “Your journey of three miles must have been grueling,” I replied.

  With an exaggerated sigh, she stood, went to the door, opened it and clapped loudly several times.

  I watched in amazement as a minute later, a young man approached, his arms laden with a burden of feather, bead, and silk.

  “This is Claus, a new attendant of mine.” She reached across to the man and stroked his chin appreciatively.

  Claus smiled at this attention and bowed graciously once Therese released his chin.

  I stared only long enough to admire his presence. He had the graceful body of one who had known theatre or dance, and I appreciated this contrast of grace and masculinity. He wore fine suede breeches, high, dark brown boots, and a fitted brown vest with a looser fitting cream shirt underneath.

  “It’s an honor to meet the creator of such a master work of beauty, though I am ashamed to say that I am the cause of its damage.”

  I stared questioningly over his shoulder at Therese.

  She laughed. “Indeed he is the culprit, but if you must lash someone, dear Virago, it is me who should bear the belt. I couldn’t resist seeing how such a body would look in your masterpiece. I realized he split the seams only after he had the gown on.”

  I tried to hide my own embarrassed smile at such an odd admission, but found the corners of my mouth twitched with hilarity.

  A hot blush rose upon Claus’s fair and cleanly shaven cheeks. “You see, I am also an actor and am often asked to play the female role.”

  “Well, you have found yourself in good company.” My mouth trembled with repressed mirth. “I’m sure you know Therese is a master of the theatrical arts.”

  “Indeed,” Claus enthused. “I am proud to have made My Lady’s acquaintance. Her theatre troupe is most highly regarded.”

  At this, I raised my eyebrows. “And how is the theatre these days? Will you be staging a performance after the coronation feast?” I asked Therese, who also had an amused look on her face.

  Her smile widened beyond the borders of her fan. “Both my endeavors are wildly successful, the bed is another stage, and in the end I always get applause, as do those who work for me.”

  “And what of the coronation?” I queried. “Will your troupe be p
erforming, or has Duir overlooked you for Lord Landing’s Men?”

  The corners of Therese’s mouth drooped. “I am being asked to vie for the honor of performing! It is outrageous!” She stood, snapped her fan shut, and held it towards me like a weapon. “He knows me and my women as whores. He cannot see I am truly a woman of the theatre. Lord Landing and his men can perform for the pigs!”

  “Peace, Lady. I only ask because I know your staging well and have enjoyed many a performance by your fireside. It is a rare person who is known for their truest passions.” I said, soothingly.

  Claus sensing her agitation went to her side. “My Lady,” he started to say but she held up a hand to silence him.

  “He likes me a whore, as he likes you a tailor. He allows me the guise of the theatre because it is his way of allowing his favorite whore to court. In his eyes, I am no more a theatrical actress than you are his brother.” Therese’s eyes burned; her mouth, a twisted grimace. “And a pity to him for not seeing us as we truly are.”

  “You mustn’t believe such things. Duir means only half of what he says.”

  “Ahh, but the half he does mean leaves scars, or have you forgotten? My skull bears the memory of his brutality.”

  Therese and I hadn’t the chance to discuss the night Duir struck her, and unsure of what to say, I cleared my throat in an attempt to buy time. Therese, naturally, saw through this tactic.

  “You are loyal to him beyond any man’s deserving, Virago. How I hope he never does anything to dissuade your devotion. You never wore pain well.” She closed her fan with a clap.

  Her words were blunt with truth and carried the weight of stones. If I seethed, I didn’t show it; if her words stung, I would endure the bite and smile from beneath the venom. Those who have secrets such as mine know the burden of endurance well and are familiar with this toil. What were words compared to the physical ache I knew every waking minute?

  I took the torn dress from Claus, deposited it on my worktable, grabbed the pack containing the velvet, and made my way to the doorway leading to the kitchen. “Let us have ale,” I said, and left them to follow me.