20

I WALKED HOME IN A STEADY DRIZZLE, THE GRAY SKY DARKENING at the edges of town, the clouds held aloft by street lamps freshly lit along my path. It wasn’t that I would be breaking any laws, precisely—no laws in Galitha governed charms and curses. I made sure of that before I opened my shop. The gift was too rare to warrant specific laws, it seemed. Instead, one could be held accountable for using curses for whatever crime they resulted in. If a curse led to death, one could be held for murder. I would be complicit in murder—no, regicide—if Pyord’s plans succeeded, and, worse, I was breaking my own rules. I had them for a reason. Mother warned, constantly, of charm casters who “went bad” by dabbling in dark curses. They were eventually caught and tried as murderers, or drove themselves mad, or died in back-alley stabbings at the hands of vengeful victims. Of course, her stories had the folktale quality of having been told a hundred times, with no real specifics—I had hardly believed them. Now I did.

I shivered, droplets of rainwater worming their way down my back. I wasn’t going to make a life out of curse casting. I was being coerced, and I had to save my brother. My choice was a simple one.

Was it? Was I supposed to let Kristos be killed in order to uphold my principles? In order to keep the dark magic that fueled curses locked up? I couldn’t go back now, I thought. Maybe someone else would have chosen some vague moral right over her brother, but not me. I couldn’t choose anything over Kristos.

What was I going to tell everyone else? I realized with a start. Pyord had been clear: Tell no one. Yet I couldn’t keep up the ruse of searching for him without taking time I didn’t have away from the shop, and I couldn’t very well just give it up without rousing suspicion. Pyord, it seemed, had failed to consider one vital aspect of his plan—maybe some people could fall off the streets of Galitha City with no one noticing, but not Kristos. Too many people knew him. I gazed out into the harbor, the grim clouds tangled in the tallest masts of the ships. Their white sails, hoisted and stowed like clipped birds’ wings, shone like a replacement for moonlight.

Sails. Of course—Kristos was impetuous and always looking for work. He could have joined a ship and sailed off. Why he hadn’t told anyone—I’d have to work that out later. And why he would leave in the midst of a burgeoning movement he was leading—another flaw. Pyord had left me with a frayed edge I couldn’t neatly stitch up. But a ship, out in the ocean, unable to communicate—that would explain his absence, and I could plead ignorance to the rest.

And would break Penny’s heart. I sighed. Tomorrow was not going to be an easy day.

I concocted and rehearsed the story until my candle burned out that night, and the next morning my splitting headache proved I hadn’t gotten enough sleep. I hurried to work early, finished a love-charmed cap, and cut the silk for another commission. Real work felt gratifying and let me ignore the pending appointment with Pyord that evening. The silk, a russet taffeta, was crisp beneath my hands, and I could already see the tailored jacket taking shape as I pinned and basted, working with the lining I had already fitted on the client.

Alice trotted into the workroom, shaking rain from the hem of her skirts. “Penny’s not coming in,” she said succinctly. “She was crying all afternoon after you left, and said she was taking today to search for Kristos. She said you can dock her pay.”

“Thank you,” I said. I was relieved, and ashamed to be—I hadn’t looked forward to breaking my fabricated bad news about Kristos. And, even as I reallocated the day’s work to accommodate for her absence, I knew I wouldn’t be docking her pay despite any strain on our shop’s finances.

Alice and I worked in affable silence all morning, cutting, pinning, sewing, and completing most of the to-do list that had accumulated over the past few days. I turned my attention to Lady Viola’s pink gown, drafting a pattern and cutting the lining fabric. I would baste it and do a fitting, then begin work with the pink silk itself. I pulled some creamy ivory silk from a remnant bin—it was perfect for the underlayer I’d envisioned.

“There’s someone here to see you,” Alice said, plodding into the studio from the front of the shop. My stomach clenched—if it was Pyord, I didn’t want to see him, and I emerged from behind the curtain we’d rigged to separate the front and back of the shop with what must have been a terrified expression on my face.

Instead, Emmi waited, raindrops from a cold early winter rain clinging to her wool cloak. “Is this a bad time?” she asked, clearly reacting to my grimace.

“No, of course not,” I said, forcing a welcoming smile. “I want this arrangement to be of the best benefit to both of us, Emmi,” I said, taking her wet cloak. “So I do want to know—are you most concerned about earning some money, or do you want to learn some of the trade?”

Emmi paused. I realized I had been, by Pellian standards, almost brusque. Galatines were direct in their conversations about business, and even though Emmi was more acclimated to Galatine culture than most of my Pellian acquaintances, I had forgotten that business standards were probably quite new to her. She recovered quickly, before I could apologize.

“I would be lying if I didn’t admit we need the money.” She lifted her chin, displaying one of the common factors of both Galatine and Pellian cultures—pride in self-sufficiency. “But I also want to work on skills that I can keep using. I—I don’t want to just sweep the floors,” she asserted in a rush, her voice pitching a bit higher and the color rising in her cheeks.

I appreciated how hard it had been for her to ask. “In that case, I propose a dual system. I can’t afford to pay someone for training time right now.” I had worked my numbers already. “But I will pay for the more menial labor around the shop, as I would a low-level assistant, and for each half day you work for me, Alice or Penny or I will spend an hour on instruction.” This was a more generous offer than most—apprentices often worked for free in exchange for instruction, and Emmi knew it.

She grinned. “I’ll gladly accept. I mean—how many days? And what rate of pay?”

I laughed—I had already set a schedule that would allow for both the work I needed and the time set aside for instruction. I let Alice show her around the workshop, and set her to sorting remnants and sweeping the back. I allowed myself a small, contented smile.