30

I HOPED, DESPERATELY, THAT NIA’S FINDINGS WOULD GIVE ME a loophole to build into the cursed shawl, but I was acutely aware that I couldn’t wait or stop working and still keep my brother safe. I stitched charmed seams on the princesses’ shifts late into very cold nights. On less than adequate sleep, I dove into the shawl each morning at full speed at the workshop, making rapid stitches and quick progress. A week of repeating this cycle, and I had nearly fainted from the roaring headache that split my vision when I finally stopped working cursed stitches. I stumbled outside and retched into the gutter, and collapsed with my back against the rough stone, allowing ugly sobs to overtake me.

When I finally stood on shaking legs and went back inside, Penny was hemming a jacket and Alice was stitching the pleats into the back of a gown. I had set Emmi to washing the front windows, which, though not tied to learning our trade, had become necessary after the dust of a dry autumn had settled thick on the panes. I sank into my chair behind the screen with a cup of tea and a bit of stale bread, trying to compose myself, the pile of half-finished shifts next to me.

Someone knocked on the screen.

“I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Stay there.” Alice’s head appeared around the corner. “I sent Penny out for scones and told Emmi to wash outside while the sun is on this side of the shop. I want to talk to you.”

I sighed. Overworking Alice had finally caught up to me—she was unhappy here. She was going to demand a raise I couldn’t give, or give me her notice, or—

“Are you in trouble?” she asked frankly.

“What?” I stammered. “I—I don’t know what—”

“In trouble. In the … feminine way.” Alice blushed.

“Alice, are you asking if I’m pregnant?” I gasped and tried not to choke on the laughter that threatened to overtake me.

“I’ve caught you being sick outside three times this week,” Alice answered, raising her eyebrow like a schoolteacher who’s caught a student in a lie. Apparently I hadn’t been as discreet as I thought. “My sister was sick every morning for months with her first baby. Plenty of women are.”

“That’s not—I just—”

“And the other day,” Alice continued, now faltering a bit, “I followed you when you went out for coffee. You met a man on the street.”

“Oh, Alice,” I said, dismayed. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know. But I was worried. There’s something going on and you’re not telling me. And without Kristos here—I thought maybe you needed some help.”

I blinked back tears. Sweet, honest Alice. “You are too kind, Alice—I’ve overworked you horribly the past weeks and you’re only worried about me.”

“So you are in trouble.”

“No! Not that kind of trouble,” I muttered before I could stop myself. “I’m not pregnant, Alice. Please believe me. I’m just overwhelmed. There’s … too much work.”

“That’s for certain.” Alice pursed her lips. “It’s not my place, but perhaps we need another seamstress. Emmi is very helpful but she can’t help with most of the work we’re behind on.”

“I think you’re right,” I said, measured. Anything to move Alice away from the subject of why being overworked would make me meet strange men at the Public Archive, or why I was getting sick every morning. “First, teach Emmi proper hemming. It’s moving her more quickly than I would have normally, but if she’s proficient at it, we can task her with that for every piece in the shop if you want. And then, I want you to take the lead in finding someone else. Partial time only, a day laborer, not a contract hire. Place the advertisement and interview candidates.”

“Me?” Alice squeaked.

“I know it’s more work in the short term,” I said quickly.

“No, it’s not that—I’ve just—I’ve never done it before! And I’m just a seamstress, too.”

“You’ll make a wise choice, I know. You know the skills we need here, and how to measure those skills in another. And you may be my seamstress now, but I’d be lying if I said I thought you’d work for me forever. Someday you’ll want to open your own atelier, and you’ll need experience in hiring.”

Alice gaped at me. “Really? You think I could have my own business?”

“Someday,” I said, cautious. It wouldn’t be easy, and it would take the perseverance to withstand refusals of permits, but if anyone had the pragmatism and dogged determination to do so, it was Alice. “I opened this place, didn’t I?”

“Well, yes, but you—”

“Have a certain extra skill. I do, and it allowed me to open with less experience than most seamstresses. Someday you’ll have that experience, and I’ve no doubt you’ll be an excellent business manager, too. You’ll either find a niche like I did or you’ll fill a void when shops close.” I didn’t mention it, but Alice would have the benefit of her comfortably Galatine appearance and the fact that any association she had with Pellian superstition was a short assistantship early in her career. Though my talents were a unique niche, and had ultimately gained me my business, I could easily have been denied on distrust of Pellian charms or the assumption that a Pellian couldn’t navigate the difficulties of Galatine business ownership.

Alice beamed. “Thank you. I’ll place the advertisement right away.”

I nodded, waving her off to get back to work, and took a deep breath. I would have to be more careful.

A messenger arrived after noon with one of Pyord’s characteristic cryptic notes—looping handwriting in blackest ink that read, simply, Sunset at the archive.

I spent the rest of the day distracted, working too slowly and making poor decisions on what to delegate to whom. Princess Annette’s gown was half-finished, and all that remained on Viola’s pink day gown was the trim. Yet even though Alice was better at interior seams and Penny quite able at trims, I asked Alice to work on Viola’s trim, leaving Penny struggling to attach a sleeve correctly. The day ended with Penny picking out stitches, Alice frustrated with Penny, Emmi avoiding both of them, and me dismayed at how little progress I had made on cutting out orders.

And the knot in my stomach refused to untie itself. Pyord, the shawl, Alice’s suspicion, the way I’d left things with Theodor—I couldn’t carry this all much longer.

I dismissed Alice and Penny, wrapped myself in my cloak, and set off toward the archive with a hollow sigh. I caught the flicker of a hooded figure behind me several times, and tried to ignore that someone was following me. One of Pyord’s men again, I was sure.

The hollowness filled with trepidation as I approached the archive. Pyord already waited in front of the building.

“Come inside.” His voice was as heavy as I felt, lead swirling in my feet as I followed him up a set of stairs to a niche on the west side of the building set on all sides by windows. It overlooked the square. People bustled from one building to another, trying to escape the bitter wind.

“You continue,” Pyord said, “to spend time with your noble friends, one duke in particular.”

“I—yes,” I answered, my throat constricting my voice into strange tones. “I doubt I will see much more of him.”

“How so?”

“He is most likely going to leave the country sometime around Midwinter.” There was triumph in my voice—You can’t touch him, I wanted to boast.

Pyord laughed, a cruel little hiccup of sound. “The duke is finally tired of you? I remember young love. It’s a painful thing.”

Rage welled in me, but I bit it back. “Who is to say I didn’t tire of him?”

Pyord shook his head. “You didn’t. An honest tradeswoman like you—no, the nobility tire of their playthings far sooner than the rest of us.” He swallowed, and I could have sworn I saw tears brighten his eyes.

I remembered what Nia had said, about his distance from the nobility. “You—did you get involved with a noble?”

His laugh was bitter. “Hardly. I could never. But my sister—” He stopped.

“Go on,” I pressed, my voice as quiet as I could make it.

“Why should I, when the story is an old one, repeated many times with many women, and always has the same ending? My father was a delegate from the Kvys trade guild. We lived here in the capital city. There were few enough Kvys to associate with—only diplomats and a handful of merchants with seasonal apartments in the city. Most didn’t even bother to move their families here, and so my sister ran with Galatine circles that exceeded her status. She met a young count. He courted her. He promised her things he couldn’t give, never wanted to give, all to convince her to give herself up to him.” He snorted. “Their practices are different from ours, my girl—be glad your dalliance with the duke went no further. He’d have ruined you.”

I bristled despite a strangely genuine concern in Pyord’s voice. I wasn’t a length of fabric to be ruined with the stain of a few kisses. Still, I kept my voice level. “Then this count ruined your sister?”

“Yes. And after the child was born, she slit her own wrists.” The words were without emotion, but pain creased Pyord’s face. I almost felt sorry for him. “We couldn’t find a wet nurse who would work for a Kvys family, so we tried to raise the child by hand, goat’s milk and the like. I’m sure I needn’t tell a woman how difficult that is. He died a week later.

“We never heard from that count again.”

“I—I’m sorry.” The words felt strange, spoken to him, but I was sincere.

“Do not mistake my motives,” he replied, sounding tired. “This is not some overcomplicated revenge plot. Had I wanted revenge on that count, I would have had it. But the way he used and discarded my sister, it began to reveal to me the depths of the corruption of this system of governance. If a nation’s leaders are immoral, interested in serving themselves at the expense of others? That nation is corrupt. And it must change. This is my adopted nation, as it is yours, and whether you believe me or not, I am fighting for Galitha, not against it.”

I watched him. He had never, for all his posturing and mystery, struck me as openly dishonest. He didn’t now. He truly believed in what he was doing. Yet I recalled what I had thought while talking with Theodor—that we were all half-blind. Pyord didn’t know the weight of responsibility Theodor felt for his role, that unlike Pyord he could not pursue his studies to their fullest extent. He didn’t see that Viola tried to promote an educated and open-minded elite with her salon.

He paced toward the window. For a short moment a dark expression crossed his face, like the shadow of a cloud over the cobbles of Fountain Square on an otherwise sunny day. Then he turned back to me. “You are quite sure you would not lie to me?”

My fist found the rough stone beside me. “How many times must I say the same things to you?”

He pointed out the window. I followed the line his finger made. A stout figure in a blue cloak hovered by a corner of the building. “I think you’ve told someone.”

“I haven’t told anyone,” I said, squinting. I knew that cloak—it was Alice. “I haven’t breathed a word since I first took this forsaken commission.”

“Then why did you have your employee follow you?”

“I didn’t,” I said, panic beginning to rise in my throat as I noticed two men standing near Alice. They watched the window, watched as Pyord raised a hand, still and rigid, in front of the glass. A signal. The men began to move. It made my words come faster, jumbled and shrill. “I swear I didn’t tell her to—she’s been worried about me; she knows something is wrong—she followed me on her own. I swear it.”

The men were standing on either side of Alice now, and she’d noticed them. One gripped her arm and she struggled. “Tell them to leave her alone,” I said, absurdly.

“You need a lesson in just how serious I am,” Pyord said. One of the men yanked Alice’s arm straight out from her cloak and ripped the white leather glove from it. He threw it into an icy puddle. Alice was screaming, but there was no one in the square to hear, and I couldn’t make out her words. Thick panes of glass and stone walls separated her from anyone who could help.

The man restrained Alice while the other stepped very deliberately to her hand. He grasped her long, thin index finger—so perfect for the fine stitching she did. I choked on the understanding of what they meant to do to her.

“She’s innocent!” I cried. “You’d rob her of her livelihood just to make a point? When you claim to champion the cause of the commoners?”

“You will keep your voice down, or everything that those men do to her will be done to your brother, as well,” Pyord hissed. “She’s made her own choices, and this is the consequence of meddling. Now watch.”

“No,” I whispered. “Don’t do it,” I begged to the one person who could hear, and he wouldn’t bend for my tears.

With a single movement the man outside snapped Alice’s finger, cleanly breaking it. I could see the anguish in Alice’s face, but it didn’t stop him from breaking two more of her fingers before he walked away and the other man released her. She collapsed on the cold stone, clutching her hand.

“You monster,” I said, facing Pyord. “She had nothing to do with this.” No pain in his past, no great plan for the future justified what I had just seen.

He swallowed, as though perhaps he did feel remorse at what he had just orchestrated, then quickly recovered. “I don’t like hurting young women any more than you liked watching it. But she was meddling. This, I think, will convince you to keep her from meddling any further. And,” he added, “it will convince you that I’m not making idle threats.”

“She should go to the soldiers,” I said. “I think we will.”

“You did well not to scream here. For that, your brother’s fingers stay intact. But if you go to the soldiers, his arms, his legs … perhaps even his neck will not be so lucky.” He looked back out over the square, at Alice. I thought I saw a glimmer of conscience, but then his face hardened with stony resolve. “Our purpose moves us forward. Always forward.”

“Let me go,” I begged quietly, watching Alice writhe in pain on the street. Fortunately, a pair of women had come out of the butcher’s shop across the square and spotted her.

“Don’t go to her. Don’t let her confirm that you were here. My men took all the money she carried—if she goes to the soldiers, it will look like a common street theft.”

“Thieves break fingers?”

“Thieves break all sorts of things. Now you wait until she’s gone before you leave. And make sure no one follows you again. I hope this proves that I am quite serious about that.”

I sank into the corner, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes to keep from sobbing.