5

I COULDN’T KEEP THE NEWS OF MY ENGAGEMENT TO THEODOR quiet for long. Emmi spotted the gold chain within moments of arriving at work the next morning and squealed loudly enough that a farmer selling snap peas outside our door stopped to peer inside.

“And it’s real gold,” she said, touching it and then retracting her hand as though she’d been burned. “Not that it wouldn’t be, of course, but I’ve never seen a real gold betrothal binding before. Only ribbons!”

“We really ought to have anticipated this,” Alice said, almost chiding in her careful tone. “I suppose the wedding will be before fall?” she added.

“We haven’t decided,” I said. A noble wedding was an involved affair, especially with the heir to the throne involved. His priority—and mine—was bringing the Reform Bill to a conclusive, passing vote. Still, Galatine engagements were not typically more than a few months long. That gave me until winter, at most, to ready the shop. Alice’s measured gaze on the thin gold marking my wrist told me that she had thought of this, too. Of course—in her mind, the engagement meant the closure of the shop, unemployment for her, and an uncertain future.

I would alleviate her of that concern soon, and for now there was little uncertainty for the coming months. The slate hanging above the counter that held the list of orders was so cramped that Alice’s neat handwriting couldn’t keep them from running into one another. There wasn’t time to spare.

“All right,” I said as Alice and Emmi packed orders in brown paper behind me. “Emmi, take these orders out for delivery.” As she gathered the teetering pile of packages and scurried out the door, I turned to Alice. “I can’t be the Prince of Westland’s wife and run a shop. But you already knew that,” I added with a soft smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Her hands fidgeted through a pile of receipts.

I took them from her and tucked them into their box. “It’s not rude. It’s business. And I’d like it to be yours.”

Alice blanched, the roses in her cheeks fading as she sat, hard, on the bench behind the counter. “Mine?”

“Who better?” I laughed. “For now, I want to clear our slate of charmed orders, stop taking more, and let you take over day-to-day operations. When the Reform Bill passes,” I added, purposefully avoiding the if I knew was more accurate, “I’ll sign the shop over to you.”

“I can’t possibly buy the shop, not now—maybe in a year, or two, if I can save and get my family to—”

“I don’t want payment. Legally, it will be a bequest,” I said quietly. There was no amount of money that seemed fair, in exchange for the years of life I’d spent on building the business, establishing clients, making a name for myself. Yet I didn’t want that work to go to waste, and if someone talented and invested didn’t take the shop under her guidance, it would shutter. “Legally, practically, and in every other manner, I cannot keep this business and marry Theodor. I’ve made my choice, and I have to leave it behind.” I paused—I spoke of my shop almost like a person, a traveling companion whose road finally diverged from mine. I had a new vocation now, as a voice for the quiet majority of Galatines, leveraging my position among the nobility. Even after the reforms passed, that voice would be necessary.

“I—I can’t accept that,” Alice said, repressing the excitement in her voice. I knew she wanted to open her own shop someday, and I’d always anticipated losing her to her well-earned ambition.

“You can. Understand, this isn’t purely a favor, a gift to you. This shop has been a place of employment for…” I counted quickly, surprising even myself as I said, “For over a dozen women since I opened. I’ve given women a place to earn a fair wage, to gain skills and experience.” The options most commonly granted to women for work—servants, laundresses, market women—were sparse and few offered the potential that dressmaking did. “I very much want it to continue to be that sort of place, not just for experienced seamstresses, but for less practiced girls, too.” Emmi had taught me the value of looking past a girl’s current skill level and toward her ability and willingness to learn. Though Emmi had not been a seamstress by trade when I had hired her to help me just before the insurrection, she had proved quick with a needle and thread. She had been so successful—and appreciative of an opportunity usually beyond her—that even Alice, dubious of the decision at first, had come around on her intrinsic value in our shop.

“And in that vein,” I continued, “we need to hire more seamstresses. If I won’t be here much longer, you’ll need to have at least one, if not two, new staff ready, and soon.”

Alice nodded. “I’ll place an ad in the Weekly tomorrow.” Once practical tasks superseded talk, Alice’s unease dissipated. Accepting such a proposition was not easy for Alice, who liked to see clearly that she had earned what she had gained, one of the many reasons I knew she had the steady head and pragmatic temperament necessary to continue the work I had started.

“One more thing,” I said. “I’d like you to hire at least one Pellian, if you can.”

Alice exhaled carefully, weighing her words. “We got very lucky with Emmi. But Pellians—few are trained in fine sewing. You know as well as I do that we need more help than someone sweeping the back. Emmi still isn’t quite up to where Penny was.”

“I know,” I said, “and I won’t argue that it doesn’t make more work, up front. But, Alice—they’re not trained in fine sewing because they’re not hired by the milliners and dressmakers as day laborers and apprentices. If any of them wanted to learn, we’re the only chance they have. And Emmi works harder than Penny. She knows she has a lot to learn, and she dedicates herself to it.”

“There are Galatine girls who need work, too, you know,” Alice said gently. I knew she meant it kindly, reminding me I was helping a girl support herself no matter what.

I had helped many Galatine girls over the years. And though I wished I could say that I had done so solely because they needed my shop, in truth, I needed them. I wanted the façade of a fine Galatine atelier, with the polished wood counter and the plate-glass window framing my best work and primly dressed assistants in starched caps and aprons. I had built a proper Galatine shop, and I had populated it with Galatines. I had been, I accepted, neglectful.

“You’re right, of course,” I replied, “that any girl we can hire and give a reference to is better off because of it. And I certainly don’t mean to say that we oughtn’t to hire Galatines, too. But a Pellian girl—you know as well as I that very few shops will take a risk on her.”

Alice pursed her lips. The color had returned to her cheeks in sharp points, whether of frustration or embarrassment, I didn’t know. “You were right about Emmi,” she finally said. “We’ll see how it goes for another time.”

Impulsively, I hugged Alice. Her arms stiffened, then relaxed. “You’ll be a wonderful shop owner. Better than me, I’d wager.” Then I glanced at the slate. “And now, to get these charmed orders finished.”

I returned to the riding habit I’d left the last time I’d tried to charm cast. I began to sew, and finished one side of the jacket’s front before I sensed something strange, like a constantly moving itch or a person standing just outside the periphery of my vision. The charmed light I held to my needle faded, spreading out like ink on wet paper, and the itch intensified as the dark glint of curse magic encroached on the space.

Quickly, I tied off my thread, leaving the jacket half-charmed as curse magic hovered around my needle. My hand shook, the needle warbling between diffuse charmed light and dark sparkle. I couldn’t pull the light away from the dark, and began to panic.

No, I told myself silently, forcing myself to set the needle down, stabbing it into the riding habit’s pale blue wool. I was shocked when a dark smudge embedded itself alongside the needle. I hadn’t meant to include charm or curse at all. Drawing on a skill I hadn’t touched in months, I removed the curse using the method I had learned for the queen’s shawl. It disappeared back into the ether.

I set the jacket down carefully and stared at it. What was I going to do? We had a full slate of orders, a good number of which required my skills. If I couldn’t reliably charm cast, how could I finish them? The last thing I wanted to do was hand a business with a faltering reputation over to Alice.

I wasn’t sure how I could find out what was wrong with my charm casting, either. None of the other charm casters I knew, Emmi included, cast curses. It was taboo. How could I explain the sudden, unwelcome presence of what only a curse caster would recognize to begin with? There was still only one person who knew I had cursed the queen’s shawl, and Theodor couldn’t help me with this problem.

There was nothing to be done about it today, at any rate. Maybe I only needed time, a short break, some focus.

Shouts outside foretold that focus was not going to be in great supply.

I followed the noise to the front room, where Alice and Emmi were already pressed against a window.

“Did I miss a holiday?” I asked, though I couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. Not after the riots the summer before or the revolt that started in the streets at Midwinter.

“I think we all did,” Alice said, pointing at the crowd gathering, waving sticks with bright strips of cloth attached. To my relief, they looked happy.

I opened the door, the bright afternoon sun baking the stones outside and painting a glistening sheen on the people I now saw clearly were revelers, not rioters. They waved colorful red banners, some brilliant scarlet and some a duller madder red—whatever their bearers had managed to find on short notice.

“Hurrah for the Prince of Westland!” A coherent voice emerged from the joyful shouting. And another, “Reform is coming!”

“It passed?” Emmi asked, incredulous.

I shook my head—the bill had only just been drafted, and I knew contentious debate was still to come, not to mention the vote itself.

A passerby pressed a broadside into Emmi’s hands. “The prince’s reforms were officially introduced to the floor today!” He brandished his banner, the vermilion cotton matching his red cap. “Read these—these will make for a better Galitha!”

Emmi and Alice read the broadside, listing the high points of the Reform Bill I already knew like a well-worn book from hours talking with Theodor, but as the merry band paraded down the street, I couldn’t dissuade myself from worry. The people were in clear favor of a bill that would only pass after a fight. Would this merriment turn to violence in the wake of disappointment?

“We should get back to work,” I said quietly, watching the brilliant scarlet fade as the crowd moved into the summer haze.