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I stood a little way down the street from the tavern as Mirabelle said her goodbyes to her fans. I squirmed, fanning myself with my sticky shirt. It was a warm day, but not warm enough for me to be struggling to catch my breath.
They were still surrounding her, hugging and clapping her on the back. My neck itched whenever passers-by looked from the rowdy group and then to me. I’m not with them, I wanted to say. But instead, I just kept taking slight steps backwards, wondering how far from the group I had to be not be considered in cahoots with this madness.
Finally, Mirabelle broke away and found me. I fought the urge to run as she jogged up to me, face flushed and dark eyes sparkling. Bits of her hair had fallen out of her bun and framed her face.
“What the hell was that?” I hissed, looking over her shoulder to make sure her group had departed. They had.
She stood before me, hands on her hips. She was wearing a different smock than the one that morning, I noticed. This one was murky lavender. It nipped her in tight at the waist and didn’t have a stain in sight. Clearly she was dressed to impress. I felt sick.
“I have a knack for public speaking, don’t you think?” She grinned at me. “I think it was all those acting lessons when we were little. Thanks, coach.” She winked and thumped me in the arm, sharp knuckles connecting with bone. I pushed her off me but the smile on her face didn’t falter.
“Are you insane? Why would you invite me here? I don’t want any part of... whatever that was.”
Her brows furrowed. “Whatever that was?” She jerked her thumb to the tavern. “That was the making of history.”
“That,” I seethed, closing the distance between us and lowering my voice, “was treason.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Wallace, always so overdramatic. Nice to know you haven’t changed.”
My mind was reeling. The sun was blinding. The air was thin. Why was the air so thin?
“I-I,” The heels of my palms were in my eyes, pressing so hard I saw swirls of black and red. “I don’t even know what to say. You could have at least warned me.”
“Would you have come if you had known?”
“Of course not!” I snapped.
“The king fired you, remember?”
My jaw set, and I winced at fresh pang of old pain.
“Aren’t you angry? You left your home, your family, you left me, for what? For a job you weren’t even fit for?”
Something swelled in the throat – anger, sadness, guilt – I couldn’t tell. Most likely a cruel mixture of all three.
“Is that what this is about? Me leaving you?”
She laughed, aghast, tongue running over her teeth. “Not everything is about you, Wallace. This is about everyone in this town.”
“And since when did you become the voice of the people?”
“I have been for a while, actually, and you would know that if you had sought me out sooner.”
The swelling intensified, threatening to choke me.
“I didn’t know you were here.”
She held up her palm, silencing me.
“I’m doing this. I don’t care what you say. I’m not going to sit back and let the palace take advantage of us. So, are you with me or not?”
We watched each other for a silent moment. Out there on the cobblestones, the world still moved around us. At one point I think someone knocked into me, but I hadn’t even acknowledged it. Her eyes never left mine. They were so strong and sure, slightly pinched with savage determination. I could feel myself coming undone under the intensity of her gaze. She was so solid, even the way she held herself. Feet apart, hands on her hips, shoulders squared and chin raised. Beside her, I felt like such a fickle thing. Easily trampled. Easily lost.
The king fired you, remember?
The words burned. The acid in her tone ate right through to my core. She wanted to stand up against the palace not just for the good of the town, but also for me.
Not everything is about you, Wallace.
But I knew my friend. I knew how she cared for me in her own unique way. How she would cover affection under the guise of something else, the way a mother would hide medicine in something sweet to trick her child to better health.
She was like Kaspar in that way.
Kaspar. The real reason I was fired.
I couldn’t let her go through with this. King Cedric was a good man, but we were already in incredibly unstable times, there was no telling what he would do if she was caught. The kingdom was barely holding as it was. If Mirabelle continued, a slight sway in the people’s perceptions of the palace could upset the entire kingdom.
But she was my best friend, I couldn’t walk away.
Not again.
Perhaps by her side, I could change her mind. I could coax her down. I could stop this revolt before it even began.
I nodded to her, it felt stiff and mechanical. The corner of her mouth twitched. She linked her arm through mine and steered us down the street.
“Partners once again, I like it.”
My stomach sank in protest. Partners. Is that how the king would see it? What had I gotten myself into?
I am going to flash forward several weeks because I do not recall anything of note that happened in that time. I knuckled down and painted, locked up in my home keeping out of everyone’s business. I created several signs for the local shops and tried to keep the political talk to a minimum, but it appeared that Mirabelle had gotten under many people’s skin. Usually I loved that my striking red locks and long, gangly build made me stand out from a crowd, but at this point in time, I wished I had worn some sort of disguise when meeting at that tavern.
“It’s not safe to speak of these matters here,” was a phrase I had become accustomed to, despite the circumstances. Even when in a completely empty store, I would lean close to their ear and drop my voice, “you never know who could be listening.”
I felt like I was constantly walking a balance beam – something I had never incorporated into my acts, and with good reason. I was the keeper of so many secrets that I sometimes lost track of who exactly I was keeping them from. Now, I am an expert juggler – that I did have a lot of practice in – but I was struggling with all this knowledge.
Sleep eluded me. Despite the chill of the night, I would kick my blankets to the floor in a desperate attempt to ease the pressure from my chest. In all this time, I had not seen Kaspar. He had not come calling and part of me was thankful. There would come a time when I would have to lie to his face. To look into those soulful eyes of his and tell him everything was fine. I just had to keep Mirabelle’s brewing revolt from Kaspar, and the palace’s problems with King Oldin from Mirabelle. Along with keeping my relationship with Kaspar a secret from everyone.
Dear reader, I am not going to lie to you, I was stressed. So stressed, I found myself waking up to a pillow full of stray hairs, having shed like a dog in summer through the night. Even transcribing this now, I find my hand shaking at the memory. My insides felt like one of Alta’s cut offs that I had severely butchered. When I had somehow stitched both sides at the same time, the thread so knotted up that I could no longer flatten the fabric.
Then one morning, I awoke to an envelope by my door. From my perch at the end of my bed, I recognised the yellow hued parchment with the same curling lettering as my invitation to the jousting tournament.
Another tournament?
Not quite.
This time it was a ball. A ball arranged by King Cedric to celebrate Kalmador’s union with Ullswood. My jaw clenched, the parchment wrinkling in my tightened grip. Another ploy. Another show of extravagance to convince the people that there was nothing to worry about. We couldn’t possibly be in danger if the king had time to plan a ball, right?
I had been invited as an expression of gratitude for my incredible warm up performance at the tournament. Recalling the memory of how my gut twisted at the sight of Kaspar and Lady Delphine together had me instantly wishing I had not performed so well. If I was to accept the invitation to the ball – which, of course, I could not afford to decline – I would spend the night lurking in the background as Kaspar danced and paraded about with his beautiful wife.
Sinking back down onto my bed, I let the invitation dangle between my limp fingers. The ball was in two days. Will Kaspar call for me beforehand? Will he instruct me on how to act? Tell me which role I am to play?
You have mastered the art of controlling the way people perceive you. Kaspar’s words threaded through my troubled mind and I winced at how I had first perceived them as a taunt.
I was an actor, after all. I would just act like a boy who was not deeply infatuated with a man who could never truly be his.
____________________
Alta’s store was quiet and surprisingly sparse. I usually found myself narrowly dodging toppling bolts of fabric taller than myself as I weaved my way towards my friend’s workstation. But I entered the squat little building with ease; the fabric was all carefully packed away in open wall cabinets. There was an obvious reason to the neatness. There was hardly anything in the store at all. I frowned at the remaining swathes of material; all dark, rough-spun and itchy looking.
“I thought I heard shuffling about.” Alta appeared from behind her curtain, hands clasped over her middle. It felt odd seeing her empty-handed.
“I do not shuffle,” I said in way of greeting.
She smiled softly. Even her hair looked carefully styled, her unruly dark curls clasped tightly at the nape of her neck.
“Here for more lessons? I can sit and help you fix your current creation.” She looked around then crossed to her workstation and opened a drawer. I couldn’t help but smile when her brows furrowed with overdramatic horror as she pulled out the patchwork mess of mine. It truly was a sight to behold.
“Actually no,” I said. “You can leave that to rest. Or better yet, burn it.”
“Oh, then what can I do for you?”
“What? I can’t just come in and catch up with a dear friend?”
Her eyebrow arched, unconvinced.
I caved instantly, painting on my brightest smile. “I need an outfit.”
Her eyes suddenly turned as dull as coal. Her hands ran up and down the tops of her arms as if to comfort herself.
Had I said something wrong?
“Well, unless you want a dress made of burlap, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place.”
The sorrow in her lowered voice struck me like a dozen pin-pricks to my heart. I took another look around her sparse store and in the corner of my eye I saw her flinch as if ashamed. Emotion swelled between us like a boiling pot. Part of me wanted run right out of the door.
I opened my mouth to apologise but she shook her head, dismissing my attempt. Probably knowing it would have been frail and awkward.
“I’ve been managing.” She straightened, eyes finding mine with sudden steely resolve, despite the whites of them tinted red with held back tears. “I’m resourceful. I even managed to make this smock out of my old tablecloth.” She gestured down at her simple grey, floor length dress with a handy breast pocket of a purple flowery material. “I had all these ideas. So many orders. A dye trader had my supplies ready.” She took her seat by her workstation, carefully folding into herself. “But I can’t pay him. The king’s gesture of goodwill for me making Lady Delphine’s dress was sadly lacking. I suppose I should have just been honoured enough to even be asked. I’m thinking of renting out the back of the shop but... I’m not sure anyone can.”
She looked across her workstation and that’s when I noticed a sheet of paper on top of a pile of dress patterns. I crossed to the desk to get a better look. My insides grew cold at the flyer with hand-writing I would recognise anywhere.
Do you think Tax Day took too much from you?
Are you struggling to feed your family?
Do you need someone to talk to?
Come to the Stag’s Head at sundown
Together, we can make change.
In the corner of my eye, I caught Alta watching me read.
“Have you been?” she asked tentatively.
“Have you?” I countered a little too quickly.
Her eyes widened at the sharpness of my tone and she shook her head.
“I don’t like taverns,” she said simply. “But... maybe I should go.” She began shuffling her dress patterns about her worktop, busying her hands. “I don’t know what to do, Wallace. If it’s the same next month...” The thin paper shook in her grip.
If it’s the same next month I could lose the shop, was what she was going to say.
“You can always talk to me. That group-” I stabbed my finger at the taunting flyer, “they are asking for trouble.”
I couldn’t believe Mirabelle had become reckless enough to post flyers about town. This was getting out of hand. Getting out of my hands. So much for being partners, she was working behind my back. But, then again, wasn’t I doing the same thing?
Furious, I delved my hand into the baggy pockets of my britches to get my coin purse. Before Alta had the chance to react, I pulled open the string and poured the contents out onto her workstation. The coins jangled loudly against the knotted wood.
“Here. Take it.”
Alta blinked up at me. I ran my hands through my hair. It was starting to stick to my temples.
My friend shot to her feet and backed away as if the coins had suddenly turned into snakes.
“Absolutely not! I will not have you pitying me. Everything I have, I have earned on my own!”
“And you have earned this.” There was a strain to my voice and I realised I was pleading. “See it as payment for your tutelage for all these weeks.”
She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “Some tutor I am, you can barely sew a straight seam.”
“I think that has more to do with the student than the tutor.”
She caught my smirk and it seemed to have done a good job at hiding the erratic energy coursing through my body because she smiled back, rolling her eyes and shaking her head.
Carefully, she picked up the coins. Her eyes flicked to me warily but I nodded my assent. She counted it, frowned, and placed them back on her desk.
“This is too much.”
“It will see you through the month.”
“Wallace.”
I was already backing out of the shop. “I’m not taking it back.”
“But what about your new outfit?” she asked, laughter lightening her tone as she watched my careful back-stepping.
I shrugged. “I’ll find something. You just keep that head held high for me.” Blindly, I reached behind and found the handle of the door. “And whatever you do, do not go to that meeting. I mean it.”