Page 39

The finest garment is the blood of those who have forsaken you.

The castle was alive.

People bustled to-and-fro like bees, bumping me and talking over one another. Such a stark contrast to the cursed castle in the Hollow. A man with a powdered face caught sight of me. He smirked and whispered to his companion; they both laughed.

Concerning castles, I preferred the company of the latter.

I walked the halls, passing gilded paintings and expensive furniture. I thought it interesting that castles represent luxury, and any reasonable person would want to reside here. And yet, I hadn’t once entered a castle that didn’t feel oppressive.

The guard accompanying me said, “On your right.”

I started up a set of stairs. With each step, I regretted every criticism I’d ever thrown at the tired walls of our cottage.

What I wouldn’t give to be back at the hearth with my family.

I was brought to the sewing room, located in a drafty tower where the light was best. The only occupant was a woman, maybe ten years my senior, who spoke a language I was unfamiliar with.

A wrought, spiral staircase jutted from the middle of the room.

My boots kicked up metallic thunks as I climbed the steps, exploring my newest prison.

Each level stocked different fabrics and accessories.

Shimmering satins and silks, golden tassels, bright ribbons.

I stopped on a floor filled entirely with colourful threads.

So many beautiful things, right here at my fingertips.

Behind me, the stairs vibrated. Bronwyn’s brown braids appeared as she climbed the steps and joined me.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Bronwyn touched a spool of emerald thread.

“Growing up, my mother had one pair of trousers.” She chuckled and raised a finger.

“Just one . Every night, when she came home, my father would bring out the needle and resew the crotch she’d ripped while working at the mill.

” Bronwyn frowned. “And then you come here and see this.” She shook her head.

“Silk from across the sea, half of it woven with gold.”

I stopped hearing Bronwyn. An iridescent cream thread caught my eye, and I couldn’t help but think it would have worked perfectly for Lottie’s birthday coat. My mind wandered to my family, to Rook—

“Well?” Bronwyn said.

“Sorry,” I backtracked. “What did you say?”

Bronwyn rubbed my arm. “You’ll miss them less, as time passes.” Her words offered little comfort.

“What happened to the Hound?”

“Dungeon.”

Though I didn’t mean to, I frowned.

“Don’t worry,” Bronwyn continued. “You’re safe.

Even if he manages to escape, he won’t make it far.

” I rubbed my throat, feeling ill. “Hey, it’s okay,” Bronwyn soothed.

“The Hound has caused so much suffering, the queen won’t delay his punishment.

” I gulped and headed down the staircase.

Bronwyn said, “You’ll start your stay with an execution.

How exciting!” The tower spun, and I gripped the railing for support.

I made it to the bottom, and the sight of a familiar face snapped my swirling world into focus.

“You could have used this time to make me something nice,” Lottie said, examining her fingernails, several of which were missing entirely.

“You’d only ruin it,” I breathed, leaning on a table with my head between my arms.

“Lottie,” Bronwyn said, dipping her chin. Lottie smiled and ran her tongue along the giant gap where her front tooth used to be. “I’ll leave you be,” Bronwyn muttered. She squeezed around Lottie, who made no move to let her by, and left the tower.

“Did you bring it?” I whispered.

Lottie shot the other seamstress a look, then nodded to the tower stairs.

We headed down a level, where Lottie paused and snuck a small pouch from her cloak.

Inside, I found all the items I’d asked for.

The sweet stink of rot and alcohol burned my nose as I rooted around, locating the flint and iron.

“Know your way around yet?” Lottie asked. I blew out a stream of air and my eyes bugged. Crossing her arms, Lottie leaned against the stone. “Told you. It’s big.”

“Is anyone asking of Marek?”

Lottie craned her neck, making sure no one else occupied the stairwell.

“I have it on good authority that he was last seen entering the Hollow at dusk.” Lottie shook her head.

“There are few who could survive a night out there, and Marek was no exception.” After an exaggerated, uncaring sigh, Lottie said, “Anyway, his remains were brought to the castle coroner this morning.”

“Was there much left?”

Lottie raised her hand in a so-so gesture. “Head and torso were gone. Some gooey buried bits were recovered. Legs and ass, I think.”

“Shame,” I muttered. “Who was promoted in his stead?”

Lottie scoffed. “You’ll never believe it.”

“Who?” I glanced down the stairs, where another familiar face approached. One word left my lips in disbelieving exhale. “No!”

Above several new pins and distinctions on her cloak, my mother’s grim face met mine.

Even before the Hound started slaughtering captains, the role turnover was high.

To see those pins on my mother’s breast was akin to seeing her grave.

My mother’s face was best described as disappointed but not surprised. This town had failed her many times.

She hadn’t given up yet.

Pausing on the landing, my mother addressed us. “As the mother of the maiden who snared the Hound, they wanted to bestow me this”—her eyes darted to the ceiling, as she chose her next word carefully—“honour.”

They wanted to keep my mother close, keep an eye on her.

“They would not have my refusal,” Mother continued. “And, to celebrate the Hound’s capture, the queen is throwing a ball—in your honour.”

“Wha—no!” I snapped.

“In three days time,” Mother said, ignoring me. “In a continuation of her gratitude, Queen Aenor has granted you permission to create a gown from the castle’s finest materials.”

“I’m not goin—”

“You don’t make decisions here,” Mother interrupted. “You obey orders.” The height of her eyebrows asked, ‘Do you understand?’ I crossed my arms. Finished with me, Mother turned to Lottie. “What responsibilities are you neglecting in being here?”

Lottie balked and rubbed her neck. “Weeell…”

“Can… Could one of you check on Rook?” I asked.

Lottie opened her mouth to answer, but my mother replied, “No.” Glaring at Lottie, she repeated, “No!” Lottie began a dramatic eye roll; Mother yanked her down the steps. She pointed up the tower and said, “Go. Make yourself a dress.”

Lottie winked. “Shock ’em.”

“Don’t!” Mother pointed at me. “A normal dress!” She looked at Lottie, who closed her eyes and whole-heartedly nodded her agreement. But as our mother left us, Lottie mouthed, ‘Fuck ’em up.’

In the sewing room, I wandered through fabrics. So many stunning shades of periwinkle, olive, chartreuse. There was no vermillion, no scarlet, or berry-coloured hues. To wear red was to offer insult. It was a threat, a condemnation of the throne. I examined a light, cream fabric.

The perfect fabric for dyeing.

My fellow seamstress watched curiously as I left the tower. On the way down, I passed a girl and boy. The girl started, “We’re meant to help with your gown!”

“Wait for me upstairs,” I replied. “I’m going to gather supplies.”

“But everything you need is here,” the boy cried. “Where are you going?”

“To the coroner.”

***

The three days leading to the ball passed slowly and swiftly.

Whenever I thought of Rook, agony seemed to stall time.

Sluggish moments passed as I wondered if he was safe—if he was in pain.

But while I worked on my gown, the daylight sped away, and before I knew it, I was sewing by candlelight.

I’d dismissed the children sent to help me—told them I was skilled enough without them, only to disguise the true reason.

While there were times I didn’t think I’d manage the task, I'd done it. Only an hour ago, I’d slipped into my gown and hidden it snugly beneath my cloak.

Now, the time had come. I headed to the ball.

Clutching my cloak, I walked along the second story path surrounding the great hall.

Though there were no windows, the room was brighter than noon on a summer day.

Torches adorned the rows of stone arches, flickering like tiny hearths as far as I could see.

I paused, leaning on the railing. If I had to choose between wandering into the Hollow and fighting a thousand monsters, or what was about to come…

I would choose the former. Down below, musicians dressed in green hues—juniper, pine, and moss—played harps and flutes.

Along the wall, an array of acrobats climbed over one another.

I picked a pink petal from the garland adorning the rail.

Greenery and flowers had been brought in, turning the sterile stone castle into a magical woodland.

The pillars below were wrapped in boughs and trailing ivy.

Everywhere I looked, bright displays of flowers mimicked a spring garden.

How many living things had died to make this room hospitable?

How much work had it taken so everyone here might pretend they were somewhere else for just one night?

I dropped the petal and watched it float all the way down.

A familiar, sing-song voice carried behind me. “And then I saw a pretty girl, walking once again. Why if it isn’t our triumphant maiden, the ever lovely Liliwen!” My troubadour leaned on the rail, and I followed the black sleeves up to a mess of copper hair.

“Nice to see a familiar face,” I said.

Ruven bumped me. “I heard your brother is well.”

“He is.”

“I’m so pleased.” Ruven smiled. “And you’re here now; that’s wonderful!”