She folds her arms over her chest, “What does ‘not much by choice’ mean?”
“It was either this or be married off.”
“You choose being this… a spy, assassin—damn near servant to the Queen—over marriage?” She eyes me and then shrugs. “Fair enough.”
“Is that all? I actually have something to do if you’re done with your questions.”
She smiles. “Mahogany.”
“What? What in the divinities does ‘mahogany’ mean?” I know it’s a tree but how random to drop it in the middle of a conversation.
“The dress you were ordered to make for me, I want it mahogany in color. Similar to that of a red fox. Sky will wear gray and Chana black, with the faintest trimming of silver, as usual. We have decided you shall be our snow fox, so stick to whites and creams.” She starts walking away. “Don’t screw it up.”
“Wait!” She stops but doesn’t turn around. “I’m officially a…” I look around the vacant hall, but even without people around the word fox still feels forbidden. “One of you all now?”
“Not even a little.” She laughs back. “Let’s see if you can earn it by the start of the ball.”
It isn’t a full acceptance, but her consideration means I am fitting into this strange new place, the confirmation that I made the right choice. I cling to hope and rush to the sewing room.
The room, like all other rooms in this oversized place, is more than large enough. Much bigger than the kitchen and sitting room of my parents’ cottage combined.
The thought of them makes me remember that I really need to get their letter written. Mom has sent me three in the short amount of time I’ve been here. She’s probably thinking the worst with my lack of reply. Same with Jaleese and Luna. But between everything I have going on I have found very little time to craft a response.
The Queen has an entire wall dedicated to bolts of fabric. There are sections for silk, satin, wool, lace, velvet, and so much more and all in hundreds of different colors and patterns. She also has designated areas for ribbons, beads, bows, buckles, hats, shoes—everything one could think of. It is my dream and nightmare all in one. Nightmare because there are so many choices, and my time doesn’t allow me to be indecisive.
I force myself to focus on one outfit at a time. While I probably should start with the Queen’s, hers is going to take a little more time, so I begin with Vera’s. My first goal is to hunt down the mahogany color she asked for.
I find a satin bolt in a color resembling mahogany along with a copper tulle with leaf patterns on it.
Perfect.
As I search for Sky’s material next, I come across an olive green material that would look good on Iann. Before I know it, the material is in my hand and on the cutting table where I try to get a better view.
If I could get the other pieces done, then maybe…
“What are you doing?” I say aloud, talking to myself and rushing to put the material back. There isn’t enough time and why would I bother making him something he’s never going to wear.
Before I put it back on the shelf, I decide it’s best to keep it out, just in case, and set it back down on the table. It is beautiful material, maybe I’ll think of something else to use it for.
An hour in and I have the material for everyone’s ensembles picked out, except the Queen’s, and I have Vera’s sketch nearly finished.
Knowing I couldn’t do it all on my own, the Queen ordered two of her helpers to assist me when needed. I make them a list of things I need cut, pinned, or sewn, but keep the more intricate and important tasks for myself.
There is the faintest scuff of a shoe on the floor behind me. In seconds, I draw a dagger and flip around, launching myself forward. I find the strangers’ neck and press in as close as I can without drawing blood.
I’m hit with piercing blue eyes. “I see Chana has been teaching you well,” Sky says. In a quick movement he knocks the blade out of my hand and turns us, pinning me to a table. “Too bad I have years on you.”
Not willing to give up just yet, I kick my knee up and get him in the closest and weakest place I can reach.
Immediately, he lets me go to cradle the pain. His face turning red and eyes ready to pop out.
“Damnit…Ariah…” He breathes with pain. “I was just messing with you.”
“I know.” I fix my outfit and realize if anyone were to come in it would look like a bad scene. “I just wanted to see if I could get myself out.”
“You’ve succeeded.” He hisses and finds the strength to stand straight again. His eyes get caught on my sketch. “What is that?” He’s not stupid and considering it’s a drawing of a dress with Vera’s name written on the top, I’d imagine I don’t have to answer. But when he doesn’t ask anything else I take it as a sign to reply.
“It’s the dress I’m making Vera for the ball. Your outfit is up next.” He eyes my drawing as if she’s actually standing in it. “Do you like it? My favorite part is the split in the leg.” I run my finger along the paper. “What’s yours?”
