Crewel (14 page)

I sigh. ‘I should tell her. She’ll break purity standards and then . . .’

‘Why? She hasn’t done you any favours.’ He tightens his grip on my waist to keep me from pulling away to go to her.

‘So? She’s being used.’

‘As far as I’ve seen, she’s throwing herself at him,’ he says. ‘Shamelessly, I might add.’

‘You have a point. It just feels wrong.’

‘She’s hoping to move up,’ he says. ‘You all hope there’s some way to rise in the ranks or to escape. The sooner she learns there isn’t, the better.’

His cold response sucks the air out of me. He may have been talking about Pryana, but he knew I was thinking the same thing.

‘Don’t be offended.’ He takes my chin in his hand and draws my face up until our eyes meet. I can see the red of my hair flaming in his deep blue eyes. ‘You aren’t throwing yourself at a fat, old letch.’

‘But you know I would take any opportunity to escape,’ I whisper.

‘The difference,’ he says, matching his voice to mine, ‘is that you’re smart enough to realise a ploy like that won’t work. You’d have a plan.’

I blush and turn my face out of his hand so he can’t see my embarrassment.

‘In fact,’ he murmurs, leaning against my hair, ‘I can’t wait to see what you’ll try.’

‘Try?’ I ask innocently.

‘To escape,’ he clarifies, and I stiffen in his arms. ‘No, don’t worry. If you can get out, more power to you. No one ever has before.’

‘Perhaps because they depended on men to do it?’ I offer, and look up to see his mouth split into a wide grin.

‘See what I mean?’ He laughs and pulls me closer. ‘You’re already smarter than every girl here.’

‘Including Maela?’ I spy her out of the corner of my eye, chatting animatedly with a gentleman at the bar. I’m glad she’s otherwise engaged.

‘Especially Maela,’ he says, and sighs. ‘She’s not an intellectual. She acts on her whims.’

‘She must have had a rough childhood.’

‘Yes,’ he says solemnly, ‘there was a serious lack of puppies.’

I laugh and settle against his chest, glad I’m smart enough not to be cosied up to a drunk old man, but wondering exactly what I’m getting myself into with a charming young one.

Enora’s voice hissing in my ear pulls me away from the moment. ‘Come with me now.’

As she drags me away, I shoot Erik an apologetic look. Without wasting any time, Enora pulls me into the powder room.

‘What are you thinking?’ she demands.

‘I don’t—’

But she cuts me off with a finger and throws open the door to the toilet. It’s vacant, so she crosses over to the main door and locks it.

‘Now?’ I ask.

‘Yes,’ she snaps.

I fold my arms over my bare chest. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’ Except, of course, I am.

‘Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t suit you.’

‘I wasn’t aware that I couldn’t dance.’

‘Of course you can dance,’ she responds irritably. ‘You can dance with the old officials. You can even dance with a young one if his wife will let you.’

‘But Erik is off-limits because he’s unmarried?’

‘No, he’s off-limits because he’s Maela’s,’ she says, throwing up her hands. She’s not usually so dramatic. ‘And in case you missed it, she already hates you.’

‘No, I caught that.’ The fun I was having moments ago leaks away. ‘And what do you mean “he’s Maela’s”?’

‘Adelice, I know you aren’t stupid.’

‘Let’s pretend I am.’

‘Fine. She’s in love with Erik. He was some nobody who came to work in the kitchen a few years ago, but then Maela adopted him.’ Her voice shakes with panic, not rage.

‘She’s ten years older than him. At least.’

She shoots me another exasperated look. ‘Back off before she takes even more of an interest in you.’

‘I was just dancing with him,’ I argue, not sure even I believe it. ‘It’s that or let some creepy Guild official paw me all night.’

‘Ad,’ she pleads, ‘I sympathise, I really do, and Erik is very charming, but there are two things you need to consider. The first is how angry Maela will be if she finds out.’

‘And the second?’

‘That Erik’s intentions aren’t necessarily as honourable as he makes it seem.’

I blush. ‘Look, I know we aren’t allowed to get married, and I know there are limits, but I never thought . . .’

‘That,’ she says pointedly, ‘is not what I’m talking about. You’re cosying up to Maela’s assistant. You don’t find it suspicious that he’s taken an interest in you?’

‘Well, I do now.’ How had this not occurred to me? Since our trip together, I’d started to trust him without even realising it.

‘You’re already walking a thin line – the way you ran and the attention you’re drawing to yourself. Arras doesn’t work this way, Adelice. Secrets—’

‘Don’t have a place here.’ It bursts viciously out of my mouth.

But instead of being annoyed, she titters wryly. ‘No, there are plenty of secrets here, believe me, but some of us realise the danger of flaunting them.’

I open my mouth to protest, but she raises her hand to stop me.

‘Let me finish. I don’t want to be another person trying to control you—’

‘Then don’t!’ I yell. ‘You aren’t my mom.’

‘I’m not trying to replace your mother. No one can do that,’ she says in a quiet voice.

‘No,’ I retort. ‘Not even the Guild.’

Enora backs away from me. She opens her mouth to speak but closes it again as if she can’t find the right words. We both know there are no right words when it comes to what the Guild did to my family.

‘I have to get back before they notice I’m gone.’ Enora reaches out a hand as if to comfort me but thinks better of it and heads out to the party.

I take my time going back to the ball, afraid I’ll cry in front of the Stream crews. When I’m sure I’m calm enough, I slip out of the bathroom, still trying to decide how to dump Erik so I can sneak to my room and rip open a pillow, when a pair of strong hands pulls me away from the busy banquet room and into the dark hall.

‘I thought I’d been left to fend off drunk old men,’ Erik says, quietly, to avoid sending an echo down the empty marble hallway.

‘The Guild officials are getting broad-minded,’ I murmur, the ache in my chest suddenly spreading to where his hands hold my bare arms.

‘Come on, I want to show you something.’ He slips his fingers through mine, and against my better judgement, I follow him.

‘Erik, I don’t think this is a good idea.’

‘Let me guess.’ He laughs good-naturedly. ‘Enora was warning you that Maela will put your head on a spike if she catches us together?’

Something about the casual way he says this makes me feel silly for listening to her.

‘Why do you think I’m pilfering you away tonight?’ he asks earnestly.

Enora’s warning about his intentions echoes in my head. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Because Maela is too busy to notice, and by this point everyone else is too tipsy to watch you.’

‘So it’s true then?’ I ask breathlessly. ‘I’m still being watched.’

‘Of course you are,’ he says. ‘We all are, but on nights like this security is busy keeping Spinsters to their purity obligations, and I told them I would keep an eye on you.’

Another reason I shouldn’t be here with him now.

‘Where are we going anyway?’ I ask as he leads me down another empty corridor.

‘We’re here.’ He drops my hand and dramatically opens two large wooden doors directly in front of us.

The moon casts a faint silver glaze on the flowers and sparkles at us from the cobbled walkway that leads into the heart of the garden I walked through on my first day of orientation. I’ve rarely been outside since my arrival here, and then only under close supervision. Right now Erik is anything but a chaperone.

He offers his arm and sweeps me toward the centre of the garden. ‘Care to dance away from those prying eyes?’

There’s no music, but he leads me elegantly into a waltz. His blond hair glows in the dim starshine, and he looks like he belongs here in the cool night.

‘You haven’t asked me why I’m doing this yet,’ he whispers in my ear.

I have to swallow against the frantic pulse in my throat to speak. ‘Will you tell me the truth?’

‘Possibly,’ he says. ‘Although I’m not sure you are ever supposed to tell a lady the truth.’

‘You won’t know until you try,’ I argue.

‘Okay. I like smart girls,’ he tells me. ‘And a smart girl who’s also gorgeous – how can I resist?’

I rest my head on his shoulder so he won’t see how much I like this information, even if he’s probably lying.

‘So is that why you’re with Maela?’ I ask, my face still turned from his.

He snorts at this. ‘With Maela? That woman does not know when to let go.’

‘You haven’t . . .’ I’m not sure I want a straight answer even if he’ll give it.

‘She never understood how it works,’ he says. ‘She’s not as bright as you are.’

I think about Enora’s warning and try to pull away from him. ‘Erik, I’m already on Maela’s bad side. There’s no need to make it worse.’

‘You have to remember she controls me too.’ For a moment he sounds sincere but then the arrogance returns. ‘We may never get another chance.’ But underneath his sense of entitlement, there’s a subtle fear hidden in his eyes, and it looks familiar. It reminds me of the way my father looked as he dragged me to the tunnel. I cling to Erik a little tighter, remembering how easily people can slip away.

‘It doesn’t matter. We have a little fun now and Maela finds out and does something awful to one of us, or both of us, and for what?’ I force myself to pull out of Erik’s grasp and look him in the eyes. ‘There’s no future for us.’

‘Look, you can play the innocent with everyone else, but not me.’ His voice is low but earnest. ‘I know Maela is watching you. She thinks you’re dangerous, which means you are.’

‘Maela thinks she’s the centre of the world. I wouldn’t put too much stock in her opinions.’

‘She’s scared of you,’ he says.

‘Why? I’m not her problem any more.’

‘I don’t know.’ Erik sighs. Clearly he’d hoped I’d open up more. ‘It has to be something that happened at your testing. She’s been different ever since you arrived.’

‘Oh, she wasn’t a psycho before?’

Erik shakes his head and the moonlight bounces off his golden hair. ‘No, that’s nothing new. I thought I’d have to kill you when you first got here.’

I groan. This is so unfair. ‘She really hates me.’

‘No,’ he says, ‘the Guild executes any girl who runs. Standard no-tolerance policy. When she had me sedate you, I assumed—’

‘And you would have done it,’ I accuse him.

‘It’s not that simple.’

‘I wasn’t really running,’ I admit. ‘My parents were trying to hide me.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Erik says, unshaken by the confession. ‘They would kill you
and
your family then.’

‘Why?’ The word forms on my lips but no sound comes out.

‘A girl who tries to escape or run with her family after testing can never be loyal enough to trust. Runners rarely ever make it to the Coventry after they’re caught, but Maela lives for gossip, so I hear about it when one does. It seems to happen frequently in the Western Sector. People whose parents hide them – whose parents try to cheat the testing process – have poisoned minds.’

‘And the girls who come willingly
are
loyal?’ I demand.

‘Of course. The Guild controls their families, Adelice,’ he says. ‘Not many question it, and those who do—’

‘What happens to them?’

Erik shakes his head.

‘Is that why they watch us? Me?’ I ask flatly. ‘Because my parents are dead and my kid sister wouldn’t recognise me? Because they have nothing to hold over me?’

‘Maybe,’ Erik admits, and I hit him hard in the chest. I hate him for telling me the truth. I hit him again and again, and he lets me. Finally my hands hurt from hitting the mass of his solid chest, and I crumble against him. For a long time we say nothing and I pace my breathing to his; our chests rise and fall rhythmically, a promise of normality.

‘Adelice,’ he whispers, still holding me perfectly still. ‘I wouldn’t count on them both being dead.’

My breath catches and blocks all my thoughts from tumbling out.

‘The Guild is too smart to kill off a Spinster’s family and expect her to be of service to them, but they’ll make sure that you have almost nothing left,’ he warns me, speaking so quietly against my hair I barely hear him.

‘They have my sister, Amie.’ I force myself to face facts. ‘They remapped her though.’

‘Younger than you?’

‘Twelve.’

He furrows his brow. ‘And your parents – did you see them die?’

The body bag in the dining room flickers into my mind.

‘My dad. I know he’s dead,’ I say in a hollow voice.

‘But they only
told
you they killed your mother?’

A thousand tiny pieces of shattered hope tug together in my chest.

‘Wait.’ I pull back and meet his eyes. I keep my voice low but everything comes out in a rush. ‘Are you saying my mother might be alive?’

‘Yes, she’s definitely alive.’ But he barely gets the words out, because my mouth is on his. I’m kissing him out of joy or maybe panic, but soon the kiss shifts from excitement to something much more serious, and my body moulds up against his. His lips move slowly, his hand pressing against the small of my back. I want to weave this moment out and make it last forever. The feeling of my heart racing, the slight taste of wine on his lips, how my hips lock against his.

But Maela has other plans. 

When Erik and I break from our embrace, Maela is standing several feet away on the small stone path. The moon shines behind her, obscuring her face, but her posture – straight and rigid – tells me all I need to know. Well, almost. I need to know how long she’s been there more than anything else. More than I need to know how she feels about the kiss or what she’ll do to us now that we’ve been caught. I have a pretty good idea about that.

‘Erik,’ she says in a calm voice. ‘I need you to escort a couple of ministers to the guest quarters. All of the valets are busy.’

Erik glances over at me, and then back to her. His hand is still on the small of my back and when he removes it, the bite of night air blows along my bare flesh, making me shiver. He casts a worried look my way, but turns to Maela. ‘I’ll escort Adelice to her apartment first.’

‘I think you’ve given her enough attention this evening,’ Maela murmurs, stepping forward. As she does, the
shadows
fade off her face, and I see that she’s crying.

I never thought I’d feel sorry for her, especially if I was ever lucky enough to hurt her. But her running mascara makes me want to shrink back and hide among the vines and branches.

‘Were you following me?’ he demands.

‘I needed you,’ she says quietly.

‘There are fifty other guards in there,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘You don’t own me. I work for you.’

Her nostrils flare at the cruelty of his words, and even I feel their sting.
This is getting awkward.

‘You wouldn’t be here if not for me,’ she reminds him. ‘You’d be stuck slaving in the kitchen or rotting on some boat trying to fish for a living. So unless you want to go back there, I expect you to see the ministers upstairs. Adelice can find her own way back.’

At the mention of his past, he’s not willing to press it further, and he disappears into the wild, black silhouette of the trees without another word to her – or to me.

Maela isn’t moving. I consider my options. I can try to leave, but I will have to pass her, which will put me within arm’s reach, and I’m not altogether comfortable with that idea. Or I can strike up a conversation, but nothing is running through my head except the feeling of Erik’s lips, and she’s not going to want to discuss that. The third option is to stare her down, and since that’s the least dangerous one it’s what I do.

‘Good night, Adelice,’ Maela says, turning away from me. ‘The party is still going on, but I’ve had enough.’ Without another word she withdraws along the path that Erik took.

When I get back to the hall, Erik is busy gathering up drunk politicians, and I try to avoid catching his attention. Things are complicated enough at the moment. Maela is nowhere to be seen and neither is Enora. Good. I don’t need a night in the cells or a lecture right now. All I need is a bed.

Whether it’s from the relief of having hope that my mother is alive or a bit too much wine, I slip into a deep sleep as soon as I hit the sheets, but what seems like moments later I’m shaken awake. It takes me a while to adjust to the sight of a panic-stricken Enora hovering over me.

‘What time is it?’ I croak against a dry, scratchy throat.

‘It’s four in the morning,’ she says in a rush. I wonder – mostly coherently – why she’s here so early.

‘Okay,’ I mumble, and try to roll out of her reach.

‘This is serious,’ she hisses. ‘Maela will have someone here for you in a few minutes. I don’t have much time.’

Erik. He’s on his way to my room. I sit bolt upright in bed and brush the hair out of my face.

‘Here.’ Enora shoves a dress into my hands. ‘Put this on. You won’t want to be wearing that.’

I look down and realise I’m still in the silk gown from the party. I quickly yank it off. There’s no time to tell her I need underwear, so I slip the new dress on, feeling awkward and vulnerable.

‘Give me your hands,’ she demands, grabbing them herself when I’m not fast enough. A moment later she brushes my fingertips with clear gloss. ‘This will help, but it won’t keep you from feeling it.’

‘Feeling what?’ I ask slowly, but before she can reply Maela’s brutish guard with the shaved head walks in. I’m relieved and disappointed.

‘Enora.’ He tips his head to her in greeting. ‘Maela needs Adelice for a special testing.’

‘Wait,’ I say, even though he’s not speaking to me. ‘I thought I was done with testing.’

They share a look that sends stomach acid into my throat.

‘Occasionally,’ Enora says in measured syllables, ‘we are tested spontaneously. It is a chance to see how you perform under pressure.’ Her expression reminds me of the one on my mother’s face before she fled into the tunnel. She’s lost, no matter what she does, and it drags down her eyes in sadness.

Instinctively I fling my arms around her and bury myself in her neck. Enora’s arms are warm and strong, and I want them to be my mom’s. ‘Your soul is your own,’ she whispers into my hair. ‘Don’t let them take that. No matter what they do.’

Words will betray me and allow the tears to come, so I smile bravely as I pull away from her and follow the burly guard without asking more questions. Turning one last time, I see the concerned look on Enora’s face, but she quickly replaces it with a smile when our eyes meet. We both know this testing isn’t spontaneous or an evaluation of my progress. This is a new punishment.

My fingertips are hard like rocks where Enora painted them with the clear lacquer. I can still feel them but as I press them together, the nails bend back. But the skin is numb where she brushed the gloss.

‘Word to the wise,’ the guard offers in a gruff voice. ‘Don’t do that.’

‘What?’ I ask.

‘That,’ he says, and his eyes dart to my fingertips. ‘You’ll get her in trouble for helping you.’

A slow aching chill spreads out through my chest and down into my arms and legs. What have I got myself into?

‘Is Erik okay?’ I ask, trying to sound casual. ‘He usually escorts me to these things.’

‘Yeah.’ The guard snorts. ‘Maela has switched up assignments for the time being. He’ll be sticking closer to her in the future.’

This news doesn’t surprise me, but it still hurts. Erik might have been a friend, and even if his intentions weren’t exactly noble, he made me laugh. And then there was the kiss. Something I don’t know how to deal with.

The halls are quiet. No hint of a party lingers – even the late-nighters must be in bed. What kind of punishment takes place at four in the morning? The kind no one can know about. Enora warned me this would happen if I hung around Erik, but I didn’t listen.

My new guard leads me up to two swinging doors and holds one open. ‘I’m Darius, by the way,’ he informs me, and as soon as I’m through the door, he’s gone.

Swollen white plastic covers the walls of the stark studio. One window. One loom. One person. Maela’s already there, fully dressed. And I have no underwear on. She must keep her aesthetician locked in her bathroom. But when she turns, I see she has no cosmetics applied. Her face is softer, lacking the harsh angles rouge and liner give it. She looks average, maybe even pretty, but her eyes are the same: cold and hateful.

‘On occasion,’ she says, ‘we are required to perform an unexpected test on a new Spinster. A few Guild officials expressed concern over your readiness to start Crewel work. As you know, this work is of the utmost importance, and it’s my duty to assure them you are ready.’

‘Which officials?’ I ask, calling her bluff.

She smiles, unfazed. ‘Don’t worry about that. The important thing is that you focus on completing the task I have for you.’

‘Have you spoken with Cormac?’

‘I don’t have to approve training activities with Cormac,’ she says, staring out the window.

‘Loricel?’ I ask, wondering if she’s approved this.

‘She isn’t interested in the rest of us,’ Maela spits. ‘And at her advanced age, she’s been in bed for hours.’

I nod and mentally sort through all the comebacks I could make. In the end, I opt for silence.

‘Spinning is delicate work,’ she purrs, and I notice for the first time how quiet the room is without the hum of the loom. ‘I know you are aware of that.’

I feel my jaw tighten. All I’ve ever seen is Maela mutilating Arras – and she’s going to give me tips?

‘You must approach your work with precision and delicacy, regardless of what is going on beyond this room,’ she continues. ‘We call this a stress test.’

She turns, but looks past me, and I follow her gaze. For the first time I notice a large oak loom with thick steel strands stretched across it. It’s nothing like the modern automated machines I’ve been training on. There’s a crudeness to it. The wood is warped and scratched, and the small bench that accompanies it is made of a solid piece of unfinished tree stump. This isn’t going to be comfortable.

‘If you are gentle, you can weave anything,’ she murmurs, beckoning me to take a seat on the stump. ‘How else can a Spinster weave time? It’s so precious. Once we had no control over time. It slipped right through our fingers. No power over death or famine or disease. And then science gave us weaving. But if we are not careful we could lose the control we have now.’

I’ve had enough of this patronising charade. ‘Is this because of what happened between Erik and me?’

Maela’s nostrils flare and she moves away from me. ‘This exercise,’ she continues, bypassing my question altogether, ‘will teach you delicacy and control.’

She leans toward the loom and deftly, but very softly, fingers a steel line. It pings as she releases it. Taking a thin wirelike thread, she gracefully weaves it through the steel cables on the loom. In. Out. In. Out. Until she yelps and draws her index finger up to her mouth, wincing.

I want to ask her what’s wrong, but it seems bad form since we’re enemies and everything, so I wait until she removes her finger. Blood blossoms from a small cut, and the nature of this test becomes clear.

‘This spool,’ she says, holding a large metal cylinder out to me, ‘needs to be woven through by noon.’

‘That’s it?’ I ask suspiciously, afraid to take the thread from her. Light glints off its coils.

‘That’s it.’ She presses her lips together in a smirk. ‘By noon, or you’ll be reassigned.’

‘I assume the ministers will need to see my work.’

Her jaw flexes under her skin, but she maintains her composure. ‘Naturally.’

‘Naturally,’ I agree.

She leaves the room, and I gingerly touch the ‘thread’. It’s razor sharp. Even more carefully, I reach out to feel the steel bands that comprise the warp of the loom. They’re almost totally rigid. Razor wire and a fake loom. She’s outdone herself this time. I’ll be lucky to have fingers at the end of this.

My first pass goes through easily and I avoid cutting my fingertips. It makes me overconfident, and the next pass slices off the tip of my left index finger. Tears sting my eyes as air hits the open flesh. This is no minor wound, but Maela is looking for any excuse to banish to me to kitchen work or worse, so I pull on the cylinder until I have enough slack to reach the hem of my skirt and use the wire to slice a few inches off it. Cutting several smaller pieces, I wrap each of my fingers, starting with my bleeding pointer. I’ll have to adjust to my clumsy covered fingers, but I can’t leave them exposed.

It’s slow work. Occasionally the wire catches on the tops of my hands and leaves angry streaks of blood across them, but I press on, fighting against the growing pulse from the wounds. The makeshift bandages last for a while, until the one covering my bloodied finger is soaked through and the others are in tatters. The sun is rising in the east window, and I have five hours left at most, but the spool looks untouched. Taking a deep breath, I peel off the fabric covers, except the one blocking my bleeding left index finger, and grip the wire firmly between my right index finger and thumb.

I focus on breathing, filling my lungs completely with each inhale and then slowly releasing. Bleeding welts cover my hands, but I press on, ignoring the dizzy, light-headed feeling. And between my body expecting breakfast – stupid set mealtimes – and dripping blood everywhere, my mind drops into oblivion.

The lack of noise in the room roars in my ears, or maybe it’s my heartbeat. There’s no clock, only the faint glow of morning light breaking in patches on my work. It reflects back off the white plastic-covered walls, heating them, so their synthetic stench fills the air in the studio, making my stomach hurt. Everything is bright, blinding in its artifice. Only my warm blood on the cold, steel lines contrasts with the harsh brilliance of the space. But despite the searing pain, I get through three-quarters of the spool before Maela returns.

She smiles at the sight of my wounded hands. ‘You have two hours left, Adelice.’ Leaning over my work, she continues, ‘I was thinking about how rude it was for us not to give you more updates on your sister.’

I lose my careful grip on the wire and slice a fresh cut into my palm.

‘It’s common for us to allow a letter or to provide some information during the initial training,’ she says, still hovering over me. ‘But we generally don’t do that for traitors.’

‘Yes, I’m aware of what you do for traitors,’ I say.

‘Then you already know we can be merciful,’ she replies innocently. I want to wrap the wire around her thin, pale neck.

‘Unfortunately, your parents committed treason, and of course there was the issue of the contraband found in your house,’ she tells me, ‘so your parents have been removed.’

‘Cormac told me,’ I respond. But even though I already knew, I feel the heat of tears when I blink. I have no energy to fight them.

‘I see. You also know that your sister, as a minor, was rewoven. You know she’s in Cypress, where many of our finest Eligibles are found each year. As she probably shares your talent, she’s likely to prove useful to us in the future. We’re keeping a very close eye on her.’

‘Amie doesn’t have any skill,’ I murmur, willing it to be true. ‘You’re wasting your time.’