Stitching Snow (14 page)

After another pause, he set us moving again. We got off the lift and wound through serpentine corridors before stopping at a particular room, where Kip pressed his thumb to a panel. The door slid open. Inside was a suite the size of my whole shack, with fll owers on the dresser and a window with a sidelong view of the mountains. My clothes from the shuttle were in a neat stack at the foot of the bed.

“Did I ever thank you?” I asked.

“I don’t remember. And it doesn’t matter.” He looked around the room. “You’ll be confi ned here for now. I’ll check in on you later.”

I nodded, unable to fi nd any other response.

When I remained silent, Kip opened his mouth but stopped himself, refusing to meet my gaze. After a few more seconds’

hesitation, he shook his head and left. I couldn’t blame him. The situation redefi ned awkward for me, too.

Once I was alone, I set about inventorying my temporary home. The arrangements made by the thin, thoughtful man had been both quick and thorough.

A spacious private bath was attached, lined with marble and tile. I could practically swim in the tub. The huge bed was softer than anything I was used to. The closet was full of clothes in my size, the kinds of silky, pretty things I’d worn on Windsong.

Completely useless things. Likewise with the vanity, lined with 128

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perfumes and makeup and jeweled combs I had no idea what to do with.

The mirror above the vanity caught my eye. I’d never paid much attention to mirrors. Something about me looking back at myself twitched me out. Nothing I saw there surprised me, but I still found myself staring. A ragged scarf tied over my head, keeping my hair trailing down my back instead of getting in my face. Then there was my face—weather-beaten and pale. My eyes looked as weary and worn as my clothes.

Defi nitely no one’s queen. Better off that way, too.

Confi nement in a luxurious suite in Gakoa was the worst punishment ever devised.

Being alone wasn’t a problem. I liked it that way. But on Thanda, I had things to do in my lab. When Dane crashed, I had the shuttle to work on. When he kidnapped me, I had sabotage to fi gure. When we landed on Garam, I had trinkets to repair and plans for escape.

My room here had nothing except a simple communication console by the bed. I’d already taken it apart and put it back together for lack of any more interesting puzzles to solve. No one had bothered to take away the small tools in my pockets.

I’d never been so bored in my life. I wondered if Dimwit and Cusser were as bored, stuck in the parked shuttle. If the hangar exploded, I’d have my answer.

Kip had checked in once after leaving me. He said the council was deep in discussions, and they were gathering reports of current conditions on Windsong. There was no knowing how 129

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long that would take. He also said he’d try to fi nd better things for me to do than tear my room apart—he’d arrived just as I got the console broken down to individual pieces.

After sleeping on the gigantic bed and waking to fi nd myself huddled on the very edge of it, I couldn’t imagine how I’d get through a full day without coming unhinged. Fortunately, the door signal sounded, and answering it gave me something to do other than brainstorming extreme measures.

Dane stood on the other side.

“You should have told me, Essie.”

That was some greeting. “Told you what?” He looked at me like I’d declared harri-harra sludge a rare delicacy. “That you ran because the queen tried to have you killed.”

“Would it have changed anything?” I countered. “Your father is still in prison, regardless of my past.
Because
of my past.”

“It might have changed
something
.” He glared at me another moment, then shook it off. “They left clothes for you, didn’t they?”

“Aye, but I like my own better.”

He shrugged. “Fine. Kip said you needed something to keep you busy. Here,” he said abruptly, handing over my slate.

Better puzzles. Less boredom. “Thanks.”

“The council also said you can leave the room if you’re escorted. Come on, you should see the city while you’re here.” Even getting stared at by strangers sounded better than staying in that room, number puzzles or no. I twisted my hair up under my headscarf before following Dane out.

We were quiet all the way down to the main level. I didn’t know what to say to him anymore. The hatred had died when I 130

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found out about his father. The anger still came and went. Sometimes I thought it made more sense to be mad at myself, but I hadn’t sorted it out yet. I couldn’t fi gure where his head was, either. I’d expected him to avoid me, but obviously he wasn’t.

Then again, as we made our way out of the building, he kept his hands in his pockets and didn’t walk too close.

Just as well. Maybe he didn’t have a choice about babysitting me. Punishment for acting behind the council’s back.

Somehow during our fll yover, I’d missed one key fact about the governing complex. It was directly across from the largest park in the city. The expansive space contained trees and fll ower gardens, footpaths and benches, even play areas for children.

And there were children there.

Regular children, not like the bratty technicians on Garam, and much younger, too. They ran around the play areas, climbing brightly colored structures, sliding and spinning. Laughing.

They looked my way, cocked their heads curiously, and waved at Dane, who waved back. Then they went back to playing and laughing.

Is that what childhood is supposed to be like?

I needed distraction.

“How are things sounding with the council?” I asked.

“Hard to tell. Conditions on Windsong haven’t been great.

Your father’s hold on the population is tight, and we haven’t been able to get word about the prisoners in years. Kip is arguing for letting you stay here as a citizen, forgetting your connection to Matthias. Stindu wants to go with my plan to trade you for the prisoners, maybe more if we can strong-arm Matthias into a few things.”

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Dane cared much about “maybe more.” I just hoped strong-arming didn’t mean the war moving from the outlands into more populated provinces. “How soon will they decide?”

“A few days, maybe. More reports should be coming soon.

They’re nowhere near ready for a vote.” I nodded. “Okay.”

Watching the kids was too uncomfortable, and the conversation with Dane wasn’t as helpful a distraction as I wanted, so I focused on everything else. The breeze tickled the back of my neck, and the sun warmed my skin. Not the searing heat of Garam. Not the freezing death of Thanda. A beautiful, perfect day. I tried to remember the seasons on Windsong. This felt like late spring, maybe.

The pond out beyond the orchid gardens, chasing dragonfl ies,
Mother laughing.

The memory shuddered through me. I shook it off just in time to notice a woman step directly in our path. She was about the same age as Kip, a few strands of gray weaving through her auburn hair.

“You’re her, aren’t you?” she said, glancing hesitantly at Dane before turning back to me.

“Depends what ‘her’ you mean.” The retort came automatically, without much thought, but I hadn’t missed how rattled she was. Her demeanor set me off-balance.

“Ametsa’s daughter. Kip said I’d fi nd you here.” That name. My mother’s real name. The hidden name woven into the drawings in her notebook. The name I only discovered when I deciphered her secrets years after her death.

My throat closed up, and I just stared, so Dane cut in.

“And why did my uncle send you here?” 132

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“He knows Ametsa was my friend when we were children.

Oh, you look so much like her—if you had dark hair, of course.” Did I look like her, beneath the ragged clothes and callused skin? Not according to the memories I had. Not even close.

Maybe Ametsa of Candara hadn’t looked the same as Alaina of Windsong. Didn’t matter. I still couldn’t speak, and my heart seemed intent on breaking free from my ribs. The woman assumed my silence meant I needed more.

“You know, she left our city when we were about your age, said she was going to do something important. Something that might make things better for everyone. It’s the main reason I work for the council now. I wanted to be like her. To help people.” This woman knew my mother. She was her friend. But she didn’t know why she left, and I did.

To become a queen on a planet that hated her people. To have me. To be killed.

Windsong needs you. . . .

My mother’s voice again. After the memory of the pond and the dragonfl ies, it was too much. I turned and ran back to the complex, ignoring Dane’s shouts.

One thing hadn’t changed since he took me from Thanda—I still would not let him see me cry.

133

13

THE GUARDS TRIED TO STOP ME when I barreled into the complex without Dane. I didn’t want to argue. I wanted to hit them until they got out of my way. Before I committed to that ill-advised strategy, one of them touched a device in his ear. He didn’t say a word, just opened the door for me.

Every guard after that did the same, opening doors until I got to the lift. Dane must have called ahead.

I got to my room and found that my thumbprint opened the door, even though I’d already discovered it didn’t work from inside. Dane could open the door as well if he wanted to, so I grabbed my slate and cracked the interface, then cut off its communication with the rest of the network. Not too complicated.

Now it wouldn’t recognize anyone’s thumbprint.

For good measure, I shut myself in the bathroom. Finally, I let the tears go.

Stop being such a child. Crying won’t bring her back.

Olivia’s voice this time. My stepmother. Crying never got me R.C. ll E WI S

anything but a slap across the cheek from her. She haunted the edges of my earliest childhood memories. Then a season after my mother’s death, she’d been everywhere, berating me, judging me, telling me I was unfi t for the kingdom, unworthy of my father. She was inescapable . . . until I escaped.

If Dane and the council—or men like Stindu, at least—got their way, I’d be back under her shadow.

Many things have changed since then
, one of the men had said.

I wondered what he meant, or if he really knew. Maybe when I disappeared, Olivia realized her hatred of me had been mis-placed. Maybe she’d missed me.

Right. That was likely.

We’d all be better off if Kip won the vote, letting me stay quietly on Candara, disappearing into a lab somewhere. Except for Dane’s father and the other prisoners. They wouldn’t be better off.

My mother’s voice burrowed into my mind again, and this time I didn’t shut it out.
Windsong needs you to give them better
than they have.
It was something she’d told me every night as she put me to bed.

I cried harder. I wasn’t the girl she’d hoped I’d be.

Eventually, the tears ceased, and I left the bathroom to curl up on the bed. Much later, the door signal sounded, and I ignored it. Then Dane’s voice interrupted my focused effort to do nothing.

“Essie, I know you can fi x the door faster than I can get a repair crew here, so will you please just let me in?” I should have thought of the blazing intercom. If I refused to let him in, he’d just get that repair crew anyway. I got up and restored the panel. The door slid open. When I saw the slimmest 135

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hint of sympathy in his eyes, I looked away. I didn’t want that, least of all from him.

“Kip suggested I get you out to the park, but I didn’t know he’d arranged for that woman—Laisa—to meet you. And she didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know, it’s just . . . I didn’t want to talk about my mother, that’s all.”

“I get it. I let her know your mother died several years ago.

If you’re up to it, she’d like to meet with you sometime, tell you some of her memories.”

That should’ve sounded nice, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever be up to it. Besides . . . “I probably won’t be here that much longer, right? And I couldn’t tell her anything
I
knew about my mother.

No one here knows what she did, going off to Windsong, lying about what she was.”

“No, all that was defi nitely a surprise.” His voice held a hint of darkness when he said that, but I didn’t ask. He pulled himself away from that darkness, and I kept studying random bits of code on my slate. “The council wants to talk to you, see if you have anything to add.”

“I don’t have anything better to do, right? Let’s go.” Anything not to stand there another second.

Back in the council chamber, I got a lot of down-the-nose looks.

They must’ve expected me not to show up in my old rags.

Too bad.

Kip guided me to a chair at the table. After the stunt with Laisa, I wasn’t sure how I felt, but I didn’t protest as he sat next 136

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to me, quietly telling me the names of everyone I didn’t know.

Dane stood behind him. The other council members fi lled in the remaining chairs, eyeing me suspiciously or glancing at each other.

A crawly feeling in my stomach said maybe I should’ve stayed in my room.

Quivery Jowls—Stindu—spoke fi rst. “Princess, we realize you’re likely to have knowledge that may aid us in our efforts against King Matthias. We would appreciate your cooperation.”

“It’s been eight years since I left Windsong, and I was a child.

What makes you think I know anything useful?”

“You’re a clever girl. I’m sure you learned a few things grow-ing up in the palace.”

My mouth stayed shut. Aside from Kip, I didn’t know yet whether these Exiles were my enemies or my people. Based on the way Stindu and several of the others looked at me, enemies sounded more likely all the time.

Stindu sighed. “Very well. A trade it is. Matthias is more likely to be generous if we keep the humiliation to a minimum, so it will have to be done quietly.”