Brightly Woven by Alexandra Bracken
“And what would I have said?” he asked. “Mummy dearest is the Sorceress Imperial, she likes to drag others around by their hair, her husband died as Sorcerer Imperial and left her a powerless widow, and she hasn’t talked to me since I refused to be ranked and join the Guard?”
I shook my head. “You were only a little boy when you finished your schooling!”
North made a face. “I wasn’t a little boy.”
“You were fourteen. She should have supported you, not disowned you!”
I sat back on my heels, studying his face. He wasn’t angry anymore, but there was an unmistakable look of grief about him. Resignation, too.
“I didn’t want that life,” he said. “I didn’t want any of this. I hate this city so much. Everyone here looks at me and thinks that I’m some sort of pathetic degenerate, that I can’t hear them when they talk about how I’ll never be my father, not now, not ever. Can you imagine someone with this curse becoming the most powerful wizard? Everyone respected him, everyone mourned his death. I promised him that I would look after her when he was gone, but she won’t listen. She can barely even look at me.”
I rested my hands against his knees, looking up at him. “Then let’s leave,” I said. “I’ll protect Cliffton any way that I can.”
“We can’t,” he said tiredly. “You heard what she said.”
“Since when does Wayland North give up?” I asked, grabbing his hands. “There must be a way.”
North shook his head. “Syd, I’ve been in jail before for disobeying her, and it’s not something I ever want you to have to imagine, let alone see.”
Dread was twisting my insides, wringing them out until there was nothing left but fear.
“You’ll be safe,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I don’t care what happens to me,” I cried. “I’m worried about you!”
North shook his head again. “Listen to me,” he said. “We’ll both be all right.”
“What about the war—?”
“I won’t stop trying,” he said. “I won’t ever stop.”
He ran his fingers along the bracelet he had given me.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
He nodded, his face turned toward the long shadows of the castle.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
By the time we finally passed through the castle gate, the throngs of people gathered in the courtyard were overwhelming. North took my hand after a moment, when it became clear he might lose me in the crowd. We were heading toward the castle’s enormous marble entrance when North caught sight of a familiar face.
“Owain!” he called.
“Made it out of there alive, eh?”
Some heads turned, and several voices leapt to greet him at once. North’s face brightened when he realized he was among friends.
“Why is everyone out here?” I asked, standing on my toes.
“The queen went down to address the wizards on the banks,” Owain said. “It’s her first state outing now that the mourning period for the king’s death is over. People are curious to see her.”
Another wizard took North’s arm. “All that rot aside, tell me straight, North—is what Owain told us true? A wizard poisoned the king?”
“Yes,” North said, and a few of the other wizards began to groan and mutter. “Not that it matters. I tried to give the information to Oliver and the Sorceress Imperial, and they practically threw it back in my face.”
“What in the seven hells for?” the other wizard demanded.
“They’ve wanted to fight the war all along, to grab power from the queen,” North said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I don’t know who’s worse,” someone else said. “Our leaders or Auster’s.”
“The Sorceress Imperial is taking advantage of the situation,” said North. “Of the queen and all of the Salvalites.”
“I was wondering if it was just a coincidence that they want to invade this year,” the first wizard said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“This is the year the worshippers of Salvala believe the goddess will return,” North explained. “I’ve read their scripture and so has Hecate. When they ‘align the tribes to destroy the heathens,’ they’re supposed to be granted a ‘great weapon’ to take the world back from Astraea. That’s what Auster is counting on in this dispute: help from its goddess.”
I turned toward him, surprised and curious. “Does it really say that?”
Why does it always have to come to this? I wondered. Time and time again the differences between the sister goddesses had been fought in wars, most of them unnecessary. Would the goddesses themselves have wanted that, and would they have kept up their rivalry if they had known how long its consequences would last?
North opened his mouth, only to be cut off by three loud knocks and the great groan of the gate’s doors as they were dragged open. An instant hush fell over the crowd. Four guards rode out in front of the ornate white carriage, followed by another four at the rear. The horses were brought to a halt just short of the stairs; Oliver and the Sorceress Imperial seemed to materialize out of thin air, making their way through the courtyard to greet the queen on her return.
Two attendants appeared and announced, “Her Majesty, Queen Eglantine.”
My heart was racing with so much excitement I thought it was in danger of leaving my chest. I stood on my toes, leaning forward to catch a better glimpse of the queen. North held out his arm to steady me.
The Sorceress Imperial met a prim-looking man as he came down the marble stairs. He was a lean man, well into middle age, his expression as sharp as the tip of his nose.
“That’s Pompey, one of the queen’s human advisors,” Owain whispered to me. “He’s the head steward of the castle.”
Oliver opened the door to the carriage, offering his arm to the queen.
All girls, at one point or another, have fancy dreams of becoming princesses, but few have the poise and grace required for such a title. Queen Eglantine’s enormous, diamond-studded dress didn’t weigh her down in the slightest, and it seemed to me that she glided rather than walked, almost floating past the crowds. She held her head impossibly high, and her silky golden hair—so fair it was practically white—shone in long tendrils down her back.
She didn’t even glance our way. Her eyes were on the ground as Oliver leaned over to whisper something in her ear. The wizard looked pleased with himself, with the queen’s arm tucked beneath his own as he led her along.
At the stairs, she turned around, looking as if she wanted to say something to the crowd. Instead, the Sorceress Imperial took her other arm. She, Oliver, and the queen spoke in low voices as they began their ascent, turning only at the top of the staircase to look back over the crowd.
“Ah, it seems that you’ve been noticed, lad,” Owain said.
He nodded toward the stairs. Oliver and the queen were both staring in our direction, heads bent together. Oliver was speaking into her ear—I didn’t miss the way his hand rested intimately on top of hers—but the queen said nothing. She nodded, her face tense. Pompey stood nearby.
North muttered something under his breath and kept his eyes down until the queen at last entered the castle and the crowds began to disperse.
“I’m heading back to the inn,” Owain said. “You folks coming?”
North shook his head, nodding at Pompey.
“I believe that’s our minder for the evening,” North said. The man’s eyes widened in recognition, and he waved us forward.
“Good luck with that,” Owain said, clapping North on the shoulder. “Come find me tomorrow, and we’ll have a chat.”
The steward reached us just as Owain disappeared into the sea of men and wizards.
“Pompey,” North greeted him.
“It’s been so long, Mr. North! Your mother has asked me to escort you to your chambers, but I’m sure you remember the way.”
“Remember the way?” I repeated,
“I lived here before going to train with Magister Pascal, remember?”
I could have strangled him. “Yet another thing you conveniently forgot to mention?”
He tucked a stray curl behind my ear. “I know this castle inside and out.”
“Are there any other secrets I should know about?” I asked. “Cousins? Secret rooms?”
He leaned in, grinning mischievously. “None of those,” he said. “But there is a tapestry room—and a weaving room.”
“Will you take me?” I was begging, but I didn’t even care.
He laughed again. “I’m afraid if I take you, you’ll never want to leave.”
“You’re right—”
“Sydelle?”
I turned around slowly. North’s hand came up to rest protectively on my back.
“Sydelle? Is that you?” Even in the darkness I could make out the familiar shape of his face. My heart dropped into my stomach.
“Henry!” I said, walking toward him in a daze. He flung his arms around my neck, laughing. “Are you all right—have you heard anything from home?”
He hugged me so tightly he actually lifted me from the ground, then we held each other at arm’s length. I tried to match my smile to his grin, but I felt like I could scarcely breathe.
“One question at a time!” he said, laughing.
“Is everyone well, at least?” I asked. “How are your brothers? What about my parents?”
“Everyone is right as rain,” Henry said. “And speaking of rain—”
“Syd!” North barked. I turned around, startled by his tone. He and Pompey were still standing where I had left them, both looking cross. I turned back to Henry apologetically.
“I’ll come find you later, all right?” I said.
“All right,” he agreed, smiling. “I’m holding you to that.”
I nodded, but my own smile slid slowly down my face upon seeing the wizard’s eyes turned away from me, back to the ground.
Hecate made sure that North and I were in rooms on opposite ends of the castle. I wanted to protest being so far away from him, but after what had happened with Henry, North wasn’t in any mood to speak to me. Pompey brought us to the second level of the castle, where North would be staying. The wizard didn’t acknowledge either of us as he strode into his chamber and slammed the door shut behind him.
“Still has that bad attitude, I see,” Pompey sighed. “Well, come on, then. We still have a ways to walk.”
My room was located somewhere on the fourth level, in the west wing. Pompey chattered about this and that as we climbed staircase after staircase, but I kept to myself. My insides were still in such a jumble after seeing Henry that I tossed and turned in the ornate bed. If that hadn’t kept me up, trying to fall asleep in an actual bed might have. I hadn’t realized how accustomed I’d become to sleeping on the hard ground until I had a pillow under my head.
The next day, North seemed to disappear completely. He needed to find Owain, his mother needed to speak with him again—a hundred excuses for why I couldn’t stay with him. He said good-bye at breakfast, leaving the insufferable Pompey to act as my minder and tour guide for the day. It was a blessing in a way—I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him or Henry, not until I could sort out my thoughts.
“And here,” Pompey said, throwing both arms above his head. “This ceiling was constructed in the last years of the Golden Age. Do you know how you can tell, Miss Mirabil?”
“It’s made of gold?” I answered dryly, adjusting the strap of my bag. I had brought it with me in the hope that I could find a loom to finish North’s cloak, but Pompey had other plans.
“Very good!” he said cheerfully. “Would you like to see the armory?”
“Actually,” I said, a new thought striking me. “Would you mind showing me the tapestry room?”
Pompey gave me a strange look. “Why would you ever want to go there?”
“Humor me,” I said sourly. He gave me another curious look; he’d been given orders to watch me, not appease me, but the chance to launch into another long, tedious history lesson was simply too great for him to pass up. He took my arm again and we ducked down a different hall, his uniform looking especially smart next to my simple brown dress.
The door was locked, and it took several minutes for Pompey to flip through his enormous ring of keys to find the right one. Even then, the iron key was hard to twist, and the lock stubborn. It took both of us to pull the door open, and we were rewarded with an explosion of dust for our efforts.
“The tapestry room”—Pompey coughed—“hasn’t been viewed frequently over the years.”
I frowned, taking in the bleak scent of mold, never a good sign where fabrics were concerned. The room was virtually black—both from dirt and lack of light. Pompey fumbled his way through the darkness, pulling the heavy draperies away from the windows one by one.
Each burst of light hit the opposite wall to reveal a new scene, a new moment in history perfectly captured in thread and time. There were battles and coronations, wizards and kings. The very first tapestry depicted Astraea blessing the holy grounds of the capital. The red and gold thread used to create her long, flowing hair had been caked over with dust. My hand came up to touch my own hair.
“There we are!” he said. “Just needs a spot of cleaning.”
I placed my fingertips lightly on the landscape of faded colors. The tapestries had suffered serious neglect over the years, and several faces had been eaten away by bugs and moisture. “You’ll need to be careful,” I warned. “They’re quite old, and you wouldn’t want to ruin them.”
Pompey waved me off. “We’ll just have new ones commissioned.”
I whirled toward him. “But these are part of our history—they were created by the master weavers of the kingdom!”
“Yes, well.” He pushed his finger through one of many holes. “They haven’t held up very well, now, have they? And anyway…”
The midafternoon bell rang, drowning out the rest of his words. He drew out his gold watch.
“Oh, dear, time for tea!” He moved toward the door.
“Will you take me to the room that they do the weaving in?” I asked.
Pompey hesitated. He had far more pressing things to attend to, I was sure, than looking after a troublesome nobody.
“All right—hurry up, then.”
I nodded, letting out a deep breath as he led me back into the darkened halls of the castle.
The weaving room wasn’t truly a weaving room, after all—rather, it was merely a workroom, bustling with women washing, dyeing, and sewing. It was cramped and humid, and all ten of the women working there were red-faced and sweating. A woman with thick, dark hair and a severe expression met us at the door. Her apron was stained with Palmarta’s dark purple, as was the skin of her hands.
“A new worker?”
“Just a visitor,” Pompey clarified. “You’ll behave yourself, won’t you? I’ll return later to show you back to your room.”
The woman studied me, her hands on her hips. “Not many would choose to visit the washrooms on a grand tour of the castle.”
“I asked to see the weaving rooms,” I said, looking around for any sign of a loom.
The woman’s face immediately softened. “We used to do a lot of weaving on the big looms, but the king began to import tapestries and cloth from other countries.”
“That’s terrible,” I said.
“Are you a weaver, miss?”
“Sydelle,” I said. “And yes, since I was a little girl.”
“I’m Serena,” she said, holding out her stained hands. “If you promise not to tell, I’ll show you where we hid a few of the frame looms. It seemed like such a waste just to throw them out with the rubbish.”
In the back of the chamber was a small closet, and inside, stacked against each other, were two frame looms—much larger, nicer versions of my old one.
“May I borrow one?” I asked. “I’ll keep
Serena looked startled, but she helped me string the cloak onto the loom, showing me how to adjust its frame.
When we were finished, she stepped back and called a few of the women over to see it as well.
“This is excellent work. I’m surprised it held up so well for how many times you said you took it off the loom.” Serena leaned in to examine the dragon’s scales. “Are you making this for someone?”
“Yes,” I said. “I should have finished it by now, though.”
“You must care for this person a lot to make him something so beautiful.” Serena looked at me knowingly.
“Well,” I said, trying to stop the color from rushing into my cheeks. “He deserves it.”
They left me to return to their own work. I worked on the cloak for an hour, adding Arcadia’s hills to the scene I was depicting. Weaving put me in a peaceful mood, but it also gave me time to think about the events of the day before, to wonder what use the Sorceress Imperial would have for us. North had been so furious, violent even—and that worried me more than anything. The problem of Henry was nothing compared to what was going on around us. I would meet him later, but first I needed to find North.
Without waiting for Pompey’s return, I said good night to the women, telling them I would be back the next morning. I cast one final look at the cloak before escaping into the cool, damp air of the castle. Every passageway and staircase looked exactly the same to me in the darkness of evening. Though it took me far longer than I had hoped, I did eventually make my way to the east wing of the castle, to North’s room.
I started up the last worn staircase just as an argument spilled out into the corridor above me.
“…have no sense!” Oliver, the Sorceress Imperial, and North stood a little ways down the hall. I stayed where I was, listening.
“Stop right there, Wayland,” Oliver warned. “I won’t have you speak such treason.”
“Let’s go inside,” Hecate said. “This isn’t a conversation for the castle’s many ears.”