Dragonskin Slippers (10 page)

I frowned at her back, thinking that it was extremely rude of her to talk this way, and right in front of Larkin, too! “Well, I am very good with a needle,” I said.

“You would have to be.” Marta laughed. “Derda only hires the best. Not that she lets any of us do anything interesting. I don’t know why she bothers to inspect our handiwork so closely. I’ve done nothing but hem underskirts since I got here last summer.” She yawned. “Larkin, are you finished or not?”

I folded the cherry-red silk loosely, all but throwing it at Marta. “Here! I did the cherry.”

“Oh, thank you,” Marta said, sounding confused at my unfriendly tone. She refolded the fabric into a neater square. Larkin handed her an equally tidy parcel of powder blue.

“I’m just glad we talked Lady Catta out of having these two silks on the same gown,” Marta said, wrinkling her nose. “When she first came in, she wanted layers of these sewn together … ugh. But now she just wants two
skirts to wear separately.” And she bustled back out again.

I looked at Larkin, wanting to say something kind, something reassuring, but I couldn’t think of anything. Instead, I just helped her put away the bolts we had finished with, and cut more lengths from the others. Marta continued to flash in and out, collecting swatches and bolts and cut lengths, and so did another girl named Alle, who seemed nice, if rather frivolous.

I had been cutting away with Larkin in companionable silence for about an hour when a horribly familiar voice came knifing through the door as Marta swung it open. Two spots of angry colour were burning on her pale cheeks.

“I want scarlet ribbons for this gown!” the voice from the shop shrieked.

“Gah!” Marta shuddered. “I don’t care if she
is
a princess – gah!”

“What seems to be the problem?” Larkin put down her shears and looked up at Marta in her mild way. “The Princess Amalia is one of our best patronesses,” she chided the other girl. “You are fortunate to be waiting upon royalty.”

“Again: I don’t care,” Marta fired back. “She’s a horror!”

I was frozen for a moment, but then shook myself. “Is it really her?” I couldn’t keep the dismay from my voice. “The Roulaini princess?”

“Yes, why?” Marta looked at me with curiosity.

“Oh, nothing,” I mumbled.

“All right, suit yourself!” And Marta bounced over to the shelves where the spools of ribbon were kept. “I don’t see it anywhere! I could have sworn we had some, but Alle thought we didn’t, and she made the mistake of telling the princess that!”

“What is it exactly?” Larkin struggled to her feet.

“Scarlet ribbons, from the sound of the shrieking,” I said under my breath.

Marta snickered. “But not just
any
scarlet ribbons. Not for the Princess of Roulain!
Wide
scarlet ribbons – two fingers wide to be exact. And of the finest southern silk, if you please.”

I let out a low whistle. “Every hand’s span would be worth our monthly wages,” I said.

“
Twice
our monthly wages,” Larkin corrected me, going back to her task.

“We
are
the finest dress shop in the King’s Seat,” Marta shot back. “Which is why Derda charges her customers such outrageous prices.” She shuffled through more spools of ribbon. “Well, I can’t see it anywhere!” She sighed. “I guess I’ll have to go back out and face Princess Shrill-malia.”

“Marta, do you think it wise to disparage both our employer and our future queen?” Larkin’s downcast eyes never left the lilac velvet she was cutting.

“Gah! Our future queen! I feel sick!” was the other’s reply as she swept out.

“That girl is going to end up in trouble one day,” Larkin murmured.

The shrieking continued from the front of the shop, where Princess Amalia was letting Derda and Marta know, in no uncertain terms, what she thought of the lack of scarlet ribbons. A cry of distress followed by the sound of breaking crockery told me that the princess had either knocked a serving tray from the hands of one of the maids, or had thrown it.

It was all I could do not to make some comment about spoiled rich girls. But the demure look on Larkin’s face kept stopping the words before I could speak them. We finished the bolts we had been cutting, and Larkin made a laborious move to gather them up and put them back on the shelves.

“No, no! Let me do it,” I protested, taking them from her. “I need to learn where they go,” I went on, to spare her pride. “I can see that they are arranged by colour, but does the fabric matter?”

“The heavier fabrics go on the higher shelves, the lighter on the lower,” Larkin instructed. “In the cooler months, we rotate them.” She was watching me, hovering on the verge of standing up to help.

“It’s all right, I can do it,” I assured her.

And I could. My mother had kept her silks and yarns arranged in the same way, and I knew just how to find the shelves of blue and green and yellow, pink and grey. I was using a stepladder to shelve the last bolt, but something seemed to be blocking it.

“There’s something stuck back here,” I called over my shoulder to Larkin.

“I’ll take care of it.” She lurched to her feet and limped towards me, faster than I would have thought she could. “I’m used to it. Let me.”

“No, it’s all right, I’ve got it.” Stretching my arm as far as I could, I reached back and snagged what felt like one of the large ribbon spools. It was caught for a moment, then came free so suddenly that I fell back off the stepladder and only just managed to catch myself before I tumbled right on to my rear. “Hey!” I held up my prize with a grin. “Scarlet ribbons!”

This had to be what Marta had been looking for. Holding the spool high in triumph, I started for the swinging door.

“What are you doing?” Larkin caught my arm, her face crinkled with concern.

“I’m going to take this out and make Her Highness stop screaming,” I said, bewildered at her reaction.

“But you haven’t a proper shopgown,” Larkin protested.

“Don’t be silly,” I said. “What if the princess leaves without anyone knowing that we had the ribbons she wanted?” I grinned at her, ignoring my own internal anxiety at having to face Amalia again. “I’m sure I will be forgiven for appearing in my country gown when they see what I’ve got.” And with that, I pushed through the doors into the shop proper.

As I’d thought, the rest of the customers had left,
with the exception of a stately matron wearing a hat so covered in feathers that it looked as though a large bird had settled on her head. She was standing to one side of the princess, looking resigned, while Derda and the rest of her staff fluttered around the princess and her entourage, offering her sweets and bolts of silk.

“I found it,” I called, striding forward and waving the spool of ribbon. “It had been misplaced.”

Marta rushed forward to take the ribbon from me, whispering a string of breathless thank-yous. She offered it to the princess with the expression of a vestal virgin giving sacrifice to a vengeful god. The princess snatched the spool from her hands, and Marta backed off quickly, almost treading on me in her haste to get out of slapping distance of Feravel’s future queen. One of the first things I had noticed on entering the room was that Alle and several of the serving maids had red cheeks and moist eyes, as though they had been struck.

Derda gave me a beady look and a sharp nod and then gestured with one hand for me to return to the backroom. Only too grateful, I nodded in answer and started to creep away in as unobtrusive a manner as possible.

“You there, girl who finds things,” the stately matron barked, halting me in my tracks. “Come here.”

“Madam?” I looked to Derda, who nodded her permission, though she did not appear pleased.

“Yes, yes, come here and let me see your gown,” the
woman said with impatience, though her expression was not unkind.

“Forgive me, Madam,” I apologised. “I have only just come to work for Mistress Derda, and have not yet made myself a presentable gown. This is the poor farm garb I arrived in.” I had to grit my teeth to say such a thing, since my dress had not been all that mean back home, but I was hoping for a quick escape.

“Let me have a closer look at that embroidery,” the stately woman said, her tone softening. She snapped her fingers and her maid pulled a pair of green-tinted spectacles from a purse. The woman held them a few inches from her eyes and squinted at my hem. “I have never seen the like.”

“Er, no, Madam, it is my own design,” I told her, and I held up my skirt a little so that she could see it better.

“You!”

My head jerked around and I found myself meeting the princess’s angry gaze. Princess Amalia let her little lapdog, Pippin, down and the creature began happily eating the crumbled cakes that adorned the floor. The princess advanced on me.

“You’re that awful, clumsy country cow who assaulted me yesterday,” the princess said, pointing a sharp-looking finger. “What are
you
doing
here
?”

“Some very remarkable embroidery, I hope,” the older woman said, handing her spectacles back to her maid. “I heard about what happened in the marketplace
yesterday, Amalia, and I’m sure it was an accident, so please stop fussing about it.

“Derda.” The stately woman turned her gaze from the princess, who was gasping like a hooked fish at this injustice, and addressed my employer. “You must have her do something for me. I’ve never seen the like. It’s breathtaking.”

“Well,” Derda said, coming to my side. “We shall see. I’m afraid the girl is new, and some of this work is not really fit for such as yourself, Your Grace.”

Not caring if Derda was my employer, or the woman facing me a duchess, I opened my mouth to protest, when Princess Amalia said something that made me wish I had taken Larkin’s warning to heart and not left the backroom.

“Where did you get those slippers?” The princess’s gaze was fixed firmly on my blue slippers.

“Er,” I replied, dropping my skirts to cover them. “Er, the cobbler in Carlieff Town?” I wished that it didn’t sound so much like a question.

“I
must
have some, they’re beautiful,” the princess said. “
Too
beautiful for a countrified shopgirl.”

“We can send someone to Carlieff Town for a pair at once, Your Highness.” A horse-faced woman standing behind the princess spoke up. “But first, let’s buy the ribbon you wanted and return to the palace, it must be nearly time for you to dress for dinner.” She sounded like a nanny trying to coax a spoiled toddler away from a toy.

“But I want them right now,” Amalia said. “Give me yours.”

“Princess Amalia, surely you don’t want to wear the same shoes that a peasant girl has been wearing?” The horse-faced lady-in-waiting looked scandalised. I wondered how scandalised she would have been if I’d slapped her, and then her rude mistress.

“Maybe not,” the princess said, never taking her eyes off me. “Maybe I just don’t think it’s fair that a peasant girl is wearing such fine slippers.”

“You have dozens upon dozens of slippers,” the lady-in-waiting protested.

“None like those,” Princess Amalia said mulishly.

“Really, Amalia, this is childish,” the duchess said, shaking her head in disgust. “If you deprived every person whose shoes you like of their footwear, half of the King’s Seat would go barefoot. Let’s buy those ribbons and return to the palace.” She gave her attention to Derda once more. “I don’t know what you mean, that it isn’t good enough for me, Derda. If I like the girl’s handiwork, then it clearly
is
good enough.

“Now, after you’ve made up that grey silk gown, let this girl embroider panels on the skirt and around the cuffs. I want something like this.” She waved a hand at my gown. “Only all in shades of blue. That will go well enough with the grey, don’t you think?”

Realising that she had actually asked my opinion, I shook myself out of my stupor. “Very well, Your … Grace.” It had taken me a moment to think of the proper
way to address a duchess. Fortunately my silly aunt’s even sillier romantic tales were a good resource for such things. “I would be pleased to do it, Your Grace,” I added.

“Excellent. Amalia?” The duchess studied the princess, and then sighed when it appeared that Princess Amalia was ignoring all of us until she got her way. “Derda, please use as much of the ribbon as you deem necessary, and add it to the princess’s bill.” She gave another wave of her hand. “The pattern you showed us today will do very well. Now come along, all of you.” And the duchess swept out, taking Princess Amalia and her entourage with her. I had just opened my mouth to apologise to Derda, and to find out why she was glaring at me in that way, when there was a shriek from the street outside, and one of the princess’s burly guards came hurrying back in.

“Pippin! Pippin!” The man looked ridiculous, running around the pink-decorated shop snapping his fingers and calling that silly name.

“Here she is,” I called. I had spotted a long silky tail disappearing under the cloth covering one of the refreshment tables. I reached under and pulled the little dog out. She was busily munching something she’d found on the floor. She licked my chin and I handed her to the guard with a grin that I couldn’t stop.

“Thank you,” he said in laboured Feravelan, and left.

Derda rounded on me as soon as the door closed behind him. “How dare you leave the backroom to wait on
a customer when you’re dressed like that?” Her face was red with rage.

I gaped at her. “But – but the princess, she wanted the ribbon and I found it,” I said helplessly. “I didn’t know how to get anyone’s attention, to have Marta or Alle come to get it.” Did she want the princess to leave dissatisfied, and never return?

“That was the Duchess of Mordrel!”

Blinking, I shook my head. I had never heard of the Duchess of Mordrel.

“The Duchess of Mordrel is the cousin of King Caxel himself! Her husband, the duke, is second only to the king in wealth and influence,” Derda ranted. “The duchess is one of our most important patrons, and now she will know that those designs are your own.” She threw her hands in the air and stormed away in disgust. “Get in the back room where you belong, girl!” she shouted over her shoulder. “I was doing a favour for Ulfrid by taking you in, but by the Triunity I will take that favour back if I have to!”