Stitching Snow (23 page)

The tailors moved quickly, fll itting from one task to the next, so it was diffi cult to fi nd an opportunity to Transition. Finally, one stopped to hold my arm out perfectly horizontal while another experimented with a draping sleeve. I focused on the 216

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contact of her hand on my elbow and looked for the pull, strain-ing to fi nd it as I hadn’t had to with Laisa. At the same time, I tried to do what Dane said and stay grounded in myself. Without being sure what that meant, I imagined heavy weights in my shoes, holding me down, but still the pull came.

I straighten the princess’s arm—it dipped slightly, and if Celia can’t get this sleeve perfect, she’ll go on about it for days. At least the princess doesn’t give orders like the queen. My head is throbbing already.

But I still feel my own body, the ache in my arm from being
held up for so long. It’s like a phantom ache, coming from outside this tailor. Maybe if I try moving—

The tailor released my arm, snapping me back to myself, and I stumbled.

Every tailor was immediately at my side with “Oh, Your Highness, are you all right?” and “Would you like to sit down?”

“No, I’m fi ne,” I insisted. “Just still getting used to all this.

Please, continue.”

The Transition hadn’t been perfect, but it was something. I tried not to show the fatigue it left behind.

With all the fussing, I did get one pleasant surprise. The clothes didn’t include as many gowns as I’d feared. Just a few, especially one for the upcoming ball, but otherwise I’d be allowed to wear pants. As each garment was fi tted and pinned, one of the women helped remove it and fed it through the automated tailoring system.

I stitched machines, and here was a machine that actually stitched.

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My sudden laughter didn’t make sense to the tailors, but I didn’t care.

The speed of the machine impressed me, a basic garment with pins and marks going in one end, a fi nished item with trims and details coming out minutes later. I still preferred my version of stitching, though. Making up code as I went, even if it meant a few mistakes along the way.

My father held to such strange parts of the past, archaic traditions and ceremonies, leaving others behind in favor of technology. All part of an elaborate show to distract the populace and maintain control. All part of the man I’d never managed to understand.

“What are you doing here?” one of the tailors burst out. “You can’t—Oh, my apologies, sir.”

The commotion started when I was behind the changing screen, so I peeked over the top. It seemed Dane had fi nished with the uniform fi tting and wouldn’t leave me unprotected a moment longer.

As much as I hated the princess-and-her-guard act we had to follow, the black uniform suited him. Sharply cut to make him look even taller, with silver trim matching the emblem of the Silver Dagger—the princess’s guard—over his heart. I glanced down and spotted a knife tucked into each boot, and I suspected another was concealed in his belt buckle.

Not one Thandan miner had ever looked like
that
. Staring at him suddenly sounded like the best way to spend the afternoon.

“Are you almost fi nished with the princess?” he asked. “She has an appointment in an hour.”

The chief tailor sighed. “I suppose we have enough for a start. What is her appointment?”

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“A reception with the territorial governors.”

“And what have you got there, Garrick?” I’d been too busy staring at Dane in his new uniform to notice the footman standing with him. He held two fll at cases, each no larger than his hand.

“His Majesty sent me with these for the princess,” Garrick said, opening the boxes. Each held a necklace. “This is a gift from Queen Olivia, and I believe the locket belonged to the late Queen Alaina.”

I hardly glanced at Olivia’s gift—a ruby-studded pendant in the shape of an apple I remembered her wearing a few times.

My eyes were only for my mother’s silver locket. She’d worn it every day, and I knew what I’d fi nd inside. Images of my grandparents. Only now I knew they probably weren’t even my
real
grandparents—just part of the false history provided by the Candaran council.

When the chief tailor asked which I’d like to wear to meet the governors, I didn’t hesitate. “The locket, please.”

“Very good. Antiques are quite the fashion right now. Let’s see. . . . Ah! The green dress.” No fewer than three of the tailors wrangled me into the dress, pulling the bindings so tight, I had to assure Dane they weren’t torturing me. Not in a way that required his interven-tion, anyway. At least they hadn’t forgotten my stipulation—a sheath for my knife was strapped to my leg—and they fastened the locket around my neck.

A problem presented itself immediately: I’d never worn heeled shoes in my life. They seemed the most inane, ineffi cient type of footwear ever devised. After standing in them for the past few hours so the tailors could get the dress lengths right, I 219

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could balance pretty well . . . as long as I didn’t move. Walking took a lot more concentration. Not easy when the Transition earlier had taken half my strength.

When they fi nished binding me in and fussing with my hair, I half tiptoed out from behind the screen. Everything felt wrong—my arms and neck too bare, my legs confused by the folds of fabric draping and swishing around them. I looked to Dane, ready to roll my eyes, and saw him slip. For a second, he wasn’t the young guard devoted to duty. He looked at me like the Candaran boy who’d said seven confounding words:
I think
I’m in love with you
.

If I blushed, there’d be no hiding it, so I walked to the door as quickly as the ridiculous shoes would let me, knowing he would follow.

“Don’t do that,” I whispered once we were alone.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like that. Someone will notice.” He laughed—quietly at least, but I still glared at him.

“No one looks at me when you’re in the room, Princess.”

“Stop talking that way!”

“Why?”

I didn’t get a chance to explain, because my ankle fi nally rebelled, toppling me sideways. He caught me by the arm—his warm hand on my skin—and held on as I regained my balance.

His touch was both gentle and strong . . . and too tempting when someone could see us any minute.

I jerked away. “I only have an hour to learn to walk in these things. Let me concentrate.”

His tone, unlike his hand, was cold. “Of course, Your Highness.”

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Territorial governors. Men and women who’d gotten a taste of power and more than a taste of wealth by enforcing my father’s rule throughout Windsong. Sycophants and cowards when it came down to it.

No one I wanted to spend an afternoon with, but they were very excited to see me.

“Princess Snow, wonderful to fi nally meet you.”

“We’re so relieved you’ve returned unharmed.”

“And such a beauty, like your mother.” I battled to keep my composure, especially at the mention of my mother. Each governor greeted me with a traditional kiss of my fi ngertips. It made me want to scrub my hands. The well-greased words they offered me and each other made me want to scrub everything else.

I missed the simple dust and grime of Thanda.

Once they fi nished greeting me, the governors chatted idly about life in their territories as we waited for my father to arrive.

The weather, the state of agri-tech . . . the resistance of some citizens when they learned they’d been recruited into the war effort.

When I picked that up, I edged closer to the governor who’d said it, trying to eavesdrop more.

“I understand it’s a daunting thing,” the man said. “But I tell them, would they rather be with the king’s army on the far side of the system? Cut off from their homes in the miserable wastes of Candara, the ground shaking beneath them every other day and fi ghting for their very sanity against the worst of the enemy?

That’s generally enough to give them some perspective.” 221

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I glanced at Dane, who shook his head minutely. This talk of troops fi ghting on Candara was news to him, too.

“Indeed,” said a woman. “The militia’s efforts have kept the war to the outlands. Can you imagine if those hideous people breached the territories?”

Hideous people, meaning Exiles. Did the governors really think Candarans were involved in the outland battles? As the upper echelon of planetary leaders, I’d thought they would know the truth. I kept my expression blank, giving nothing away.

“Snow, this dress is lovely. The tailors did excellent work.” A blank expression wouldn’t do for Olivia, so I forced a smile instead as I turned to greet her. “They did. Thank you for instructing them so well. I wouldn’t have known where to start.” Her eyes darted down brieflly. “And your mother’s necklace suits you. Though I admit, I’d hoped to see you wearing mine.” I scrambled for an excuse. “That one’s such a special piece, I thought I’d save it for the ball.”

She returned my smile. It looked as genuine as mine felt. “I look forward to it. If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”

Once she walked away, I hunted for another conversation that might reveal something, particularly mention of the Candaran prisoners. I wasn’t supposed to know about them, so I couldn’t ask. But no one wanted to talk to me about anything other than how I looked or how happy they were I was alive.

After several minutes, a set of doors opened, and everyone turned to bow as my father entered the room. I felt Dane move closer to me.

“Governors!” Father said. “So happy you could join us in welcoming my daughter safely home after all these years. At 222

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last, the realm of the Supreme Crown has its heir, so I may rest easier knowing the kingdom will be led long after my days.”

“May your days be long indeed, Sire,” said one of the governors.

Father started to cross the room toward me. I braced myself to maintain the most diffi cult part of the act, but he was stopped by his aide, Margaret, less than halfway. She whispered to him for a long moment, and his expression darkened.

“My friends, I have terrible news. The Exiles have launched a strike on the Third Regiment, advancing at least twenty links.

Catastrophic losses to the Third.”

The governors erupted, heaping abuse on the Exiles, swear-ing vengeance would be brought tenfold. I had no question anymore. These men and women thoroughly believed war raged between Candarans and the militia of Windsong, at least in the outlands, and possibly they believed the king’s army fought on Candara. They’d been as duped as the public. I couldn’t blame them. Father lied so well, even
I
almost believed him.

I risked a glance at Dane. Whatever he felt, he didn’t let it show, but I knew he was thinking the same thing I was. If we could prove to the governors how my father had lied to them for years, the fi rst layer of his control would collapse.

To do that, we needed evidence. We had a lot of work to do.

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21

AFTER MEETING WITH

the governors, Father asked me to

join him for a round of Taktik. I remembered what Dane had said about not being alone with him, but it turned out not to be a problem. Both Dane and Father’s personal guard from the Golden Sword stationed themselves at the edge of the study—

ostensibly to protect us from any external threats.

Childhood memories rushed into my mind as Father set things up. He would lay the board out on a table, the antique wooden pieces looking so fragile, I couldn’t believe they represented a hundred troops at a time. He’d begun teaching me just before Mother died. I remembered the hours of play, never daring to tell him I was bored. The way his eyes gleamed when he decimated another of my armies. The way he mocked me when I suggested treaties or asked why our armies were fi ghting in the fi rst place.

I wouldn’t make those mistakes again.

“Let’s see how rusty your skills are, shall we, Snow?” R.C. ll E WI S

“I’ll try not to disappoint you,” I replied.

His opening move signaled a bold attack, but I knew better. I feigned a defensive strategy that maneuvered my troops exactly where he
thought
he wanted them, then cut in with an early offensive.

After an hour of play, I had the advantage, and he knew it.

Rather than fume, he laughed.

“Not afraid of sacrifi ce anymore, are you? Years away, and you’re still your father’s daughter.” Was I? A shiver charged through me. They were just wooden pawns. I didn’t think of them as real.

Then I saw the warm pride in his eyes. I remembered that, too, how a part of me had always craved it. How I glowed when he said I’d done well. He may have been right. Kip and Dane and even Laisa said they saw my mother in me; I’d always feared my father was my stronger refl ection.

Talk about something else, Essie.

“I’ve always wondered, Father. Why does the Taktik board use a fi ctional map instead of one of Windsong or Candara?

Wouldn’t using a real world be better practice for commanding armies?”

“Very astute, Snowfl ake. But this isn’t fi ctional. It’s based on maps of the world our ancestors came from a thousand years ago. We use it because it’s good to remember the past, where we came from.”

Some details must have gotten botched over the generations.

One of the continents had a peninsula that looked impossibly similar to the heeled boots the tailors had made me try on.

Father remained silent for a moment as he fussed with one 225

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of the pawns. “In the past, I know I wasn’t perfect,” he said, his voice too low to carry to Dane and the guard.

I didn’t know what he meant. I could barely hear him above my heart pulsing a panicked heat through my body. An imperfect ruler? An imperfect father? An imperfect human being? I didn’t want to talk about any of it. Forcing my demeanor into light neutrality took every ounce of my nerves.