Dragonskin Slippers

by Jessica Day George

  Luka held up a hand to stop my rapid flow of words. “It’s all right, I understand. When I was a lad, all I wanted to do was learn swordplay. I talked of nothing else, and if Ulfrid had let me, I would have slept with my toy sword. But then when I started to actually train …” It was his turn to trail off, wincing and smiling at the memory.

  “Sore muscles?” I hazarded.

  “Sore everything, including my pride,” he admitted. “I assumed that, since I was a prince and had thought of nothing else my entire life, I would become a great swordsman overnight.” He shook his head. “Not even close to the truth.”

  I looked over his shoulder at Tobin. “Did he improve?”

  Tobin made a gesture with one hand that clearly said, “so-so”, and I laughed. Luka pretended to be indignant, but then he laughed, too.

  “Well, I suppose we’d better go,” he said ruefully when we had stopped. “I only wanted to make certain that things were going well with you.”

  My eyes welled with tears at this kindness, and I jumped to my feet and fussed with Marta’s sash to cover the emotion. The prince reminded me a little of Shardas, with his gallantry and his elegant manners. “Thank you, Luka,” I said softly, my head bowed.

  “It really is my pleasure,” he told me. He took my hand and pressed it, and then he and Tobin left.

  Somewhat dazed, I wandered into the back room, where I was forced to recount the entire exchange, down to facial expressions, to Derda and the other girls. By the time they had analysed every word and look, it was time for the shop to open and Marta was convinced that the prince was in love with me. Derda proclaimed this highly unlikely, but she still clucked over me like a mother hen, much to my annoyance. I was relieved when she and the others, save Larkin, put on their embroidered aprons and went out to open the shop.

  “I wish I had royalty calling on me,” was all Larkin said about it, her normally mild voice envious.

  “Really, he’s just a kind young man,” I protested for the thousandth time.

  “He is a prince of a royal house,” she said primly, “the son of a king and brother of the king-to-be. Since the crown prince’s betrothal, every young woman at court has been vying for his attention.” She darted a disapproving glance at me, as though to say that I was unworthy of his notice.

  I hadn’t really thought about that, but now that I did, it made me feel self-conscious. I kept poking myself with my needle as I worked, and almost snipped one of my fingers instead of a loose thread.

  “Cre-el,” Marta sang out, coming into the back room an hour later. “You’re wanted in the shop.”

  “Why?” I put my sewing down and gave her a startled look. Larkin, too, stopped working and looked to Marta.

  “Our very favourite princess is here,” Marta said in her most sugary voice. “And she absolutely must speak to you.” Marta rolled her eyes in sympathy. “You can wear one of my sashes again; I’m not going back out there while she’s here.”

  She took the length of silk off a hook and I took off my coarse linen work apron for the second time that day. Marta helped me tie the sash in a tidy bow, and then sent me back out, this time without any giggling or swats, which was all right by me, since I was terrified of Princess Amalia.

  She still wanted my shoes. I knew that could be the only reason she wanted to speak to me. She hadn’t exhibited any interest in my work, and if it had been the Duchess of Mordrel who wanted to see me, Marta would have said.

  Drawing a deep breath, I pushed out and went to face the princess. The duchess was not with her, but the usual attendants, guards and lapdog were. The little dog instantly jumped from her mistress’s arms and ran over to me, dancing around me on her hind legs in excitement. I couldn’t help but smile as I curtsied to the princess.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “Er, nothing, Your Highness … just … your little dog … she’s very amusing.”

  “Well, that’s not nothing, then, is it?” She arched her finely plucked eyebrows at me.

  “No, Your Highness, I beg your pardon.” And I’d like to pinch you, I thought.

  “Are you still wearing those shoes?” The princess did not waste words.

  “Yes, Your Highness. They are my only shoes,” I informed her. That wasn’t entirely true, as I did still have my old sandals, but Derda would never let me wear them to work in the shop, so I didn’t feel they were worth mentioning.

  Princess Amalia sniffed. “I am willing to pay you for them,” she said. “More than enough to have some peasant cobbler make you another pair. A pair more suitable to your station, perhaps.” She shook her head, making her curls bob. I had always been jealous of girls with naturally curly hair; it just wasn’t fair when my own was so terribly straight. “Do you think it is right for a peasant to have prettier shoes than a princess?” Again up with the plucked eyebrows.

  I just stood there and looked at her. Did she really want an honest answer? In fact, I wasn’t even sure what a dishonest answer to this question should sound like. Was that what was bothering her so much? That she didn’t think I deserved them because my family was poor? This princess was either spoiled to a degree that I had never seen before, or else she was a few berries short of a pie, as my mother would have said.

  “Don’t just stand there, girl, give me those shoes!” The princess stamped her foot with impatience. “I have other things to do this morning than wait upon your pleasure.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that, then,” I retorted, ignoring Derda’s frantic looks and gestures. “Because I’m afraid that it is not my pleasure to give you my slippers.”

  “How dare you!” She lunged forward and slapped me.

  I raised my hand to slap her back. Before I could, however, Derda grabbed my hand and dragged me into the back room, calling apologies over her shoulder and screeching for the maids to bring Princess Amalia more cakes and wine.

  “What are you doing, girl?” Derda had hold of my upper arms and was shaking me, making my teeth clack together. “You nearly struck your future queen!”

  “She nearly struck the princess?” Marta’s voice rose an octave on that last word. “Now I wish I had stayed out there!”

  “Silence, you foolish girl!” Derda gave Marta a venomous look. She turned her attention back to me. “Just give her the cursed shoes, and I will buy you new ones myself! We cannot lose her patronage!”

  To my embarrassment, I started to cry. “I’m sorry, but they were given to me by a … a … friend. I cannot part with them, I just can’t!” A terrible, dark feeling had come over me. Amalia could not get the shoes, something terrible would happen, I knew it deep in my bones. “Please, Derda, please?”

  Derda stopped shaking me, pushing me away in disgust. She marched around the table, picking up shears and spools of thread and slamming them back down again. She muttered angrily all the while, looking at me with a dire expression from time to time. After an interminable five minutes that felt more like five months, she came back around to face me.

  “You would rather risk your livelihood, and mine, than give that snotty foreigner your slippers?”

  “Yes, mistress, I’m sorry.” I sniffled.

  “Well!” Derda put her hands on her hips and surveyed me, her expression softening. “A gift from a friend, you say?”

  I nodded, wiping my nose on the back of my hand.

  “You cannot part with them?”

  Again I nodded.

  “Hmmm. Let me see these shoes that are so wonderful.”

  I lifted my skirt and showed her, my heart pounding. Would she, too, want to take them from me?

  “I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” Derda declared. “But who can fathom the mind of a princess?” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “Did you show them to the princess today?”

  “No, mistress.”

  “Larkin! Trade shoes with Creel. Quickly!” From the shop we could hear the sound of the princess becoming more and more shrill.

  “Madame D
erda,” she objected. “What is your aim? The princess is not a fool; she will know that she is being duped …”

  “We shall do our best to brazen it out, Larkin. Now take off your shoes! I think you’re about the same size,” she said to me. “And, truth be known,” she lowered her voice, “I think it’s mighty high-handed of that foreign girl to come here and just demand the clothes off our backs and the shoes off our feet!”

  Larkin was even more shocked by this admission, but she took off her plain brown slippers and I handed her my blue ones with great reluctance. I realised when I put on Larkin’s shoes that my own were really terribly comfortable.

  “She has come to her senses,” Derda announced as we stepped back into the shop. “We are so sorry, Your Highness. She is a new girl, and stubborn. Your Highness may take the slippers, with our compliments, and there shall be no charge.”

  With a great show of reluctance I sank down on a velvet-covered footstool and hiked up my skirts. I removed Larkin’s brown shoes and held them out to the princess with downcast eyes.

  “What is this?!”

  I winced as Princess Amalia’s shriek scraped my eardrums.

  “These aren’t the right slippers! They were blue! Beautiful blue slippers, not these rough peasant shoes!”

  “But, Your Highness,” I lied in my most submissive voice, “these are the only shoes I own. Except for a pair of woven sandals. If Your Highness wants those as well –”

  “You liar!” Amalia grabbed my hair and yanked my head up so that I was forced to look her in the eyes. “You lying little prodo! I want those shoes!”

  I looked her right in the eyes and thought about Theoradus and Amacarin, Shardas and Feniul. Any one of them could eat this horrid royal in one bite, as they could have eaten me. But they hadn’t. I had faced them, I had bargained with them, and I had even become friends with one of them.

  “These are the only shoes I own,” I said in a level voice.

  “You little –”

  “Amalia!” The Duchess of Mordrel – my duchess – came sailing through the door and looked at the princess in shock. “What are you doing to that poor girl?”

  Amalia released my hair, and I put a hand up to rub my stinging scalp. Tears were running from the corners of my eyes as a consequence of the pain, but I quickly wiped them away, not wanting to let her know she had hurt me.

  “This horrible peasant is claiming that she doesn’t have those blue slippers any more,” the princess said. “I told her I wanted them, and I will have them!”

  “Amalia,” the duchess said in a stern voice. “I am well aware that in Roulain things are different, and your common people are treated, well, let’s say more cavalierly than ours.” The duchess folded her arms under her bosom and fixed the princess with an icy gaze. “But you are not in Roulain any more. You cannot demand that this girl give you her slippers. You cannot threaten her, and you cannot pull her hair out by the roots. Come away at once. I think it’s time you went back to the palace.”

  “But she –”

  “I don’t care. Stop acting like a spoiled little girl and more like the queen you may one day be!” And with that the duchess seized hold of Amalia’s elbow and steered her expertly out of the shop.

  “I shall be back tomorrow to see the progress on my gown,” the duchess called out politely as they left.

  “Woof!” I sagged lower on the footstool. Larkin’s shoes fell from my hand to the floor with a double thump.

  “That was very nearly the ruin of both of us,” Derda told me in a curiously blank voice. “You had better prove to be the finest embroiderer I have ever seen, girl,” she finished more strongly. “Now get back in there and get to work,” she ordered.

  I all but ran into the back room, where a strange scene met my eyes. Larkin was lying prone on the big work table, and Marta and Alle were trying desperately to revive her.

  “What happened?”

  “We don’t know,” Marta panted, fanning Larkin with some silk stretched on an embroidery frame. “She put your slippers on and then her eyes went wide and she fainted!”

  “Get my slippers off her!” Seeing the blue toes of my slippers peeping out from beneath the hem of Larkin’s grey gown made a tide of rage stronger than the one I had just felt dealing with Amalia sweep over me. I yanked the shoes off her feet myself, and as soon as I did Larkin gasped and lurched to a sitting position.

  “What’s happening? What was that?”

  “Larkin!” Alle fluttered around her. “You fainted!”

  “I heard voices, horrible voices like rocks being ground together,” Larkin moaned. “And my feet itched as though millions of ants were crawling over them!” She stared down the length of the table at me. I stood there with a blue slipper in each hand and stared back. “What is wrong with your shoes, Creel?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied. I slipped the shoes back on to my own feet, ignoring the itching that started immediately, and sat down to sew. Had it been this bad when I had first put them on? I couldn’t remember. It seemed to fade when I walked a lot. I hadn’t heard any “voices like rocks being ground together” in my head, but I’d heard such voices before. Shardas. Theoradus. Amacarin. Feniul. I didn’t know what it meant, but something told me it wasn’t a mystery I wanted Larkin to unravel first.

  “Would you mind getting off the table, Larkin?” My voice was cool. “You’re sitting on my shopgown.”

  A Midnight Caller

  With all the interruptions from various palace-dwellers, it took me another two days to finish the pink gown. I refused to talk about the incident with my shoes, no matter who brought it up. It was a measure of how badly she wanted to keep the duchess’s patronage that Derda did not fire me over my surliness and troublemaking.

  But she didn’t, and in two days I was waiting on customers in the front of the shop, giving me a much-needed respite from the strange looks and comments of Larkin. Alle also gave me the eye from time to time, but it was less threatening coming from her, and Marta’s sunny nature didn’t allow her to dwell on the strange happenings at all.

  When I wasn’t out in the front of the shop, fetching and carrying lengths of cloth and ribbons, pinning hems, and telling very large middle-aged women that low-cut daffodil-yellow gowns made them look both younger and slimmer, I was in the back, hard at work. The duchess’s grey gown was all stitched and I had lightly chalked in the pattern for the embroidery. On my own poor gown I had used whatever colours and types of thread I had with me, but with the duchess’s gown I had more freedom. Derda kept a supply of every type of embroidery silk imaginable, in colours I had never even dreamed of, and for an important patron like the Duchess of Mordrel I could use any of them that I fancied. The duchess had said that she would prefer the colours to be shades of blue and grey, but I branched out into lavender and violet, turquoise and slate. I decided that I would outline each block of colour with silver bullion, to give the impression of silver leading holding panes of glass in place.

  Larkin frowned at me as I embroidered a diamond-shaped section of lavender next to one of deep blue. When Derda circled the table to check on our work, Larkin whispered something to her that sent Derda whisking around to my side of the table.

  “This is for the Duchess of Mordrel,” she stated.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, not looking at Larkin, who was watching us avidly.

  “She requested only blue and grey embroidery,” Derda reminded me.

  “Yes, ma’am, but when I am done, the colours will blend together and make a beautiful pattern.”

  “You seem awfully sure of yourself for an apprentice,” Derda said waspishly.

  I did not reply that I was sure that I had a better eye for colour than most of our patrons and perhaps even Derda herself. I merely bowed my head. “When the dress is completed, if it does not please you, ma’am, or Her Grace, I will pay for the gown out of my own wages.”

  Derda snorted. “Of course you will. And with
the price of the silks you’re using, it will take you a hundred years to make up the debt, too!” But with that parting shot she went to her own table to work, and I settled down to embroidering the gown and ignoring Larkin.

  It took weeks, but finally I was finished. And I could say without any little pride that it was magnificent. The grey silk gleamed and the panels of embroidery – perfectly shaped like gothic arches – glowed like jewels. I had been right about my choice of colours: the different hues complemented each other perfectly, and the thin lines of silver bullion created the exact effect I had wanted. It looked like panels of Shardas’s finest windows had been transferred to the bodice and skirts of a beautifully fitted gown. The duchess stood before Derda’s long looking glass in silence for several minutes.

  “You have a very great talent,” she said finally.

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Feeling a surge of pride, I hoped that the Triune Gods would let my mother hear this from paradise, so that she would know I wasn’t squandering my talent or her training.

  The women of Carlieff Town who had bought Mother’s work had always treated her as being merely competent, sighing over the fact that she was their only source for fancywork. But here I was in the King’s Seat, my mother’s unofficial apprentice, being praised by a duchess. My mother’s handiwork was at least as good as Derda’s, if not better. I wished that Mother were here. I wished that she were home, or anywhere, as long as she was alive and I could throw my arms around her once more.

  I had to blink away tears before I accepted the duchess’s gracious praise again. Then she and Derda got down to haggling about price while I folded up the gown and wrapped it in linen. I think the duchess noticed my tears, though, because before she left she patted my cheek gently and pressed an additional silver coin into my hand.