Somehow, that was worse.
“I am all that stands between us and starvation!” I seethed. “Would it be so terrible to give me a thimbleful of encouragement?”
Father’s gaze snapped to me, bright and burning, and he shook his head. No.
“Just you watch.” I clenched my fists. “I’ll gain a commission from the king himself. Your daughter can manage that much.”
The words were more breath than bravery, but I needed to hear myself say them. I needed to think I could be as badgerlike as Father.
Father would have none of it. “… entiss,” he whispered, “… entiss.”
“What?” I asked.
“… entiss!” he hissed.
Apprentice.
I wasn’t his daughter. I was his apprentice. For a moment, I couldn’t move. Then I pulled in one breath. And another.
So be it.
“I think …” My throat was so pinched that my words cracked. “I think since I can’t afford to make a mistake, I should call you Tailor. Always. It will be easier that way.”
He blinked. Yes.
“Good night to you, then, Tailor.”
I would never call him Father again.
Chapter 4
I left the shop the next morning with a satchel full of swatches and string for measuring the king. The king! Anything would be possible if I earned a commission from him. Father would see.
And if I failed? If I was discovered?
I tried not to think about it, but tasted fear like metal in my mouth as I walked uphill to the castle. The streets passed in a smear of stone doorways and windows—everything in this awful city was stone.
Finally, I stopped at the palace’s gate, high above the rest of Reggen. The cliffs behind the castle filled my vision, broad as the sky. And the Guardians? They filled the cliffs on either side of the castle, their stone eyes looking out to the east and west as if watching for invaders.
They were the one bit of stone that I didn’t mind. Looking up at them was like watching a storm gather itself and roll toward me. I’d never felt tinier, but I didn’t mind so long as I could keep looking.
I pulled the satchel close and walked through the gate into the castle courtyard. It was a hive of activity, with rivers of people flowing to and from their work. I watched until it became familiar to me. Only nobles came and went through a door protected by two of the castle guard.
How could a tailor’s apprentice reach the king?
Then a workman gave a package to a noble, who carried it through the guarded door.
That’s what I should do.
But who would carry my gift? A lady might notice the girl beneath the apprentice’s clothes. But the nobleman with the purple coat and lace cuffs? He’d only see the value of a good velvet.
I approached him and bowed. “Please, kind sir. Will you take a tribute to the king for me?”
He sniffed as if he’d smelled something rotten and walked away.
I scurried after him. “He’ll reward you! It’s a gift finer than anything he has seen.”
The nobleman stopped. “Why don’t you take the tribute yourself?”
Stupid, stupid! I’d been too eager. I drew myself up. “My master, the Tailor of Reggen, wishes that his noblest fabric be sewn for the king himself.” I pulled a swatch of the indigo velvet from my bag. For the first time, I relished the way sunlight tangled itself in the fabric. “This will be invitation enough once the king sees it.”
The noble looked closer, eyes narrowed. I had him. “Where did you get this?”
“It belongs to the Tailor. Please, take it to the king. He will be as impressed as you have been.”
The man tore his gaze away from the velvet to scowl at me. “A bold claim, for one who can’t yet manage a beard!”
I flushed but would not back down. “I don’t need a beard to sew for the king”—I looked the nobleman up and down—“or to tell that your tailor worked very hard to hide your narrow shoulders. Next time you need a coat, you should come to my master.”
I held my breath, worried I’d gone too far. Then the man burst into a high, braying laugh.
“Now I believe you! Why are all tailors so outspoken?” He held out his hand. “I’ll take this to the king. Who sends it?”
I gave him the velvet. “The apprentice to the Tailor of Reggen. But if you want the king’s good favor, tell him you discovered me yourself.”
The nobleman laughed again. “Well thought, lad!” Then he disappeared beyond the gate.
An hour later, a page arrived to fetch me. He led me through wide, sunlit corridors to King Eldin’s suite.
“Through this door,” he said.
I gulped and nodded—and promptly collided with a dark-haired man. In the sea of foreign faces, his was familiar. I knew him.…
Fine Coat.
Sky above, it was Fine Coat.
I ducked my head. He might remember the girl who told him not to talk so loud, who hated his stories of crushed houses and boiled bones.
“I beg your pardon, my lord! I wasn’t watching.…” I didn’t dare meet his eyes.
He shifted his weight once, twice. “Don’t worry yourself.”
And then he was gone, taking whatever courage I’d possessed with him. This wouldn’t work. The king would see. He’d know. I couldn’t—
“Your Majesty, I present the Tailor of Reggen!”
A hand flat against my back pushed me forward. I took two great, stumbling steps, and looked up into the eyes of Reggen’s king.
Chapter 5
The king was furious. He sat behind an ornate desk at the far side his suite and glared at … an older man who stood beside me.
He swept me a disdainful glance, then turned to the king. “Now is not the time for new clothes, Your Majesty!”
Sky above, I’d walked into an argument. I looked around the king’s quarters. The noblemen wore the carefully neutral expressions of those determined not to notice what happened right under their noses.
Then I saw that the king held the swatch.
Look down, I thought. Look at the velvet.
The king merely twisted the cloth in his hands. “Why am I expected to send soldiers because Verras found a man who jabbered about monsters?”
Monsters … for a moment, I was back on the road to Reggen. I could feel the young man’s hand on my wrist as he lay in the wagon, whispering about monsters and the man he couldn’t best. Surely, the king spoke of someone else.…
The old man’s reply pulled me from memories. “He was the only witness to the attacks, King Eldin.”
“Witness?” jeered one of the king’s guards. “He was delirious! And now he’s dead.”
No. It couldn’t be that poor man. I needed to think he’d found some refuge from the fear that haunted him.
And who would make such heartless jests? Or dare speak to a noble so? The guard wasn’t much older than the king, but he was as insolent as an eldest son, sure of his father’s inheritance. His grin widened when the king laughed.
“Your Majesty!” barked the old man.
The young king hunched his shoulders like a child unwilling to give up his toy. “This whole discussion of armies and monsters from the north is tiresome, Lord Cinnan! There’s no need to send scouts.” The king waved a hand. “Even if an army was approaching, they couldn’t cross the River Kriva and breach our walls.”
Finally, the king looked down at the velvet in his hands. He ran a finger over it, the color shifting beneath his touch. And then—at last—he looked up at me.
All thought of monsters and armies fled. The king held my future in his hands.
This is bread, a way to live, I told myself as I bowed low. You can’t afford to be afraid.
I straightened from my bow, tall and proud, the way tailors stand. I knew the king would want a coat sewn from the indigo velvet.
King Eldin studied me. “You’re a tailor? You don’t look old enough.”
I can make you look like a m
an. I wore the thought like a fine coat. “I am his apprentice, Your Majesty.”
The king’s mouth drooped into a pout. “Why doesn’t he come himself?”
My future depended on the perfect reply. When my gaze dropped to the velvet, I knew what to say.
I stepped forward and lowered my voice as if sharing a secret. “Your Majesty, he sent the thing he valued most.”
The king laughed. “You?”
“No.” My confidence filled the room. I spoke the truth, after all. “He sent his fabric. It’s like a child to him.”
The answer disarmed the king, and I pressed my advantage. “The Tailor requests the honor of making a coat for you. Will you give him that great pleasure?”
Lord Cinnan glared at me. “He requires no payment for so great a service?” He turned to the king. “Your Majesty, there is no time for this! Yet another village, Alma, was razed. We have no idea who is behind these attacks, only that they are drawing closer to Reggen—”
If I had met the man in any other place, I would have liked him. He reminded me of Luca; he had the same sort of eyes. But I couldn’t let him distract the king. If I left without a commission, I might never have another chance.
“The Tailor does not require payment now,” I announced.
Lord Cinnan looked ready to send me away but I hurried on. “The Tailor asks that you allow him to create a coat for you, Your Majesty. He’ll entrust you with the fabric he values most. You won’t have to pay until you have worn the coat and found it worthy.”
I stepped forward again without the king’s permission, though I kept my head tipped deferentially to hide my face. “May I observe the fit of your coat, sire? I see that it pulls across the back. Does it make it difficult to move your arms?”
The king blinked in surprise. I grew bolder, stepped behind him, and placed a single finger between his shoulder blades. “Here, I think. It must not be very comfortable.”
He half turned, and I yanked my finger away and bowed. “I apologize. I meant no disrespect.”
“You’re good,” he said.
“That’s why the Tailor sent me.” I wanted to press for a fitting but resisted. Not yet. Speaking might break the spell.
Lord Cinnan was not so wise. “Your Majesty, please! Send a few men. Lord Verras is concerned. Perhaps if you read his reports—”
“He is wearisome!” snapped the king. “And his reports bore me. Read them yourself and tell me what you think tomorrow.”
Lord Cinnan stood there, reproach in his eyes.
“Leave!” shouted the king.
Lord Cinnan did as commanded—with a look that made King Eldin flush.
A stifling silence filled the suite. Finally, the king motioned to the insolent guard. “I am finished with audiences today, Leymonn. Send them away.”
“A wise request, Your Majesty,” he murmured.
“Only you understand the burden of the throne!” the king whispered.
Leymonn bowed, then called out, “His Majesty calls this audience to an end! He wishes to be left alone!”
The nobles streamed out. After a moment, the king, his guards, and I were alone in his suite.
“Good riddance to them all!” exclaimed King Eldin. He grinned as if he had won a battle against a great opponent. “Lord Cinnan is tiresome, and he gets angry when I am not as dull as he is.”
I could see how soft the king’s arms were. I had felt his doughy back. King Eldin couldn’t win a battle against a blindfolded squire. Still, I answered as if he was a great ruler.
“I hope you will not find this tiresome, Your Majesty: I must measure you for the coat.”
“Of course. I should very much like clothing that—” He paused, and I saw he was unwilling to admit that his figure needed assistance.
I swallowed my irritation. “Clothing that matches your royal dignity?”
“Yes! You understand me perfectly.” He peered at me. “Are you sure you are capable? How old are you, apprentice?”
“I am—” I was seventeen, but I didn’t look like a seventeen-year-old lad. “I am nearly sixteen, Your Majesty.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
That is the least difficult thing I need you to believe, I thought. Then I had a flash of memory. I tilted my head and ran my fingers over my jaw, the way Father used to when he had finished shaving.
“It isn’t hard to believe, Your Majesty. My beard’s coming in. It won’t be long now.”
The king laughed so long that I decided I truly disliked the man-child. I ducked my head as if embarrassed and, when he stopped laughing, mumbled, “You have to look close, that’s all. You can see it then.”
The king was still chuckling when I left an hour later.
Weary as I was, my heart wouldn’t slow as I walked back to the shop. I was certain someone would discover that a girl had masqueraded as the Tailor’s apprentice. The moment I entered the shop, I untied the cravat with trembling fingers, tugged it loose, and flung it onto one of the tables.
I pulled in a deep breath and walked over to the Tailor’s bedside.
His eyes were the most alive part of him—and they burned with questions he could not voice.
“I did it,” I told him, chin raised. “I gained an audience with the king. I left with his measurements and a commission.”
The Tailor didn’t even blink.
“One of the men from the caravan was there.” I wanted the Tailor to know how dangerous the morning had been. “The one who pulled you from the wagon. He bumped right into me. And there were others arguing about armies. But I wouldn’t let the king be distracted. I made him believe I could sew him a coat that would make him look like a king. And I can.”
I felt a rush of guilt. What if there really were invading armies and I’d filled the king’s head with promises of new clothing?
But the Tailor didn’t care that Fine Coat might have recognized me or that the king had been preoccupied with talk of an approaching army. He stared at the trunk that held his fabric.
I shook my head. “It’s the indigo that he wants, Tailor—a coat of the indigo velvet. But I need to make the form first. You—and the velvet—will have to wait.”
Chapter 6
After the indigo coat came the black one with breeches that made the king look slim as a knight. Then he demanded something truly magnificent. So I crafted a regal coat of ruby brocade that would have looked clownish in the hands of an amateur.
The king’s commissions kept me busy for over two months, two tedious, frightening months. I spent the time sewing, always sewing. Every visit to the castle, I risked meeting Fine Coat, risked being discovered. I was safe only in the garret, though the dark room never felt like a refuge.
The Tailor was still confined to his bed, barely able to speak. He spent his days watching me sew, and I watched the street beyond our window.
Sometimes, that patch of the outside world wasn’t enough.
So one early summer day, as I set the collar of the king’s new gray silk coat, I indulged in a daydream.
I imagined looking out the window and seeing not Fine Coat, but Lynden. He walked down the street with his easy stride and open face. I was myself again, the Saville he met on the road. He was delighted to see me, looping my arm through his and telling me of his travels and—
It was a good daydream. Too good.
I focused on the king’s coat, stabbing the needle through the silk, stitch after stitch. I wasn’t the girl Lynden had known, the Saville who hoped to be free of the Tailor. I was Avi, who whistled because singing would give me away, whose fingers were calloused from sewing for a pudgy, spoiled king.
After a few seams, I looked out again to remind myself that Lynden wasn’t there, that he never would be. Instead, I saw a boy huddled in a narrow strip of shadow. He was young, maybe eight, and looked lost and hungry. Very hungry. I stopped sewing, wondering if I should give him food.
Immediately, I heard the Tailor’s voice, the one he possessed b
efore his illness: He’s no business of yours. I looked back at the Tailor, even though I knew he was sleeping.
It was the worst kind of haunting.
The Tailor hated softness. He’d hate the softness in me that pitied the boy. It was what he’d despised most in Mama. Sometimes I wondered if that was why he’d grown even more angry after she died: he hated the weakness of missing her.
The boy will be fine, I told myself. He doesn’t need my help.
I wasn’t like the Tailor: I wasn’t worried about softness—I was worried about starving. But as I returned to stitching the collar, I felt that I’d cut something out of myself, something Mama would have treasured.
The next day, after the midmorning bells, the boy sat in the same bit of shade across the street. He didn’t move for hours—until someone tossed a scrap at him. Then he scrambled after it but not quickly enough. A street cur, nearly as starved as the boy, scooped up the crust. The boy tussled with the dog, refusing to release it even when it swung around and bared its teeth. The dog attacked, and the boy scrambled away with a new hole in his tunic.
He’ll be fine.
He fell back to sitting, pulled his knees close, and buried his face in his arms. I could see his shoulders shaking, even under his too-big tunic.
I hadn’t heard Mama’s voice since she died. I didn’t hear her as I looked down at the boy, my heart beating so fast I could feel it in my fingertips. But I knew what she’d say. I knew it in a place deeper than the Tailor could ever reach.
I slapped the coat down on the table and took the stairs two at a time. Cart-churned dust clogged my throat as I ran across the street and stopped in front of the child.
He didn’t look up, though he must have sensed me standing so close.
I said the only thing that came to mind: “Come with me.”
He slanted a skeptical look up at me before burying his head in his arms again.
“I can help.”
Nothing.
“I said, I can help.”
He shook his head, which was still buried in his arms. We might go on like this all day. I took the boy by his right arm, lifted him to standing, and marched him toward the shop. He began to struggle then, but he was as frail as a nursling.
Valiant Page 3
