Stitching Snow

by R. C. Lewis

  When morning came and I met Dane in the main room, he held out a knife to me. I jumped back.

  “In your boot, remember?”

  I cursed my edginess. He’d offered the handle, not the blade, so what was I worried about?

  “Are you okay?”

  “Rough night,” I muttered, slipping the knife into the side of my boot. “I doubt the day will be much better.”

  “One thing at a time. First, you have to survive breakfast.”

  “What about you?”

  “Already ate.”

  Of course. To everyone else in the palace, Dane was an underling, nowhere near my level. If I ever forgot to act like I was above him, they’d send him away, or worse.

  As if things aren’t botched enough.

  “Dimwit, stay here unless we call. Dane, you’ve got the transmitter, right?”

  Dane held up his hand, showing the device strapped to his wrist. No one would notice a well-worn accessory on him like they would on me.

  After enjoying one last moment of peace, I led the way to the breakfast room—not to be confused with the dining room, which in turn wasn’t the same as the banquet hall. Father and Olivia were already seated inside, too many servants to count at the ready. Olivia took a calculated look at both Dane and me while Father’s eyes flashed with another torrent of emotions before he smiled.

  “And there’s my Snowflake!” he said. “I worried I’d imagined it.”

  I smiled as genuinely as I could. “It is hard to believe I’m finally home, Father.”

  His expression softened, his eyes settling again. “You’ll get used to it soon enough. It’s where you belong.”

  True, but not for the reasons he thought.

  A servant pulled out my chair, and I sat. Dane stood far enough behind me for decorum, but close enough to be there if anyone thought to come after me with a butter knife.

  I’d forgotten how much I hated royal meals. Servants to pour my juice, offer my napkin, add salt to my eggs…I wanted to slap them all and tell them to find something better to do. When I was little and Father was away, Mother would arrange picnics instead. Sometimes in the garden, or sometimes in her chambers where we’d build tents out of blankets. My favorite was when I’d eat strawberries and she didn’t mind if I made a mess.

  Remembering kept me from lashing out at the servants. They didn’t have a choice.

  I itched for my scanner, wondering what the chances were that Olivia had poisoned the food. No, she wouldn’t do anything where my father could see. Even when she’d ordered Kip to kill me, she waited until Father was away inducting a new governor in Greenside Province. She would never risk his finding out she’d acted against him. My toast should be safe.

  “There is much to do,” Father said as the plates were taken away. “The whole kingdom will want to meet their princess at last, but we mustn’t send you out looking so common. Olivia?”

  “Yes, Snow has a full schedule today, first and foremost with the tailors. Something for your guard, as well.”

  Hours with the royal tailors, poking me with pins and fussing over lengths of gaudy fabric.

  Why doesn’t she just kill me and get it over with?

  Dane did not like being separated from me, but he had to be fitted with a uniform. Other than the pin-poking, I knew the tailors wouldn’t hurt anyone, so I gave him a look that said not to argue. He remembered his “place” and relented, but he whispered one word as he passed me.

  “Practice.”

  Just when I thought maybe he’d forgotten. I didn’t want to, but I knew why he suggested it then. Fittings meant lots of time I was expected to stand still, so if I couldn’t keep half my attention in place, no one would notice. It was also one time I could expect people to touch me. Made perfect sense, but made me look forward to the rest of the morning less than I already had been.

  It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, but close. The tailors had a full studio within the palace. They swarmed immediately, inspecting me like a freshly manufactured shuttle component.

  “This figure! We can work with this.”

  “The hair and complexion, though. We must bring in color.”

  “Colors that will bring out her eyes!”

  “Oh, dear, this unfortunate scar,” one of the tailors said, grabbing my wrist. “We’ll have to draw attention from it until the doctors can see to it.”

  I yanked my hand back. The doctors could remove all the scars I’d gotten from fights—I didn’t care—but they couldn’t touch the one on my wrist. Not the one from Cusser.

  The tailors were too busy with their plans to notice my disapproval. They measured me, put me in outfit after outfit, and poked me as expected. It didn’t take long for them to notice an unfashionable accessory—the knife in my boot.

  “I was taken once,” I said. “I won’t be taken so easily again. You’ll need to find a place for that in whatever you dress me in.”

  They accepted it in stride, as I’d expected. I was certain Olivia kept a number of small weapons hidden on her person, and the uniforms for all the royal guards included hidden sheaths and pockets.

  The tailors moved quickly, flitting from one task to the next, so it was difficult to find 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 contact of her hand on my elbow and looked for the pull, straining to find 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 fine,” 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 fitted 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.

  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 finished 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 finished with the uniform fitting 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 i
nto 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 seemed like the best way to spend the afternoon.

  “Are you almost finished 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?”

  “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 flat 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 find 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 intervention, 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, inefficient type of footwear ever devised. After standing in them for the past few hours so the tailors could get the dress lengths right, I could balance pretty well…as long as I didn’t move. Walking demanded a lot more concentration. Not easy when the Transition earlier had taken half my strength.

  When they finished 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 finally 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.”

  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 finally 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 fingertips. 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 finished 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 fighting for their very sanity against the worst of the enemy? That’s generally enough to give them some perspective.”

  I glanced at Dane, who shook his head minutely. This talk of troops fighting 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 briefly. “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 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 difficult 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, swearing 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 first layer of his control would collapse.

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

  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 fighting in the first place.

  I wouldn’t make those mistakes again.

  “Let’s see how rusty your skills are, shall we, Snow?”

  “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 sacrifice 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 reflection.

  Talk about something else, Essie.

  “I’ve always wondered, Father. Why does the Taktik board use a fictional map instead of one of Windsong or Candara? Wouldn’t using a real world be better practice for commanding armies?”