Brightly Woven

laughing.
    “Is everyone well, at least?” I asked. “How are your brothers? What about my parents?”
    “Everyone is right as rain,” Henry said. “And speaking of rain—”
    “Syd!” North barked. I turned around, startled by his tone. He and Pompey were still standing where I had left them, both looking cross. I turned back to Henry apologetically.
    “I’ll come find you later, all right?” I said.
    “All right,” he agreed, smiling. “I’m holding you to that.”
    I nodded, but my own smile slid slowly down my face upon seeing the wizard’s eyes turned away from me, back to the ground.

    Hecate made sure that North and I were in rooms on opposite ends of the castle. I wanted to protest being so far away from him, but after what had happened with Henry, North wasn’t in any mood to speak to me. Pompey brought us to the second level of the castle, where North would be staying. The wizard didn’t acknowledge either of us as he strode into his chamber and slammed the door shut behind him.
    “Still has that bad attitude, I see,” Pompey sighed. “Well, come on, then. We still have a ways to walk.”
    My room was located somewhere on the fourth level, in the west wing. Pompey chattered about this and that as we climbed staircase after staircase, but I kept to myself. My insides were still in such a jumble after seeing Henry that I tossed and turned in the ornate bed. If that hadn’t kept me up, trying to fall asleep in an actual bed might have. I hadn’t realized how accustomed I’d become to sleeping on the hard ground until I had a pillow under my head.

    The next day, North seemed to disappear completely. He needed to find Owain, his mother needed to speak with him again—a hundred excuses for why I couldn’t stay with him. He said good-bye at breakfast, leaving the insufferable Pompey to act as my minder and tour guide for the day. It was a blessing in a way—I wasn’t sure I wanted to see him or Henry, not until I could sort out my thoughts.
    “And here,” Pompey said, throwing both arms above his head. “This ceiling was constructed in the last years of the Golden Age. Do you know how you can tell, Miss Mirabil?”
    “It’s made of gold?” I answered dryly, adjusting the strap of my bag. I had brought it with me in the hope that I could find a loom to finish North’s cloak, but Pompey had other plans.
    “Very good!” he said cheerfully. “Would you like to see the armory?”
    “Actually,” I said, a new thought striking me. “Would you mind showing me the tapestry room?”
    Pompey gave me a strange look. “Why would you ever want to go there?”
    “Humor me,” I said sourly. He gave me another curious look; he’d been given orders to watch me, not appease me, but the chance to launch into another long, tedious history lesson was simply too great for him to pass up. He took my arm again and we ducked down a different hall, his uniform looking especially smart next to my simple brown dress.
    The door was locked, and it took several minutes forPompey to flip through his enormous ring of keys to find the right one. Even then, the iron key was hard to twist, and the lock stubborn. It took both of us to pull the door open, and we were rewarded with an explosion of dust for our efforts.
    “The tapestry room”—Pompey coughed—“hasn’t been viewed frequently over the years.”
    I frowned, taking in the bleak scent of mold, never a good sign where fabrics were concerned. The room was virtually black—both from dirt and lack of light. Pompey fumbled his way through the darkness, pulling the heavy draperies away from the windows one by one.
    Each burst of light hit the opposite wall to reveal a new scene, a new moment in history perfectly captured in thread and time. There were battles and coronations, wizards and kings. The very first tapestry depicted Astraea blessing the holy grounds of the capital. The red and gold thread used to create her long, flowing hair had been caked over with dust. My hand came up to touch my own hair.
    “There we are!” he said. “Just needs a spot of cleaning.”
    I placed my fingertips lightly on the landscape of faded colors. The tapestries had suffered serious neglect over the years, and several faces had been eaten away by bugs and moisture. “You’ll need to be careful,” I warned. “They’re quite old, and you wouldn’t want to ruin them.”
    Pompey waved me off. “We’ll just have new ones commissioned.”
    I whirled