Crewel

thousand reflections.
    ‘I’m almost jealous,’ Maela says.
    ‘I’m very honoured.’ I manage to push the words out of my mouth.
    Her smile widens as I play her game. ‘Of course you are. Only someone very stupid would not want this life.’
    She whirls around and somehow she doesn’t look foolish, but even more stunning, even more controlling. ‘Here, you are beautiful, Adelice. Here, you have a chance at something other than serving the ridiculous demands of men. Here,’ Maela adds thoughtfully, ‘you are more than a secretary.’
    I know from the way she watches my face that she’s mocking my mother, but I keep my gaze level with hers.
    ‘But there’s just one thing you have to remember.’ She breathes down on me, and the stench of her cigarette stings my nostrils. ‘There is no running away from here, Adelice Lewys.’
    I feel the cosmetics hiding me now, and I see my mother reflected back at me in the mirror.
    Do not let her see you worry. Give nothing away.
    ‘There is no hiding.’ Her sweet whisper sounds strangely like a hiss. ‘There is not even death. So choose now what side you are on.’
    I stare back. I hear the boy’s final words to me, and I wonder what could possibly be worse than death. But I know the answer: cold stone and burning darkness.
    ‘Of course.’ My response is simple and I dare not test myself by speaking more.
    Maela’s smile fades into a self-satisfied smirk, and I’m sure this is the only genuine emotion she’s displayed thus far.
    ‘Well, then.’ She pats my shoulder, dropping ash onto my robe. ‘Your room is waiting for you.’
    ‘Maela,’ I say, my voice timid but steady, ‘do you know what happened to my mother and sister?’ I have to ask even though I’m terrified of showing her my weakness. I try to look strong.
    ‘I can imagine,’ she says, but instead of telling me what she thinks, she leaves me to my own desperate fantasies and calls for her assistant to join us. I’m surprised to see it’s a boy, but I suppose the girls here are busy with more important tasks. I watch as she whispers orders to him, throwing meaningful glances over her shoulder at me.
    Her personal assistant escorts me to my new quarters. The sterile halls of the compound shift slowly as we enter the housing unit. First, the concrete changes to smooth wood. Then the white walls blossom: vermilion, garnet. We pass velvet divans and marble pillars and enter a bronze-gated lift. It reminds me of Romen’s metro hall, and I shudder, remembering the grotesque figures perched on the exterior corners of the hall of records there. Monsters carved from stone that leered down at the citizens, beautiful and terrifying.
    Everything here throbs with brilliant energy, and yet there’s an absence of real life. The lift is silent, and my guide doesn’t speak as we ride further and further up into the tower. I stand behind him and study how his gold hair glistens and waves against his shoulders. It’s not typical Guild-approved grooming, but I suppose it’s a perk of being an errand boy for such a powerful Spinster.
    My room sits at the end of the hall behind a plum-lacquered door on the fifteenth floor. It’s a beautiful apartment trimmed with carved woodwork painted in rich cream and subtle gold. At the far end, a fire blazes in a brick-and-wrought-iron hearth. Above it hangs a portrait of a woman who looks strangely like the new me. Intricate patterns decorate the woven rugs that stretch across the large room, and silk pillows in emerald and garnet and champagne lie scattered around small mahogany tables.
    ‘I’ll see that they deliver some supper to you. You missed the evening meal,’ my guide informs me. He watches as I wander around the room, and when I turn back, he’s grinning.
    ‘Th-th-thank you,’ I stammer.
    ‘It’s a bit of an upgrade from the cell, I imagine,’ he says, and I turn to look at him more carefully: it’s the same boy who gave the order to sedate me in the rebound chamber. He’s taller than I am, and his suit hugs his broad shoulders and rigid arms enough to show he has the strength necessary to be a bodyguard. But despite his powerful body, his face is fair and framed by delicate hair. It’s the hair that perks my fuzzy memory of my retrieval night.
    ‘You—’ I stop short of accusing him.
    ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he says, the cocky grin fading from his face. ‘Orders are orders. If it makes you feel better, you got off easy. Name’s