Crewel

pair of linen pants and a soft cotton tunic – the only clothing in my entire closet that doesn’t require buckling, zipping, or stockings. It’s the perfect outfit to lie down and waste away in. Staring out the window from my bed, I watch as waves seep onto the shore. There is no snow on the mountain today. Everything is placid, programmed to counteract last night’s tragedy. The wine churns in my empty stomach as I stare out at the peaceful scene, and I feel anything but tranquil.
    Behind me my door clicks open, but I don’t turn around. I told Jost not to come, so he can go about whatever menial task he’s concocted as an excuse to see me. Besides, I probably smell like Cormac by now. Not very romantic. But he doesn’t go to the fireplace or my bathroom. I can’t detect the exotic aroma of a late luncheon. Instead he walks straight to me and stands there; I keep my back to him.
    ‘Go away.’ Happily, my speech is clear.
    ‘I can’t.’ It’s Jost’s voice, but he speaks in a firm tone – confident of his right to be here. ‘I’ve been sent to retrieve you for a meeting with Ambassador Patton.’
    The voice sounds so like him, but different, too. More professional, arrogant. Something clicks in my brain, and I flip onto my other side. Big mistake. Stars burst across my eyes, making my head swim. Maybe I am a little drunk.
    ‘Been a while,’ I say.
    ‘I thought it was better to—’ Erik begins.
    ‘Stay away?’
    ‘I didn’t want to push things.’
    ‘I think we crossed that line,’ I say with a cold smile.
    Erik’s jaw tightens and then relaxes. I hold out my hand, and he helps me up. My balance is shaky, but, ever the gentleman, Erik takes my arm without a word. It’s strange to touch him now. I can see my arm looped through his, my skin scrapes against his wool suit jacket, even the back of my clenched fist brushes against his bare wrist, but there’s no spark. My nerves don’t react to the contact. I replay the memory of our kiss in the garden. My first kiss. But now I feel like a watcher not a participant. If there was something there, Maela destroyed it, along with the tips of my fingers. Or maybe it’s the numbing effects of that wine I drank.
    We travel in silence, and Erik’s stride is purposeful. Getting me to the meeting: that’s his only objective. It’ll be a relief to get rid of him. The delightful numbness has worn off by the time we reach the closed door. Erik nods to a tall, stern guard in that way that men greet each other.
    Erik peels my arm back from his and guides me inside. He doesn’t follow, but as he bows his farewell, I catch a simple ‘I’m sorry’ escape his lips.
    Bit late for that.
    Inside, Loricel sits at the far side of a large circular oak table and Maela perches on a leather-backed chair by the door. She straightens up and thrusts her chin forward as I enter the room. I’m pretty sure she’s going for proud, but really she just looks constipated. And my old buddy Cormac is at a small bar in the corner, pouring a drink.
    ‘Good to see everything’s back to normal,’ I say.
    From her seat across the room, Loricel’s smile turns into a frown of disapproval.
    ‘Adelice,’ Cormac says, stirring a squat crystal glass, ‘always a pleasure to see you.’
    Such a politician.
    ‘Have a seat,’ Loricel says.
    I take a deep breath and plop down into a chair. I start to cross my legs, but remember I’m wearing trousers, so I lean forward, legs wide, and give Maela a baiting grin. Her face stays serene, but her knuckles go white.
    ‘I was shocked to hear of the unfortunate incident with your mentor,’ Cormac says, taking a chair next to me.
    ‘Were you?’ I ask with wide eyes.
    ‘I was,’ he repeats in a tone that dares me to ask again. ‘Sometimes the demands of a Spinster can be overwhelming, and with the important work we do here we can forget to look after our own.’
    ‘I’ve felt very looked after,’ I assure him.
    Maela clears her throat beside me. ‘Enora struggled with—’
    ‘Save it,’ I snap at her. ‘We know what Enora struggled with.’
    ‘Remember your place—’
    ‘Enough,’ Loricel says in a quiet voice. ‘Adelice knows her place, and you would do well to learn your own, Maela.’
    ‘She’s barely even been on a loom,’ Maela says.
    ‘She’s got more talent in her left pinky than you have in your whole body,’ Loricel responds.
    I have to bite back a smile.
    ‘Don’t be arrogant,’ Loricel says,