Thea listened to the crunch of hooves on gravel without lifting her head. She sat with her arms folded atop her knees, her forehead resting against them. The first rays of sunlight had been welcome. Company was not.
The hooves stopped and for a time, the soft breath of the horses was the only thing she heard. Eventually, her visitor spoke.
“You left your coat.” Rilion. She’d hoped and feared that it might be him. “And your bag, and…”
And everything she’d thought she loved. The thought was hollow now. She didn’t have any tears left.
The prince cleared his throat. “I’m going back to Danesse. It may be difficult to manage two horses on my own. I hoped you might help me manage Molasses.”
She slowly raised her head. Her eyes burned and her cheeks were raw from tears in the cold, but he didn’t flinch when he faced him. “And in Danesse?”
“I suppose we’ll continue with our arrangement. A shop for a Threadmancer to conduct business, within the spectrum of what Ranorsh laws governing artisan magic allow.” He extended the mare’s reins and her eyes drifted to the horses. Her bay mare and his dappled gray gelding. The red one was gone.
Rilion offered a tentative smile. “He’s gone ahead. There is… much to be done.”
And coming for her hadn’t been part of it. She shut her eyes and scolded herself. Finding comfort in the arms of a king was a foolish fantasy. Even if she wanted him to come for her—she wasn’t positive she did—it wasn’t as if it could mean anything. The kisses they’d shared had set her heart afire, but Gil, the assassin, had never existed. He was Gaius, the merciless king, and the lives of kings held no space for disgraced nobles.
Thea pushed herself up and took the reins. “I’ll need help obtaining things. Fabrics, thread. Fibers for spinning.”
He nodded. “Of course. Everything will be seen to, and I’ll ensure you’re able to stay at the guest house we departed from until your building is ready. But we’ll worry about that when we reach home.”
Home. The word plucked something in her chest. It reverberated inside her, bittersweet, as she wondered if anywhere would ever feel like home again.
She climbed into the saddle and they rode.
Rilion was polite, but stiffer with her than he had been, and they spoke little as they passed through the mountains, even when they made camp at night.
By the time they reached the Ranorsh side of the range, winter had set in fully. Thick blankets of snow covered the landscape, slowing their travel, but providing an abundance of fresh water whenever they had time to stop and melt it to drink.
With nothing but mundane work ahead of them, there was little reason to spur themselves in travel, and they meandered for far longer than the trip into Angroth had taken. They took shifts in the lead, so one horse at a time worked to break a path. Now and then, Thea found herself watching the road for signs of passage, but there were none. A lone horseman would struggle in the snow, which fell often and heavy, and cold winds scoured the night.
“Do you think the people from that burned settlement will come back?” she asked as they left the foothills behind and the mountain river that fed the lake beside Danesse came into view.
“Who knows,” Rilion said. “We likely won’t know until spring. I imagine someone will take over that fortress and declare themselves leader. They had plenty of provisions, and no one will get back into those mountains to clear them out until the snow is gone.”
“Will you attack them?” Part of her felt sorry for the commoners left behind. They’d abandoned their homes in pursuit of a better life. It was no different than what she’d done, and they didn’t have a Third Prince to help them.
“Not without a direct request we do so. They’re on Angroth’s side, so they’re Angroth’s problem. I’ll pen a letter to Angroth’s queen. If she asks for our help in clearing the place, we’ll be obligated to offer it, but who can say what she’ll do? She’s young, and Angroth is so isolated that no one knows much about her methods.”
“Then I hope her choices cause you no trouble,” Thea said.
Rilion nodded as if to accept her good wishes, but offered nothing more on the subject.
Eventually, the lake itself came into view. The snow was shallow enough in the river valley that the horses progressed with little trouble. The roads became a jumble of slushy footprints and she gave up hope she might see some indication Gaius had reached the city before them. It didn’t matter, she told herself, though none of her believed it. Gaius would return to Kentoria, and once again, he would be king. She turned her thoughts to the things she’d need for her new dressmaker’s shop and refused to dwell on anything else.
When they reached the guest house they’d stayed at before, the windows were dark. Ina met them at the door and seemed pleased by Thea’s return.
“I kept all your things in your room,” the maid said as she escorted the two of them into the house. “You’ll be pleased at how cozy it is in the wintertime. I’ll bring up a rocking chair. It’ll be a perfect place to work on your mending, right there by the fire.”
“Thank you. I’m sure it will be.” Thea stopped in the entryway and watched Ina hurry past to find the chair she spoke of.
Rilion lingered by the door. “I don’t relish going to see my father in the wake of everything that’s happened, but I can’t put it off.” His smile was strained, more a grimace than a look of cheer. “Give me a week to settle things. I’ll have your building by then.”
She couldn’t smile, either. There was a sense of finality to the way he said things, and she supposed there had to be. Despite all they’d dealt with, she hadn’t been certain she could count him as a friend. Standing in the entryway of the royal family’s guest house, she knew they couldn’t be. Third Princes were not friends with Threadmancers, or any other sort of working folk. “Thank you for everything, Rilion. I so deeply appreciate everything you’ve done, just saying thank you doesn’t feel sufficient.”
“Believe me, it is. I have everything I need already. I’ll have keys, the address, and instructions for ordering supplies ready for you in a week.” He opened the door, but hesitated to depart. For a moment, Thea thought he’d say something more. Then he clamped his jaw, gave a stiff nod, and left.
The moment the door closed, the house felt empty.
She stood in the middle of the entryway, twisting her fingertips until she was certain he wouldn’t return.
“I’ve found that chair, milady,” Ina called from the stairs. “Shall I bring your bags up for you?”
“I’ve got them. And please, call me Thea.” She turned to climb to the room she’d stayed in before. The room farther down the hall beckoned her, but there was no point in going to look. It was empty, and unlike her, Gaius had left nothing behind.
“If you say so,” the maid replied.
The room was just as she’d left it, save the addition of the rocking chair. She dropped her things onto the bed and contemplated the basket she’d stowed there before. She’d finally have time to fix that dress, at least. Perhaps Ina could take her scissors to be sharpened. They still rode in the sheath on her thigh, the closest thing to a weapon she’d had for the last leg of their travels.
Rather than drawing the scissors, she unfastened the sheath from her thigh. As it came away, she inspected the dirt beneath her fingernails. “Ina, do you think you could heat a bath for me?”
“Of course, milady. Thea.” The name was an afterthought, tacked on too late. Nothing out of the ordinary for her life anymore.
“Thank you,” Thea murmured, all the same. The house was gloomy and she was alone, but at least she could count on the warmth of the water to lift her spirits.
There was no hope for fixing the dress. The cut was too ragged, the bottom of the bodice too frayed. The seam would be visible and the skirt too short. Instead of trying to put the two back together, Thea settled in the rocking chair beside the hearth and finished the task of turning it into two pieces.
After the sewing she’d done during the trip, making something without magic in it felt strange. Stranger, in a way, was holding the garment after Gaius had cut it. It was her duty to put it back together, like the pieces left of her shattered life. Work gave her a sense of serenity she hadn’t known during the trip back to Danesse. She never pricked herself once as she turned the trimmed edges of the shell and lining to the inside, pinning and repinning sections until it was perfectly even.
The needle and thread glided easily through the fabric. Without the tingle of magic in her fingertips, she could work for longer periods and do finer work. Her magic might have been what appealed to most clients, but the quality of her craft in which she took pride. She closed the whole bottom with tiny hidden stitches, then added a tidy line of top stitching along the edge to hold everything in place.
Ina appeared when the bodice was nearly finished, carrying a tray of food and a pitcher of warm cider. A tiny basket hung on her arm. “It’s hard to fix food in proper amounts for just the few of us, but Cook will see to it, don’t you worry. Supper will just be a bit late.”
The food on the tray was more of what she’d had at noon; buttered bread and a selection of cheeses and preserved fruit. Thea didn’t mind at all. It was far better than dry travel rations. “Thank you, this will be fine. What’s that on your arm, though? It looks like a sewing basket. Are you going to join me?”
“Oh, no, milady Thea.” Instead of the maid using one or the other, the two had somehow blended together. Thea decided she didn’t mind that, either. Perhaps it was hard for her to imagine the Third Prince would host a common Threadmancer. “I’m all right with a needle, but I fetched this from the market for you.”
Thea knotted off the last of her thread and lowered the bodice to her lap as Ina brought the basket near. Inside lay an assortment of thick crewel threads in at least a dozen colors.
She touched a hand to her chest. “Oh, Ina, these are beautiful.”
“I know that shiny cotton stuff is more popular in Kentoria, but wool is Ranorsh, through and through. I thought you might like to give it a try.” The maid deposited the basket in Thea’s hands, then drew back. “I’m off to help Cook now, but you let me know if you need anything, and I’ll do my best to see it done.”
Thea scarcely got out a thank you before the woman disappeared. She touched the threads in the basket, marveled at their softness, then retrieved a needle large enough to accommodate them.
She worked embroidery until her fingertips grew sore, before and after supper and across the next several days. Maple leaves and the colorful flowers that once grew in her mother’s garden bloomed across the bodice until they disguised the bottom edge.
After that came the skirt. She gathered it to a new waistband, then it, too, received leaves and flowers blooming all along the hem.
By the end of the week, when a messenger came, the dress was good as new, but two parts instead of one. She wondered at that briefly as she descended the stairs to hear what the messenger had to say.
“His Highness, Prince Rilion sends his regards,” the messenger said stiffly. He extended a thick paper envelope with both hands. “He also sends information regarding your permanent residency and accommodations. I am to escort you to your new domicile and provide you with the stipend the Third Prince has approved for the establishment of your services. Are you prepared to go?”
“Of course.” Thea took the envelope, her fingers exploring its folded end and the striped cord that held it shut. “Just let me get my coat.”
“I’ll fetch it, milady Thea,” Ina called from somewhere in the house. Where the woman went for most of the day, Thea didn’t know, but she resurfaced a moment later with the bright-collared Ranorsh coat in her arms. She helped Thea don it, then disappeared again as quickly as she’d emerged.
The messenger opened the door and motioned for her to precede him. “After you, Lady Thea.”
Had they all decided she was some sort of noble? She considered correcting him, then thought better of it. Perhaps it had less to do with her and more to do with Ranorsh culture, something of which she knew little.
He led her through the cobblestone streets at a steady pace, granting her enough time to familiarize herself with the route back to the guest house.
Eventually, they came to a stop before a tall two-story house built of stones within a log frame. Its peaked roof seemed to scrape the pale sky when she tilted her head back to look at it. Drifting snowflakes swirled around it, shadows of silver against the light.
“His Highness did not know the appropriate verbiage to advertise your field and felt you should commission a placard for the front on your own,” the messenger said as he unlocked the door and ushered her inside.
Thea crept in and clasped the envelope to her stomach. The storefront’s tall glass windows let in plenty of light, but the interior was dusty and cold. The room hosted nothing but a tall wooden counter. “That will be no problem.” She didn’t know what the sign should say, either. Should she advertise her work as a Threadmancer? Or would it be better to keep her head down and focus on ordinary clothing until she understood the regional climate regarding artisan magic?
“Here is your key, and here is the stipend His Highness has promised.” He extended both hands with palms flat, the key on one and a fat sheepskin purse on the other. “Do you wish me to carry a message back to His Highness?”
Thea plucked them from his hands one at a time. “Tell him I said thank you, and I will let him know when I’ve decided what I must do next.”
“Of course.” He bowed from the shoulders and excused himself from the storefront, shutting the door soundly behind him.
She turned back to the vacant room, key and money in one hand and the envelope in the other.
She should have been happy. This was what she hoped for, the new start she’d needed. Why did it feel so empty?
Slowly, she crossed to the counter and put down everything she held. The contents of the purse were obvious, but she still didn’t know what waited in the envelope. She untied the striped cord and shook out the papers it held.
Documents with information on taxes sat on top. She snorted in disgust at the reminder of the problem that had started everything. Below that was a list of merchants selling cloth and other supplies. She paged through those for a moment before something else caught her eye, a small, folded document with colorful borders poking out from the bottom of the stack. She set aside the list and tugged that document free.
The marriage license.
A sharp ache shot through her chest and she squeezed her eyes closed. It made sense for it to be there. She knew why it had to be. But she’d fought hard to keep her thoughts away from her false husband. He’d delivered everything she asked; she had no right to be upset now, as she stood in the middle of the new life he’d presented as a gift. Yet her heart still twisted at the thought of him.
Before long, he’d send something else, a document declaring that marriage license null. A statement of his death, or some other political chicanery? Strange, morbid curiosity stole over her as her fingertips parted the edges of the paper. She’d never seen it after she’d signed, never knew the name he’d used for his false identity.
She unfolded the page and a scrap of paper dropped to the floor. She started to glance down, but something on the open document caught her eye.
Gaius.
He’d signed it Gaius.
By the Light, the man had used his real name!
Thea covered her mouth and didn’t know if she was going to laugh or cry. She blinked hard and made herself draw a breath, then bent to take the paper from the floor. The back was blank, but a few small lines of writing decorated the front when she turned it over.
If ever you have need, speak to Rilion and it will be met.
My heart remains yours, but you deserve the best.
Do not settle for less.
The last line blurred before she finished reading and she sank to the floor. Cry. She was definitely going to cry. Her chest tightened until her ribs ached, but instead of tears, all that escaped her was a soft exhale. She laid a hand flat against her stomach, just beneath her ribs. The raised outlines of embroidered leaves and flowers greeted her fingertips. They grounded her in the moment and drew her eyes downward.
A ring of leaves and flowers encircled her, her skirt spread on the floor. Everything she thought she wanted surrounded her, yet she was hollow, incomplete.
Her hand drifted down her bodice, to the now-separate skirt. Divided by circumstances and put back together again.
Two pieces, one whole.
She had to go back.
