Unraveled (9 page)

“It’s not really my taste,” I say, leading them through the apartment to the bedroom.
My closet is preconfigured for fittings, with mirror-lined platforms and ample space
to work.

Amie dashes in and starts plucking gowns from the racks, holding them up to her slender
figure as she eyes herself in the full-length mirror.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to have taste as Cormac’s wife.” Pryana speaks in a
quiet voice that only I can hear.

“I’m not terribly interested in mirroring my … fiancé’s tastes,” I say.

“How modern of you,” Pryana says. She wanders through my closet, picking up heels
from the shoe racks and examining them. “And stupid.”

I snatch the shoes back from her. “I’m known for my abstinence.”

Before the nastiness can escalate between us, Amie coughs politely. I don’t want her
caught in the middle of our feud, especially since I can’t trust Pryana’s motivations
for getting close to her. But Amie might as well know how Pryana and I feel about
each other.

The seamstresses arrive and maids take our dresses, hanging them to wait while we’re
measured and sized. Standing with my sister and my old enemy in nothing more than
a wispy slip, I feel surprisingly vulnerable. I thought I would outgrow feeling awkward
around Pryana, but she’s still as poised as ever. One thing I’m definitely not.

“I love the lace on your hem,” Amie says, darting over to study it. “I think it must
be Chantilly.”

It’s such a silly thing to notice, and yet some of the tension in the room evaporates.

“Amie knows everything about textiles,” Pryana explains to me after I give my sister
a curious look.

“If I don’t get chosen as a Spinster,” Amie whispers to me, “I want to be assigned
to make the dresses.”

I smile at her. For a second, she’s five years old and we’re back in our living room
in Romen, splayed out on the floor, watching Spinsters stroll the purple carpet at
the State of the Guild address.

We were innocent then, seeing only the beautiful surface of Arras’s elite class. Knowing
Amie still studies dresses makes me feel as though a balloon filled with happiness
is inflating inside my chest. Somehow, even with everything she’s been through, this
hasn’t changed. It brings me hope.

“You would make beautiful dresses,” I tell her.
And you’ll be safe doing it,
I add silently. No one would spare a second thought for a seamstress.

“Perhaps she’d make a better Spinster,” Pryana suggests.

“Oh, I still want to be a Spinster,” Amie says, grabbing my hands. “Don’t worry, Adelice.
I’ll make you proud.”

Behind her Pryana raises an eyebrow.

That’s about the last thing that would make me proud, but I don’t say this in front
of the group. To my surprise, the same concern seems to be reflected in Pryana’s eyes.

They could only spare two seamstresses for our fitting and Amie insists on watching
Pryana and me go first.

“This is my favorite part. I like to learn how they do it and it’s hard while you’re
the one being fitted,” she explains. Pryana and I glance at each other but we don’t
argue with her. I climb onto the platform and a girl begins measuring my arms. Pryana
stands directly across from me and it’s like looking in a warped mirror as the seamstresses
stretch the tapes across our limbs. Over our busts. Around our waists. Pryana not
only seems older to me now, if only slightly, but I realize, as we stand parallel
to each other, that she looks older as well.

Pryana isn’t the girl she was when I met her during orientation. Not anymore. That
first day Pryana was wild, asking questions without pause and fluttering her eyelashes
at the valets and officials. She was everything a Spinster
could
be. She believed in her role here, and her right to hold it. Now she’s composed and
polished. But underneath the veneer of self-assurance something is broken. I know
how this happened, of course. I know she was set to be my replacement both as Creweler
and as Cormac’s wife. For a girl with as much ambition as Pryana once displayed, rejection
must have destroyed something vital in her.

But she isn’t trying to kill me. At least I don’t think she is. It’s a start.

“You’ve lost weight,” the seamstress says to me, checking her chart. “It’s been too
long since your last fitting.”

The measurements on file are not that old. I stood on a platform like this less than
four months ago by my time, preparing to escort Cormac to the State of the Guild,
but to the seamstress those measurements are two years old. A lot of time has passed
in Arras since I escaped to Earth. But for me, I’d only been gone for a few months.
I couldn’t exactly explain that to the seamstress.

“She must not be eating enough,” Pryana says, and for one second there is a flash
of the old Pryana, the one who could be equal parts clever and cruel. A sudden thought
sends a chill up my spine: Why hasn’t Cormac altered her memory or wiped it completely?

The seamstress is encouraged by Pryana’s participation and continues: “I can’t understand
why they would let you go this long between fittings, especially with the amount of
traveling you’ll be doing soon.”

“Traveling?” I ask.

Amie looks up from the chart she’s swiped from the seamstress and laughs. “Didn’t
Cormac tell you? This was his idea. He said you would need appropriate clothing for
your trips.”

They all wait for my reaction but I shrug. “He’s not the most talkative.”

“Not lately,” the seamstress says, popping a pin from between her gritted teeth and
fastening a swath of fabric around my waist.

“Maybe Adelice and Cormac are too busy to talk,” Pryana suggests. Amie looks horrified
but the seamstresses giggle.

“Don’t,” Amie warns. “You’ll make me sick.”

“You aren’t excited about the wedding?” Pryana’s seamstress asks Amie.

Amie looks torn between shaking her head and nodding. “I’m happy for them, but Ad
is my sister and Cormac is like my father.”

A wave of revulsion tumbles through my stomach.
Like my father.
Cormac is the reason she has no father. He took that away from her and now he dares
to assume the role. I know better. Amie is a pawn—as expendable as anyone else in
this twisted game. If he ceases to need her, she’ll be tossed down to Earth or left
to waste away in a coventry without a second thought. I can’t imagine him expending
enough energy to love a child.

“That does make things … complicated,” the seamstress says. I wonder if my relationship
to Amie is common knowledge or not.

“But your bridesmaid’s dress will be beautiful,” Pryana says, directing Amie’s attention
away from the painful topic. “And I imagine you’ll probably wear it on the purple
carpet.”

“Do you think so?” Amie practically squeals the question.

“I’m sure the wedding will be a gala event.”

“What if I’m not invited?”

No part of me is looking forward to my nuptials with Cormac. But despite that, there
is a little part of me that can see Amie fussing with my train and holding my bouquet.

“You’re invited,” I say. If I actually go through with the wedding, I dare Cormac
to tell me my sister can’t come.

“Oh, thank you, Adelice.” Without thinking, Amie lunges forward and hugs me. It catches
me off guard and before I can enjoy it, she pulls back, wincing. “Sewing pins!”

“You might want to save the hugging until I’ve finished,” the seamstress says.

“Did I miss the hugging?” a voice calls in from the bedroom. I don’t have to wait
to see her to know that voice. I’ve heard it in a dark cell and in a quiet salon,
whispered in my ear and shouted across a room.

She enters and I note she still has the violet eyes, but she’s cultivated a striking
streak of gray in her raven locks. Other than that, she doesn’t look a day older than
when I left. Apparently she’s aging gracefully and
slowly
.

“What a surprise, Maela,” I say.

Amie freezes for a moment and I can’t figure out why. For a second I want to grab
Maela and demand to know what she’s done to my little sister. I’ve borne the brunt
of Maela’s anger before. I know the twisted feats she’s capable of. But instead I
press my scarred fingertips together and muster up a false smile.

“I heard I was missing a party, and you know how I love parties.” Her voice is full
of trills and bells, masking the darkness she hides. A darkness that sneaks up on
you before you realize you’re in danger.

“We should have invited you,” Pryana says apologetically, but I don’t believe for
a moment that there’s any love lost between them.

“I am your mentor,” Maela reminds her.

That’s new. Pryana had been assigned to someone else when I was here last.

“You
were
my mentor,” Pryana corrects her in a gentle voice. The whole interaction is strange.
Maela displaying her usual penchant for the dramatic interpretation of events while
Pryana stays collected, even distant.

“She pretends to be Creweler for a few months and forgets the little people who helped
her get there,” Maela says to me.

I wonder what Maela thinks of me, if she’s been allowed to remember our past. Regardless,
she clearly still hates me.

The activity continues in the room, but the seamstresses have slowed their progress,
obviously not wanting to miss anything that passes between the three of us. They listen,
holding their breath like the pins clamped between their teeth.

“Are they designing your wedding dress?” Maela asks. Her voice is sugary like too-sweet
tea, and equally hard to swallow.

I shake my head. “Not yet. We still have plenty of time for that.”

“Oh,” she says in a thoughtful voice. “I heard differently.”

Trust Maela to come in and act like the most important woman in the Coventry. She
behaved the same way when she oversaw my brief training on the looms. I know better
than to believe a word she says.

“There are plenty of rumors flying around the Coventry these days, Maela,” Pryana
says, almost as if she’s coming to my defense. Apparently we both now view Maela with
the apprehension she deserves, but that doesn’t make us friends yet.

“I came to speak to Adelice,” Maela says, not rising to Pryana’s bait.

“You’re in luck then,” I say, tilting my head in invitation.

Maela’s lips purse tightly as she glances at the other people in the room. “It hasn’t
been announced officially yet,” she says with an emphasis bordering on warning, “but
you’ll be hosting a loom demonstration at the end of the week.”

My heart slams against my chest and it takes every ounce of willpower not to smile,
a reaction I don’t quite understand. “For whom?” I manage to ask as my fingers begin
to tingle.

Maela’s lip curls up at my reaction. “For the Stream. Cormac wants to show you off.”

The excitement leaches from me slowly, fading out until it reaches my twitching fingertips
and is replaced by a chill that numbs my body. A distraction. He wants to use me as
a distraction, and then I’ll be locked away again.

“I’ll be overseeing the filming,” Maela continues.

But I already knew Cormac wouldn’t be there. Something has his attention elsewhere—something
terrible if he’s using me as a decoy to distract Arras.

“Thank you for letting me know,” I whisper.

Maela scans my face as though she senses the shift in my reaction, but in the end
she doesn’t care. “I should be going. I have plenty of things to do.”

As soon as Maela exits the room, Pryana lets out a low whistle. “I’m sure there are
plenty of young Spinsters to terrify.”

“I wondered when she was going to show her face. I was always a favorite of hers,”
I add. Pryana and I share a laugh.

Amie lets out a nervous giggle. She hasn’t spoken since Maela’s impromptu entrance,
and I can’t say I blame her.

“Maela can be very intimidating,” I say to Amie, hoping to put her back at ease. “It’s
her most winning personality trait.”

“I would hate to see her other characteristics, then.” Amie twists a piece of lace
around her fingers.

“Yes, you would,” Pryana agrees.

“What other rumors are flying around the Coventry?” I ask. It’s hard to find the courage
to bring this up, because I don’t trust Pryana. However, she’s
out there
, and I know she hears all the gossip.

“Nothing new. Spinsters sneaking around with valets. Ministers engaging in dirty politics,”
she answers, without giving me any concrete examples.

“I want to know the rumors about Cormac.” I’m taking a chance admitting this is what
I want to know. Neither Amie nor Pryana has any loyalty to me. As it is, they might
only be around to report back to Cormac. But my situation can’t get any worse. I don’t
expect to get a straight answer from Pryana, but even if she is spying for him I have
nothing to lose.

“They say he’s going mad.” Pryana’s answer sucks the air from my lungs.

I’d thought the same thing. But how widespread were the rumors? There were always
plenty of rumors at the Coventry. Usually they were tangled with a string of truth.

“He’s losing his mind because the Whorl is coming,” the seamstress says in a whisper.
My eyes flash to Pryana’s and she nods. I’m uncertain how to respond. How did a seamstress
at the Coventry hear of the Whorl?

“Everyone is jealous,” Amie says in a burst of annoyance.

“Jealous of what?” I ask.

“You,” she says. There’s a furious blush on her fair skin as she speaks. “They’re
jealous that he’s marrying you and that’s why everyone is spreading lies about him.”

Cormac had thoroughly ingratiated himself with Amie in my absence. If anyone is going
to tattle on me it’ll be her, I realize sadly.

Still, Amie might as well know the truth. I have enough lies to keep straight. It
isn’t a secret that I don’t want to marry Cormac. “They’re welcome to him.”

It was the wrong thing to say with Pryana in the room and I immediately wish I could
take it back.