The Veil

My hand hovers over the selection of threads. I try to mask the shaking by letting the fingers make a rippling movement. Like Orin playing his lute in the evening.

“Difficult choice.”

I freeze. Then pull back my hand. Placing both of them flat on the table. Supervisor Illion stops next to my workstation. His shadow darkens part of my work in front of me. I hesitate. Then I look up, forcing a soft smile on my lips. Just like they have taught us before entering the workshop.

Dark eyes stare down at me. A frown appears on the forehead, throwing grey shadows in its creases. There is a twitch visible around his mouth. His stern expression doesn’t waver.

“Go with the deep green.”

It’s not a suggestion and I nod. My smile stays strong even when I turn my head to look at the threads on my right. I wait for Illion to continue his round. When there is no movement, I peek at him from the corner of my eye. He is staring at me. Immediately, I shift my focus back to the threads in front of me.

With Illion still waiting, I finally lift my right hand. No shaking is visible. But even breathing feels foreign to me right now. My fingers now glide over the threads. Silky strings twisted in bundles. Died with the rarest and most expensive materials. Turning gowns into vibrant masterpieces.

There are over fifty bundles in front of me. For my eyes, a range from dark shimmering black to almost blinding white fills the rows. And so many different shades of grey.

I hesitate. The moment Illion turns his back to continue his round I will make my decision. But he doesn’t move. Instead, he clears his throat. He leans in. I can feel the warmth of his body like it’s torching my back.

“Worker, what …”

The door is thrown open with a bang. Illion snaps to attention. I’m forgotten immediately. He rushes towards the entrance. There is more shuffling audible. The other three supervisors also hurry to the entrance of the workshop. I glance up quickly but focus my attention on the work in front of me immediately. Whispers from the other tables reach me, but I don’t have time to focus on speculation. Illion will return. Illion will check my work. This is my only chance.

My fingers find the tiny thread at the side of my embroidery frame. I pull out the paper.

Forest. Moss. Spring.

The whispers are dying down.

“Announcing her Highness, Princess Leandra!”

I grab the tread. My chart disappears.

“Don’t move.”

Lina’s whisper almost seems to echo through the workshop. I freeze. My hands find their place on the table again. While waiting for the princess to make her appearance, I stare at the half-finished work in front of me. Various sizes of plum blossoms are covering the fine fabric. Some almost fade into the creamy white of the fabric. Others are in stark contrast with their dark grey undertone.

Not too simple. Not too elaborate.

Staring at it now so intently, I see a few uneven stiches. Hopefully, I get the chance to correct them before Illion or any of the other supervisors discover them.

Steps are approaching. The silence grows even heavier. I don’t even dare to blink. My breathing is as shallow as possible. At the same time, I fight the urge to look up. I like the head on my shoulders. I like my back pain free. I like my legs working without a limp.

“There are so many choices. Nanny, what should I do?”

I want to wince. Her voice is shrill. Steps draw near, slow down but then pass. Just to stop right behind me.

“This one! Nanny, I think this is the one I want.”

There is no audible answer from the nanny, but I hear fabric rustling.

“How long would it take, head supervisor?”

This is a different voice, female and deeper. The woman speaks with authority but without excitement.

“We will work as fast as …”

“I need it in two days. Nanny, the ball is in two days.”

“Yes, your Highness. Have a fabric selected and we will immediately work on the design.”

Rubbing my burning eyes I walk through the almost empty streets. The sky is grey, yet the bright morning sun has already pushed itself over the horizon. By the time I reach our flat, Mother is already awake to greet me. The moment she opens the door, she frowns. I give her a smile, but her frown doesn’t disappear.

“What happened? Why did you stay in the palace?”

I explain quickly and the frown disappears. She ushers me inside. Orin and Saro are still asleep. I hug Mother and breathe in the scent of her soap. Part of my exhaustion disappears when she returns my hug.

“I’ll make you something to eat. An egg, some porridge and …”

“An apple.”

“Are you sure? I could also …”

“No, I should get used to it. I’ll pick the right one, this time.”

The frown is back on my mother’s face, but I ignore it. Instead, I head to the small pantry. I rummage through the boxes until I find three apples. I fish one out. Its grey, glossy skin feels cool in my hand. There are no wrinkles or dark spots. I smell it. The fruity aroma fills my nose and I nod to myself. With a proud smile, turn toward the kitchen. I want to shout out to Mother. Then I stop in my tracks.

I fumble around my belt, feeling for my life saver. I pat down my belt once. Twice. The third time, I forget about the apple in my hand. It drops. It smacks the floor with a dull thud, but my mother’s attention is immediately on me.

“What is it? What happened?”

I stare at the grey apple. I stare at Mother. I remove my belt. There is no paper sailing down. My mouth is drier than my throat. Mother is in front of me in a flash.

“You lost it?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? I told … Ah … You lost it … at the palace!”

Her face is a dark grey by now.

“We need to leave. Pack your things. Orin! Saro!”

“No, wait. This …”

“No, this is the only way. If you get caught. I can’t allow that! Orin! Saro!”

I feel tears stinging in my eyes. They drip on the apple and on the floor. Leaving dark spots on the wooden floor.

“If we leave now, they’ll know it’s me. They’ll find us. I better return now. I …”

“No, you can’t. Para, listen. It isn’t safe. If they catch you …”

She doesn’t continue but I shake my head. It is my fault. I should have been more careful.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. It’s the fabric for the princess.”

I try not to turn around when I pass the two girls. My legs feel like they can collapse any moment. I head towards my workstation and stare at the plum blossoms which I still haven’t finished. I check for the single thread which usually peaks from beneath the frame.

Nothing.

“Why are you here? Weren’t you on nightshift?”

My head snaps up. No time to put a smile on my lips. Illion’s face immediately hardens. Without hesitation he pulls out the thin rod. I offer my hands.

The first strike lands. With each hit, my chest gets tighter. He is experienced. He doesn’t draw blood. My fingers feel sore after he puts the rod back on his belt.

“Answer.”

“I had a bad dream. About my embroidery. So, I came back.”

“You came back because of that?”

“Yes, it’s … I was really scared.”

He scrutinizes me. The lashes on my fingers are burning. Regret blooms in my heart.

“Come with me.”

I open my mouth but comply without another comment. I pass the rows of workers without looking at them. The whispers follow me but are shut out when the door closes behind me.

“Sit.”

Without hesitation, I follow the order. I’ve never been to the supervisor’s office. The air is stuffy. There is no natural light, only the circle cast by the oil lamp on the desk in front of me. Even the greys are muted.

“I’ve found something unusual. Could you help me identify … this?”

A fine fabric is thrown on the desk. So carelessly, that I can’t control my flinch. It’s not what I expected. But it’s not unknown. I touch it with my sore fingers, stroking the intricate stitching. It’s a flowing pattern of shades of grey. It’s not embroidery. It’s a painting.

How did this get here?

“Para? Are you listening? Tell me, what you see.”

The tightness in my chest is almost suffocating.

“It’s an unusual piece of work. Silk. From the South or Southeast. Threads are not from the royal workshop. But the quality is above average.”

I stare at the fabric in my hand.

“What about the pattern? The colors?”

“The pattern … is … hm … unusual, I would say. It’s not any style I’ve ever seen in Rhodis.”

The pattern starts to move under my stare. I feel the threads pulsating under my fingers. I need to keep calm.

“You aren’t finished, Para. What about the colors?”

The threads tingle under my fingers. Illion’s flat hand hits the table. A small scream escapes my mouth. I don’t dare to lift my hand from the stiches.

“This was found near the embroidery frames.”

I don’t need to look but my eyes still wander to the paper on the table. It’s crumpled and torn. Half of it is actually missing. It only covers the reds and yellows.

“Do you know, what this is?”

I can’t control my body. The vow I took takes over. I nod.

With the nod, the weight is finally lifted off my heart. Like threads coming lose. I lift my gaze. The frown on Illion’s face is gone. His eyes are wide. It takes me a moment to understand.

“How is this possible? It was reported, that … Nobody survived.”

His shaking words set free the last thread under my fingers. I lift my hand. On command, they shoot toward my supervisor. Wrapping around his throat. Tight enough to draw blood.

“Para! No, Para, listen. I can … I will forget about this. Take your … paper. Leave …”

“Hush, Child of Rhodis. This isn’t Para. This is the Veil.”