“It really does just look like little nibbles and bites have been taken out of the threads and fabric,” the prince admitted, slightly defeated, after they had reexamined it.
“Yes,” Ashlin said, wanting him to feel heard, “but if your idea is correct, they could have used magic to make it look like an accident.”
He lifted his eyes. “That’s a very good point. I’m glad I trusted you with the truth.”
“Thank you.” She smiled.
“I don’t know that we will ever find out, though.”
“Well, for now, I’ll see if I can repair some of the lesser damage, and maybe we can trim out the destroyed panels...” She stopped. She couldn’t handle the thought of cutting this masterpiece, even if it was damaged. “Well, we can fold the damaged panels behind it for the ball. I’ll chat with the steward.”
Chapter 12
Ashlin watched the fabric ripple through her fingers. It was simultaneously airy and weighted, falling from her hands like a waterfall.
She could not believe she was holding the blue silk—the brilliant, subtle, shimmering azure blue silk.
Her stepsister, who refused to wear anything but the height of fashion, had somehow returned from the dressmaker’s shop with the most unusual choice. The delicate blue silk was even more perfect than Ashlin had remembered.
Stasiya was loudly giving instructions on what she wanted her dress to look like, but for once, Ashlin was not listening. Since when had her sister done anything different, much less exercise good taste? To most people, the blue fabric would come across as simple, bright, maybe even childish. She would have expected her stepsister to turn up her nose at the very thought of a light blue dress.
“And with that, I’m sure I’ll properly stand out.” Stasiya finally stopped talking.
She wanted to stand out. She must have gone into the shop and looked for the most unusual fabric she could lay her eyes on.
Suddenly, Ashlin felt a little lightheaded. She took a deep breath, but her chest felt too tight to accept additional air. It was just a length of blue fabric. She should not be mourning over something so frivolous. But she still felt the need to escape to the kitchen and sob. She was probably just tired. She was always tired these days. And she had barely eaten that morning. Surely she would feel better after she ate.
But she was tired of mourning. She had done nothing but mourn for seasons on end. She mourned her father, she mourned her old way of life, her old friends, her old activities. She mourned the fact that she could not apprentice under Mistress Cedrice.
She was already mourning the fact that she could not go to the ball, and the fact that her sister was stealing her very name to go in her stead. She did not have it in her to make yet another sacrifice for someone else who had given her nothing. She merely wanted to be accepted and loved, to share the burden of their household and worries. But she had been carrying them alone for too long. She could not spend countless hours over the next few days turning this beloved blue silk into a dress for someone else.
During the past week of working at the palace, she had felt the smallest flicker of hope for something more. She wasn’t sure what it was yet, but it was something that seemed so much bigger and more powerful than the petty judgments and standards of her stepfamily.
Each time the steward complimented her on a job well done or the prince turned his laughing eyes to her, she felt a little more stable on her own.
“I don’t think I can do it,” she said to herself, her voice confident though it was no louder than a whisper.
“What was that?” Stasiya asked.
“I don’t think I can sew this dress.” She spoke just a touch louder.
“Of course you can,” Stasiya said. “You are more skilled than most seamstresses in the kingdom!”
The compliment was nice, but it was not enough to change Ashlin’s mind. She had to find a way out of this. “I don’t know that this is the best color for you, though.” She carried the fabric to the sofa and held it up under her stepsister’s face.
Stasiya’s eyes grew large, filling with concern. “I know it’s different...”
“Well, sometimes different is good, but I’m afraid this blue makes your face look awfully pale.” It was true. Her stepsister’s reddish hair and green eyes did not go well with the crispness of the blue. Greens had always suited her better.
Stasiya’s face fell. “Mother!” she cried, getting up and racing from the room.
Ashlin knew that cry. It was a mix of anger and disappointment. A dangerous combination. Leaving the silk in the parlor, she quickly went to the kitchen and furiously started preparing the evening meal. She had done her best to avoid sewing the gown, but the knot in her stomach made her question whether it would be worth it. Perhaps it would have been less painful in the end to just sew the dress.
The door creaked open. Ashlin pretended not to have heard it as she chopped the brown potatoes on the counter in front of her. But even without turning around, she could sense the change of energy in the room. Her stepmother was not pleased.
“Ashlin.”
Her heart pounded. She set the knife down. She tried to put on a light smile, as though she hadn’t done anything wrong, but the trembling in her jaw made that difficult. She turned around.
