Nothing happened.
“What was that?” Ashlin asked him.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t really sure. Just... I don’t know.”
She laughed at him.
“Well, do you have any ideas?” He smirked back at her, slightly hurt by her making fun of him.
She shook her head, still giggling. “Maybe try whistling over it.”
He slipped the needle case back in his pocket, wanting to change the subject. “I do wonder why that old monk held onto it for so long.”
“Did he say anything when he gave it to you?”
“No.” Onric tried to recall the monk’s words. “He let us peruse his stores, which were mostly made up of manuscripts. I didn’t want to risk taking one of those and ruining it as we traveled. Fortunately, we did not take any, as the storm surely would have damaged the parchment. And the needle was the only item small enough to carry away. When I asked him if I could borrow it, he said, ‘Of course, Your Highness. It might teach you things you never knew.’ I was hoping that might mean it was spelled. We didn’t directly tell him what we were doing, of course, since that could have had dire consequences for all of us, but he most definitely guessed. Maybe he was just a crazy old man.”
“It can’t hurt to try it one more time.” Ashlin had stopped laughing.
“Why? It obviously doesn’t do anything.”
“Then it obviously won’t be a problem if we try it again.” She held out her hand.
Taking the needle case from his pocket, he dropped it in her palm. “Is there something we can do differently?”
She had taken out the needle and was tapping it against her hand. “What sorts of fabrics did you test it on?”
“Just scraps. The blanket on my bed, the edge of my sleeve.”
“Then let’s try it on something important.” She picked up the black filament she had been using to repair the tapestry and threaded the needle again. She moved down the makeshift table until she was standing in front of the damaged panel of the tapestry. She looked back up at him, uncertainty in her eyes despite her confidence a moment prior.
He shrugged. “The worst outcome is that nothing happens.”
She pressed the needle through the fabric, slowly pulling the thread through afterwards until it was taut.
He blinked. It looked as though the black thread had let off a light shimmer as she pulled it through. But after his blink, the effect—whatever it was—had disappeared. He glanced back up at Ashlin, disappointment filling him.
She was standing still, frozen as a statue.
A panicked fear grasped at the edge of his mind as his eyes flicked up to her face.
Her eyes and mouth were open wide in a look of stunned awe. “It’s the wrong color,” she whispered.
“What?”
“It’s the wrong color.” Her eyes sparkled as she quickly pulled the thread out of the tapestry and needle, but the look of awe and excitement remained on her face.
Terrified that she had actually gone mad, he rushed around the table. “What do you mean? How do you know? What’s happening?”
“I don’t know!” she cried. “But I pulled it through and instantly knew I should be using blue.” She threaded the needle again with the same blue that was the color of the sky in the other panels.
Before she could make another stitch, Onric placed his hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “Are you sure you are alright? It didn’t harm you?”
She smiled up at him. “I’m fine. Just excited. Let’s see if this works.” She made another stitch. Onric saw the faint glimmer again, but this time he didn’t mistake it for a trick of the light. He looked back at her.
“This feels right.” She made another stitch. And another.
“What’s happening?” Onric asked, his eyes darting between the light glimmer of the thread and the joyful concentration on her face.
