If only she had not fallen in love with how easy it was to be herself in his presence, and how enjoyable it was to banter with him. At least she had not fallen in love with him, fully. It would be much more difficult to step away from him if she had.
Her mind ran through their every interaction. Had he only pursued her company because she was a good seamstress whom he could manipulate into performing his illegal activity? He had defended her in front of his father, but perhaps that, too, was only a show.
She rolled over, hugging the cloak closer to her body for warmth. It reminded her of him. She wanted to cling to it, to stay safely wrapped in it. But it was only a cloak.
Chapter 25
Ashlin wanted to drop the needle. She wanted to throw it into a blacksmith’s furnace and watch it melt into nothingness. Perhaps they could stoke the fire until it was so hot that the melted iron would burn and turn into ash, and then nothing would be left of the needle at all.
Instead, she dutifully made stitch after stitch, slowly restoring the damaged panel of the tapestry. It wasn’t truly the needle she was angry at. She was angry at herself for enjoying the slight hum of approval the needle emitted when she chose the right color and made the proper stitch to bring the tapestry back to life. The magic itself felt wonderful. It felt like singing a happy song in harmony on a sunny day with a group of people she loved. All day long she looked forward to escaping to this easy task that made her feel light and happy, where she could hum away the hours.
The magic was so subtle and affirming that she found herself wanting to use the needle. It reminded her of the stories her father had told her when she couldn’t sleep, stories about magical toys created by inventive children and tools that cleaned themselves.
She enjoyed using the needle, and she hated herself for it. She could not forget that the very object in her hands had once been enchanted by a Majis. The power it held had been derived from someone else’s pain. Perhaps the Majis enchanter had tortured a prisoner, or oppressed a quotidian family, or stood on the outskirts of a battlefield and channeled the large-scale chaos into the needle itself.
She knew she should not enjoy the process of using it, but nothing about it felt evil. Pulling her thread taut as she tightened another stitch, she could not help the light smile that crept onto her face. The needle was helping her to create a tapestry of rare beauty, and she loved that.
She wanted to enjoy it while she still could as this was the last panel she intended to complete, even though there were many more damaged panels throughout the tapestry.
This one was nearly finished, though. All the background color had been filled in, and she only needed to finish the black outlining that depicted the image itself.
She wanted to enjoy her last few hours working on this project. Onric would be coming through the tower door at any moment to check on the progress, and she had to tell him tonight that she would no longer help with his magic research. He would feign to be hurt, of course, in an attempt to get her to stay. She would not be so dense as to fall for it, though. Just as she did not trust her feelings about the needle, she knew she could not trust her feelings towards him.
As if reading her thoughts, the prince himself gently pushed through the tower door and entered the room. He moved more slowly than usual, as though afraid to upset her.
“My Lord,” she said, dipping her head and hoping her formality would set the tone for their conversation.
“Ashlin,” he replied.
She tried not to feel disappointed that he had not responded with his joking ‘my lady’ like he used to do. But another small part of her heart wanted to sing for joy that he had called her Ashlin and not Stasiya. She had assumed that he would instantly believe her stepmother.
“How is the progress?” he asked.
She reminded herself that he was controlling and manipulative. “Good,” she replied. “It will be finished this evening so the steward can move it into the great hall tomorrow morning before the ball.”
“Excellent, thank you.” He stood across the table from her, his hands behind his back. Gazing down at the tapestry, he tilted his head and watched her make a handful of stitches.
Though the image was not complete, they could still make out a part of it. She had expected some sort of battle scene, especially if this panel had been maliciously destroyed. Instead, the thread below her fingers illustrated a beautiful tranquil scene. It depicted a row of figures so tall they took up the entire height of the frame. Many smaller people seemed to be gathered below them, as though they were under the protection of the large figures. Or were they being oppressed by the tall ones? The tall figures were blowing from their mouths, creating large puffs of wind. It seemed like the depiction of a Majis story, but there were no other signs of a storm. Everything else in the image was still and serene. Ashlin assumed the next set of stitches would fill in more of the storm details.
Her heart pounded and her mouth felt dry. She had to tell him now before she lost her nerve. “My Lord, after this panel is finished, I think it would be best if you found someone else to use the needle in finishing the rest of the tapestry.”
Her stomach lurched, but her head felt light in a giddy sort of way. She had said it. She had identified something she did not want to do and worked up the courage to state it. Clutching the table for support, she dared to look up at him.
He appeared to be devastated. Her heart begged her to rescind her words, but she held her resolve. He had never been able to hide his emotions, or so she had thought. Perhaps he had always just been good at acting in order to control her feelings.
“You will be missed,” he finally responded, his voice strained.
The silence grew awkward. Ashlin offered no words to break it. They had spent many moments in this very room in silence, and none of them had been awkward before.
The prince nodded and turned away, walking towards the door. “I’ll come back in a few hours to see the finished panel, then,” he said.
That was it? He was not going to raise his voice and demand her compliance? She felt an aching pain in her chest, as though her heart was truly breaking. She wanted to call him to stay. Even if he was using her to further his own means, it felt so much better to be used than to endure this painful separation.
He stopped and turned back around. “Ashlin.” He ran his hand through his hair. “About yesterday...”
She looked up immediately, her firm resolve betrayed by the eagerness in her voice. “Yes?”
“I spoke in haste yesterday, and I apologize for that. I realize now that I had my own opinion of what was right for you, and I forcefully pushed that opinion upon you. Whether or not my opinion was right, it was wrong of me to attempt to bend your will to mine.”
