“How is everything in there?” the guard asked him.
“Good,” Onric repeated. “Stuffy.”
“It can’t be all that bad, sir.”
“I shouldn’t complain.”
“With all due respect, Your Highness, you should go back inside. We can handle the defenses tonight.” The guard had a large grin on his face.
Onric realized that some others might be jealous of his evening, as he did get to spend it dancing with beautiful women. He nodded in agreement, though he would have gladly traded places with Drirsi.
Chapter 29
Ashlin stared at the closed door, still not sure how to process what had happened. She looked at the floor around her, littered with fibers of blue silk. Her hours and hours of selfless work, ruined in a matter of moments.
Her stepmother's words rang in her ears.“You will never be a part of this family.”
She sank to her knees, vainly lifting the fallen sleeve back over her shoulder. It slipped off as soon as she let go of it.
Reaching down, she numbly picked up a torn flower from the floor in front of her. She turned it over in her hand, staring at it as though she had never seen it before. Here she was, doing what she always did. Cleaning. Cleaning a mess she had not made.
She crumpled the flower in her hand. These flowers had looked ridiculous on her beautiful dress, ruining its simple silhouette. Twisting her tightened fist, she released the torn and crumpled scrap of fabric, letting it fall back to the ground.
She was glad those hideous flowers were no longer on her dress.
Her family was gone. That vicious woman could never replace them.
She wanted to curl up on the floor and cry until she ran out of tears, but the flickering flames of the fire cast uncomfortable shadows on the walls around her. This house, which had once been a happy home, now felt like a prison. She did not want to spend another second here, much less another night.
At the moment, there was only one place she wanted to be.
Standing up, she grabbed Onric's cloak, dashed down the stairs and ran into the darkness.
The door to the dressmaker’s shop was locked, as the seamstress closed it at sundown each night. Ashlin pounded on it anyways.
“Mistress Cedrice! It’s Ashlin!” The only other person in the entire city who was not at the palace tonight. She pounded again. After a few more long moments, the older woman finally unbarred the other side of the door and let her in.
“Why, child,” she started to ask, but Ashlin answered her question by pulling open her cloak to reveal the tattered dress beneath it. The seamstress pinched her lips closed and shook her head. “Come, come.” She waved for Ashlin to follow her, leading her up the back stairs to the kitchen. “Sit. Let me get you some tea.”
Ashlin sank into a chair at the modest table. Mistress Cedrice bustled around her in silence, preparing a kettle of tea.
For the first time in her life, Ashlin did not even feel as though she should get up and help the older woman. She remained seated, broken and empty, helpless in her inability to offer help.
The scraping sound of the teapot lid and the swish of the pouring water calmed her. Breathing slowly, she focused on the sights and sounds around her as she could not decipher the feelings inside her.
A small fire crackled in the hearth, so she shrugged the cloak from her shoulders, letting it fall over the back of the chair behind her.
Mistress Cedrice set two round clay mugs on the table along with a small loaf of bread. She pulled the water from the fire and filled her old clay teapot. The warmed clay released the comforting aroma of the smoky tea leaves. Even though the scent reminded her of Onric, she could not deny that it was still one of the most comforting smells she had ever experienced. She closed her eyes as her muscles relaxed.
Finally, the older woman sat across from her and poured them each a cup of tea. Ashlin wrapped her hands around the small mug, which fit perfectly between her palms. She waited for the woman to question her, to judge, to pity. But Mistress Cedrice merely sat across from her, sipping her tea. Her motherly acceptance made Ashlin feel cared for in a way she had not felt for a long time.
Ashlin raised the cup to her lips, but it was too hot to drink. She had no idea how the old woman was already slurping it. Ashlin contented herself with feeling the warm rough clay between her palms and inhaling the pleasant steam that rose from the cup. “You were right,” she finally said, her voice low and quiet.
“Mhh?”
“You said that family is not something you are beholden to.”
“I said that?” Mistress Cedrice looked over her mug. “I can be quite wise when I put my mind to it, can’t I?”
