Ashlin pulled away from her, reaching for her cloak. “Yes.” She paused, gripping the cloak. She had to tell Onric that he was right, and she had to apologize to him.
She wanted to see him immediately. To tell him he had more than succeeded in his quest to make her smile. Even if he was angry at her for her unkind words, she had to let him know he had not failed.
“No,” she said, retracting her earlier statement. “I want to go to the palace and see Onric.”
Mistress Cedrice smiled. “Wonderful. But you cannot go like that.”
“Oh, right.” She looked down at herself. “I’ll just wear my cloak and go in the servants’ entrance. I'm not planning on going to the ball itself.” She dashed out the door.
“My dear, wait for a moment.”
Ashlin spun back around, afraid that the dear old woman would try to talk her out of going. “You asked me who feels like family. Onric feels like family. I have to do this.”
“Of course you do,” Mistress Cedrice responded, “but I have one more gift for you. Come back inside. This will only take a moment.”
Ashlin came back through the doorway, and Mistress Cedrice reached around her to close the door. “Your mother asked me to do more than just look after you. You see... Oh, no, of course you don’t see. Close your eyes.”
“Excuse me?”
“Close your eyes, dear.”
Ashlin respectfully closed her eyes, hoping to appease the old woman so she could get to the palace as soon as possible.
At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, she heard Mistress Cedrice begin to hum a song. It sounded familiar, but Ashlin could not place it. The melody was slow and deep, like a song one would sing to a dark, cold world on the brink of a sunrise.
That was it.
It sounded like the chants the monks would sing each morning at dawn. When they used to visit the sea each goldenreign, her father and mother had woken her before the dawn so they could walk in the darkness down the coastline trail to the monastery, arriving just as the first rays of light broke over the horizon of the sea. The monks would gather in the outer garden, singing a low, deep melody in a language she did not recognize. Her father had said it was the language of the earth itself. Ashlin had listened in fascination, trying to hear what the earth was trying to say through the music. The solemnity of the experience had remained with her for years afterwards. Standing here in Mistress Cedrice’s kitchen with her eyes closed, she was taken back to that moment, watching the sun rise over the waves. It was as though the music itself was pushing away the darkness and inviting the powerful joy of the sun to permeate their day.
Mistress Cedrice moved around her, still humming as she went. Ashlin smiled, unsure of what was happening.
“You can open your eyes now.”
Ashlin opened her eyes and noticed a shimmering ripple coming from her dress. She looked down. The dress was repairing itself. Was she dreaming? The loose ends of ripped fabric were sewing themselves back into the dress itself. It was terrifyingly beautiful. The whole thing hummed with a vibrating energy, reminding her of the iron needle. This was magic.
She heard a soft clink. While it was restructuring itself, the dress had dropped the small shard of glass. She stooped down to pick it up, tucking it safely into her palm.
The dress settled around her, having completed its mission. She spun around. It was beautiful. The dress had recreated itself according to her original design. The extra flowers were gone, and the blue silk hung down from her waist in clean, airy swoops.
“Silver embroidery,” she breathed.
“Just like we talked about.”
“But, how did you . . .?”
“The women in my family have passed down some of the songs and stories. I always remembered the ones for creation and design. They were my favorite.”
“So... you’re a...” Ashlin had so many questions.
“Hurry, child, you’ll be late.” Mistress Cedrice shooshed her out the door. “No! Wait.”
Again, Ashlin turned around at the doorway. “Yes?”
“Your shoes. You can’t wear those threadbare old boots to a dance!”
“I haven’t got anything else.”
“Let’s see what we can do. I can make some, but I need something to start with.” She glanced around the room, pointing at certain objects. She considered the clay teapot, the iron tongs by the fireplace, and the wooden plates on the countertop, but she shook her head at each. “Oh, what was that piece of glass that you dropped?”
