"Drink your tea."
"If the tariffs come in like they're saying?—"
"Then we'll cross that stitch when we come to it, and not before." She points the needle at me. "We won't worry about it until then. We have much bigger things to worry about in our lives."
Without meaning to, I look above her head, where, on the mantel, sits the book.
The fable without a happy ending.
It has sat there my whole life — a fat story bound in leather with a rose stamped into the cover. I've read it so many times by now, I can recite it word for word in my sleep.
The Fable of the Oak and the Needle.
She sees me looking at it. Her needle stops for one stitch before she looks back down.
"Funny," I say, nodding to it, trying to make it light, "you'd think after all these years I'd stop hoping that old story ended differently."
For a moment, Grammy doesn't answer.
"Endings can be stubborn things, my girl," she says at last. "But so are the women who tell them." She reaches over and squeezes my hand. "Now. You didn't walk all the way out here in the cold over a card. Tell me the rest."
And because it is Grammy, and I trust her more than anyone else in my life, I open my mouth to tell her about the orc.
I don't even realize until then that this is what I came to say.
5
LISSY
"Just one more clip."
I add the clip and then release it, stepping back to admire the shape of Ysolde's wedding-dress bodice. I haven't worked with leather as much as I would have liked during my career, as it isn't as forgiving as some other textiles, but seeing how the leather gives support and shape to the dress, making it perfectly suited for her, I make a mental note to use it more often.
It adds a bit of mystery and diversity to the dress, rewarding anyone who looks at it with swirls of designs, both cut-out and gathered fabric that appear as a work of art all by themselves.
I look up at Ysolde and give her a thumbs up. "Beautiful."
She sucks in a deep breath and turns to the mirrors, seeing herself reflected from the front and back, a stunning bride-to-be, all elegance and nature.
"Oh, Lissy," she murmurs, not taking her eyes off her reflection. She smooths the front and turns, checking the back where I've put the clips. I just need to take it in a little bit, and then, other than some finishing touches and the embroidery I plan to add, I've made a completed wedding dress in a week.
I've outdone myself, and I am not ashamed to admit it.
"It's beautiful," Ysolde says, her expression turning watery. "How did you manage it so quickly?"
"Magic," I say, giving her a wink. "Not really." I hadn't even used one of Noemi's potions. I wanted to push myself to do this without causing an accident that would require a potion to correct. "I just wanted to give you the dress that you deserve. Like all the brides that come through here."
Ysolde looks down at me from her dais and smiles. "It's perfect."
We are immediately interrupted by what seems to be a swarm of orc women, who come up to the dais to look at the finery up close.
"Oh, Ysolde!" Ysolde's younger sister Saskia gushes. "It's stunning. Duran is going to fall in love with you all over again."
"Well, it's easy with a bride as beautiful as Ysolde," Brynna says defensively.
"Oh, I hope this will be me one day," the youngest of the Oakenshade sisters, Mirelle, says wistfully, playing with the skirt fabric in her hands.
I step back, letting the orc family look at the dress, giving them space to critique my choices or ask questions. It doesn't seem like they have much in the way of changes — truly, most of their comments are just about how beautiful the dress is.
