Chapter Eleven
The Rose
‘A deceptively simple stitch that in reality requires complete mastery of the needle to express its complexity. For the expert seamstress, it supplies a pleasing and sophisticated addition to any design.’
—An Exhaustive Compendium of Stitches
We arrived at Milady’s mansion late that night.
I had watched Quell disappear behind us and then stared out the window at the little hamlets we passed through until all the light had drained from the sky, leaving nothing but blackness and the whispered presence of a few clouds, subtly lit by a hidden moon.
I felt equally drained—empty of emotion.
Empty of thought. I knew that later I would grieve, but for now, I was content to rest my forehead on the cool glass and stare through it, glad for this short reprieve.
For a time, Milady and I had talked, as she asked me questions about Mother and our life together in the Tower, but we had been silent for a while now. Milady appeared to be asleep, but I could not rest—and by the sounds of his little claws scuttling on the roof above, neither could Baldbeak.
My fingers itched for my embroidery. It had burned in the bookshop, of course, along with everything else.
I had the handkerchief containing my mother’s hairs stuffed into my pocket, but that was all that remained of my worldly possessions—aside from the yellow dress I wore, now smeared with ash.
I thought of the porcupine mask, which I had discarded on the ground outside the crematorium when I rushed in.
Mieka had said it was expensive, and I felt a brief pang.
I wished I had never joined her for Plaguenight.
The destruction of the bookshop and the death of the Book Man—and I felt that he must be dead, despite the fact that I hadn’t seen his body—felt like a judgement on me for choosing to leave and enjoy the frivolity of the festival with my new friend, rather than stay behind and ready myself for the journey to Spire.
If I had just stayed at the shop, I felt, I could somehow have prevented everything.
Maybe we could have left for Spire tonight, and I would be sitting in a carriage with the Book Man beside me, smelling his scent of old paper and glue rather than Milady’s flowery perfume that threatened to become cloying before long.
Mother had been right, I thought—magic needed to be kept in check, caged with rules and structure.
Look what happened when it was allowed to run free.
I racked my brain to think of anything, any small clue, that Mother might have let slip that would tell me what her all-encompassing ‘great work’ was.
I felt very stupid, now. Mieka wouldn’t have put up with not knowing.
She would have demanded answers and, if denied them, would have stormed out of the Tower long ago.
But my whole world had been Mother, and her whole world had been her work.
Everything I knew before leaving the Tower, I knew because she had taught it to me.
Even Baldbeak had known more of Virelith than I did.
I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable.
The showers of sugar during the festival had left me sticky and stained, my skin a patchwork of pastel colors.
The rain and the floating ash from the fire had melted into the sugar and created a sort of gray paste that collected in the crooks of my elbows and every crease in my wrists and hands.
I hoped that I would be able to take a bath when we reached the house, but I also felt that my discomfort was just, even earned.
In that moment, I felt like I didn’t deserve to be comfortable ever again.
The rumble of the carriage wheels over the packed dirt roads turned into a sort of churning rattle. We must be on loose gravel, I thought.
Milady roused herself, yawning prettily, and smiled at me.
“We are here,” she said. “Edevane House. Your home.”
My home. The words felt strange. I wished it were light still, and I could see the place, but I had to make do with the scrunch of the carriage wheels and the dim glow of a couple of glims up ahead.
We paused as someone jumped down to open a gate—a loud scraping sound—and then drove at a reduced pace down a long driveway.
Finally, I could see something of the house—but all I could really tell was that it was very large. Glims lined the driveway at intervals, leading to a darker square against the night sky, lights burning in a few of the windows. The carriage wheeled about and came to a halt.
“Come along, my dear,” said Milady.
A footman helped her down from the carriage, then took my arm as well. I flinched back from the touch instinctively, then muttered an apology. His face was completely blank. Baldbeak fluttered down from the roof and landed heavily on my shoulder. I could feel his fatigue.
“Are you all right?” I whispered.
I don’t like this place, he said. It feels like the Tower.
“It’s probably the wards,” I murmured. I could feel them thrumming in the air about me—more powerful than Mother’s, I thought.
I reached up to scratch around his beak, soothed by its familiar feel and the nudge of his head against my hand.
We followed Milady to a sweep of shallow steps before a large door, and she stopped.
“Your little pet will have to stay outside, my dear,” she said.
My hand went to him instinctively. “Can he not come in? He …”
“I’m afraid not,” she said implacably.
“But …”
“We can discuss it further in the morning.”
Baldbeak and I exchanged glances.
I will be all right, he said. I do not want to go in there.
“I know, but I would rather stay together,” I whispered.
“Netta. Come along.”
I will be nearby, Baldbeak promised. He pushed off from my shoulder and dissolved into the night.
Milady smiled and took my arm as we mounted the steps to where what I supposed was the staff waited in a line to greet her, all impeccably turned out and completely silent.
The housekeeper stood just inside the door, ramrod straight.
Milady gave her some orders while I looked about me.
I had never seen such wealth. The wood paneling, the gigantic curlicued staircase, the paintings, the elaborate knotted rugs … It all shone with money and a certain cool awareness, as if the place itself accepted all this finery as its due.
“This is where your mother and I grew up,” said Milady, watching my reaction. “Can you believe that she chose to leave all this?”
Actually, I could believe it. It was so difficult to imagine Mother here.
The austerity of the Tower suited her, and it was difficult to imagine her set face and gray eyes amongst all this splendor.
Milady, on the other hand, fit as perfectly into the lavish surroundings as a precious stone in a gold setting.
“She wasn’t always happy here,” continued Milady, leaning forward and speaking to me in a lowered voice, as if confiding in me.
Her movement released another heady gust of her perfume, making me almost dizzy for a moment.
“She was a … difficult girl, in many ways. Very headstrong.” She patted my hand and gave a laugh as pure and high as a bell.
“I certainly hope you haven’t inherited that! ”
I didn’t know what to say, so I gave an approximation of a smile and hoped that would be enough.
“Let me show you to your room.” She took my hand and tucked it under her arm, pulling me close to her. “It is the very nicest one. Besides my own, of course.” Another tinkling laugh.
“Was it my mother’s room?”
“I’m afraid your mother’s room has been closed up for some time. My poor father …” She sighed. “He couldn’t bear to look at it, once she left us. He locked the door and hid the key—I was never able to find it. He died without ever opening it again.”
“Can you tell me about what happened—when Mother left, I mean?”
“She was pregnant,” said Milady, briefly and disapprovingly. Pregnant with me. I wondered if I could ask Milady about my father—but her expression was forbidding. Perhaps later.
“She knew Father would be furious,” Milady went on. “They used to be close, but had a falling-out when he refused to recognize her as his heir. She left in the middle of the night, having switched garb with her lady’s maid to get past Father’s guard.”
She said these last words as she unlocked the door to what would be my room.
A four-poster bed piled high with pillows; painted furniture with gilded trim; and that elusive floral scent permeating everything.
It was thickly carpeted, the nap so soft underfoot that it muffled all sound.
I felt like I could drop to my knees and bury my hands in it as if I were scratching the fluff of a dog’s belly.
“I will see about getting you a lady’s maid of your own,” said Milady.
“Oh, I don’t need—”
“Nonsense,” she said briskly. “Perhaps one of the under-maids is deserving of a promotion … Although really, if we are to bring you into society, we need someone on the very edge of fashion. I will ask my housekeeper to place an advertisement.”
“Society?”
She looked at me, wide-eyed. “But of course, my dear. You are my niece. You will need to take your proper place as a member of the family.” She patted my hand.
“It is nothing to worry about. We will make sure you look the part, of course, and that you meet the right people … And as befits a daughter of the house of Edevane, I will prepare you for an advantageous marriage.”
If possible, my voice got even higher. “Marriage?”