Chapter 17 #2
“And crochet. It was the best thing in my life for a while.” I told Lyriel about crochet, about how I’d picked it up from a woman at a thrift store in Wichita who was selling handmade scarves and took pity on the skinny blond kid who kept touching the yarn.
“And you also made those tiny trousers?” Lyriel stared at my legs.
“I make all my shorts. No one in Qoksmere…” A tiny giggle slipped out at the name; I cleared my throat and tried to look serious.
“Sorry, that name means a thing in my language. Anyway, does no one at all wear shorts? I noticed an ogre in a loincloth thing, and I think that was the closest I’ve seen. ”
“You’re the first that I’m aware of,” she said cheerfully.
I bit my bottom lip. “Do you think my shorts are offending people? Like, I want to be me, but I don’t want the Queen to execute me.”
She waved me off. “We understand that every species has their cultural traditions.”
“Twink isn’t actually a species, though…”
“So? It’s your culture, right? And who knows, other people might enjoy the shorts!”
“I’m sure they will! Shorts are the single most important piece of fashion, in my opinion. So versatile! You can dress them up, or dress them down. They work for any occasion.”
She eyed the shorts, looking unconvinced.
“Whatever. A land with no shorts is a travesty. I’m adding it to my list of things to fix about this place.”
“Well, I may not understand your need to have your entire thigh bare—”
“Because they need to breathe!”
“But either way, they’re wonderfully made,” she said. “And I look forward to having your fresh take on the things we create here. Would you like to learn more about our process?”
“Oh yes! Do you weave magic into all the stitches?”
She shook her head. “Only when necessary. We mustn’t be callous with our magic, lest our well run dry.”
“Your well can run dry?” I hadn’t thought of that when Aeldryc had described it.
She touched her chest. “Yes, it’s a finite resource. Use too much, too fast…” She made a little puffing gesture with her fingers. “It’s gone.”
“And then you can’t do magic?”
“And then you die,” she said simply.
I froze, a sudden, horrifying image of my custom-made sex swing turning Aeldryc into a pile of dust. “You die? But Aeldryc uses his all the time!”
Lyriel smiled. “Your Aeldryc has a very deep well. He could live for centuries more. But battle, or great workings of iron... they take their toll.”
“So, a small amount of bending metal for... recreational purposes... would be fine, right?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“That,” she said, brushing off her skirts, “you’d have to ask him. I save mine for emergencies. I’m horrifyingly bad at contoured pleats if I don’t use a little spell to hold the shape. Don’t tell my staff.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” I mimed locking my lips and throwing away the key.
She grinned at me. “The moment Aeldryc told me about you, I knew we’d be friends. And the way he dotes on you!”
“If your goal is to become my best friend, flattering me about that man’s affections for me is an excellent first start.”
“’Tis not flattery, ’tis the truth. Now tell me, what is your favorite fabric art?”
“I love to sew but my absolute favorite is crochet.” When she tilted her head in question, I clarified. “It’s a yarn craft. Similar to knitting?”
“Ah, then I have just the thing!” Digging through a basket, she handed me three skeins of soft yarn in gorgeous colors; a soft pink, a deep blue, a bold red. It was spun from the softest wool I’d ever touched, with a natural, handmade texture that would have cost a fortune back in San Jose.
“Can I—”
“Please. I’d love to see what you create.”
I held the yarn to my cheek, telling myself I was not going to cry. I was not someone who cried over gifts. I was not someone people gave gifts to, and I was not going to fall apart just because that had changed.
“Hey,” Lyriel said. She had stopped and was looking at me with her eyes wide and gentle. “Are you okay?”
“I’m great.” My voice cracked, and a tear rolled down my cheek and landed on the yarn. “I’m amazing. This is the nicest workshop I’ve ever been in, and you’re the nicest person, and this yarn is lovely and I love it, and I just—”
I took a shaky breath. Lyriel was quiet, giving me space for whatever I needed to say.
“Where I come from, sewing is a hobby. A cute hobby. Something you do when you should be studying for a degree you hate.”
Lyriel’s expression was uncomprehending. “A hobby?”
“Nobody looks at a guy who sews his own shorts and says, ‘Wow, what a valuable skill, let me give you an apprenticeship!’” I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “They say, ‘That’s cute. So what’s your real job?’”
“Making clothing can’t be a real job?”
“It can be, for a select few, but I was always told it’s an impossible dream.”
Lyriel straightened and her green eyes sparked with anger.
“That’s the most terrible thing I’ve ever heard,” she said.
“Textile work is one of the most respected crafts in Qoksmere. The Queen wears my garments. Every bolt of fabric in this palace passed through my staff, through this workshop or one of the others. I manage a staff of dozens! We dress a kingdom, Pip. And I would be proud to give someone talented a place to shine.”
We dress a kingdom.
I smiled. “Really?”
“How could anyone tell you textile work isn’t a good career path?” She was worked up now, pacing back and forth. “What do people do where you’re from? Do they not wear clothes? Use blankets? Put curtains over their windows?”
“It’s just different. One person designs something and it is made thousands of times in a factory, with machines.”
Lyriel looked horrified. “So you all dress the same, like you’re wearing a uniform for the Queen’s guard?”
“Not exactly.” How did I explain fast fashion to a woman who was in the middle of a project like the one on the dress form?
“Well, however things work where you’re from, that’s not how it is here. We craft each piece with love and care, and people treasure our work. And finding someone with talent and vision is a gift! I would never tell someone their dreams are impossible. Imagine.”
I looked around the workshop: at the workers and at the baskets of yarn and shelves of fabric that ran floor to ceiling, a library of materials waiting to be turned into something beautiful.
“Show me what you’re working on,” I said, wiping the last tear from my cheek. “Show me everything.”
She showed me around the workshops—there were seven of them in total, from the loom room to the fabric storage, and I was buzzing with excitement by the time we came back to her studio, to the dress form holding Lyriel’s current project: a gown for the Queen.
The fabric was a shimmering violet, rare and beautiful.
“So this is for the Queen?”
“Yes. The staff creates things for the entire palace, from maids to guards to the ladies-in-waiting—curtains and bedcoverings, too. Grukk handles the refined male fashions for Frost and a few high lords, while Marta and Nessa assist me with the Queen’s gowns,” Lyriel said, hovering over the gown with the anxiety of a craftsperson who wasn’t sure she’d gotten it right.
I circled the dress form, looking at the drape of the skirt panels, the structure of the bodice, and the way the fabric caught light, my fingers twitching.
“Can I touch?”
“Please.”
I picked up the edge of a skirt panel and held it against the bodice, draping it the way it would fall when assembled. The fabric moved like water.
“The bodice is incredible,” I said. “The structure feels like it’s part of the weave itself, not like you’ve inserted stays. That’s genius. The shape is perfect.”
“But?”
I looked at her, a little nervous to say it.
“Come, Pip, just spit it out. Something is off, and I know it.”
“The neckline,” I said. “You’ve got it cut high, and it feels severe for her majesty.
But at another angle”—I draped the panel across the bodice on a diagonal—“see how it shimmers? The light moves through it. If you drop the neckline, turn this piece of fabric on the bias, and widen it to here”—I traced a line with my finger—“you get this sweep that frames the collarbones, and the shimmer catches right where the light hits.”
Lyriel stared at the drape I was holding, then grabbed a piece of chalk from the table and started marking the bodice.
“On the bias,” she muttered, her hands moving fast. “If I do that, the sleeves can drop to here, wider on the shoulder.”
“Yes!” I said. “And the skirt join can sit lower too, which gives more movement.”
“What if you drop the waist by an inch and add a godet panel here and here, so when she turns—”
“—the fabric fans out—”
“—and the shimmer catches the light in a full circle—”
“—and it looks like she’s wearing starlight!”
Grukk grunted approvingly.
“Grukk agrees,” Lyriel said. “You must help me with these changes! And you must teach us this crochet technique you mentioned.”
As she chattered on about what we needed to get done, I beamed at her, unable to believe my good luck.