Chapter 7
The fibers slipped through Jessa’s fingers like captured sunlight.
She sat at her mother’s spinning wheel, feeding the processed sunvine strands into the twist, watching them transform from raw material into something miraculous.
The thread that emerged was finer than anything she’d ever produced—gossamer-thin but impossibly strong, with a luminous quality that seemed to glow even in the dim light of the cottage.
Soak them until they become supple. Coat them in oil to preserve the flexibility.
Tarek’s instructions played through her mind for the hundredth time.
She’d followed them exactly, soaking the dried vines in a basin of cool water for the better part of a day, then rubbing them with the lightest oil she had—a precious bottle of pressed sunflower seeds that her mother had kept for special projects.
The transformation had been remarkable. What had been brittle and fragile became soft and pliable, the individual fibers separating easily. The oil had improved the quality of the fibers far beyond that of her first batch.
Behind her, Dani dozed in her chair, her breathing easy, at least for the moment.
She knew it wouldn’t last. Her hands tightened on the wheel, but she forced herself to focus.
The thread was what mattered right now. If she could produce the cloth, she could obtain the medicine.
She could buy them time to figure a way out of this trap.
She worked through the afternoon and into the evening, the rhythmic whir of the spinning wheel a familiar comfort. By the time full darkness fell, she had enough thread to fill three bobbins—more than enough for a small sample piece.
The loom waited in the corner. She rose from the spinning wheel, stretching muscles that ached from hours of concentrated work, and crossed to begin the process of warping.
Setting up a loom was tedious work, requiring patience and precision.
Each warp thread had to be measured exactly, wound onto the beam with consistent tension, and threaded through the heddles in the correct sequence.
It was the kind of work that usually required multiple sessions spread across several days.
She did it in one night.
She worked by lamplight, her fingers sure and steady even though her mind drifted elsewhere. Back to the mountain and the warmth of strong arms holding her close. Back to emerald eyes that had looked at her with something that made her heart skip a beat before he’d turned away.
Stop it, she told herself firmly. He helped me. That’s all. He’ll name his price eventually, and that will be the end of it.
But she couldn’t quite make herself believe it.
By dawn, the loom was ready. She allowed herself a few hours of restless sleep, curled up next to Dani so she could hear if her sister’s breathing changed. When she woke, stiff and unrested, she moved directly to the loom and began to weave.
The cloth that emerged was extraordinary.
The sunvine thread wove smoothly, integrating with the cotton warp to create a fabric unlike anything she had ever produced, even finer than her previous effort.
It had the softness of silk, the durability of linen, and that strange luminous quality that made it seem to capture and hold light.
As she worked, she found herself experimenting with different patterns and tensions, discovering what the material could do.
It wanted to be woven loosely, she decided. It wanted room to breathe and let the light pass through its golden strands. When she accommodated that tendency, the fabric became almost translucent—a gossamer veil that shimmered with internal radiance.
But when she wove it tighter, compressing the threads together with firm beats of the beater bar, it became something else entirely. The golden glow shifted to a warm amber, and the fabric took on a weight and substance that belied its delicate appearance.
Both versions were beautiful. Both versions were valuable. And the profit from both versions, she knew with bitter certainty, would end up in Gerhard’s pocket. Her uncle’s last visit had made his terms clear.
“Keep your mouth shut when Halwick returns,” he’d said, standing in her doorway with that smooth, reasonable expression that she’d learned to despise. “Let me handle the negotiations. Smile, nod, and don’t speak unless spoken to directly.”
“And if I don’t?”
He’d glanced towards the chair where Dani was napping, his expression unchanged. “Your sister has such a fragile constitution. It would be a shame if her medicine were… delayed.”
She had wanted to scream. She’d wanted to throw something at his placid, well-fed face. But Dani had stirred in her sleep, coughing softly, so she swallowed her rage and nodded.
What choice did she have?
She wove for two days straight, stopping only to feed Dani and force herself to eat a few bites of bread and cheese.
On the morning of the fifth day, she cut the finished fabric from the loom and held it up to the light.
She’d only created two small scarves, but the quality was unmistakable.
The golden threads caught the sunlight streaming through the window, and for a moment the entire cottage seemed to glow.
“It’s beautiful,” Dani said quietly.
She turned to find her sister sitting up in her chair, pale but alert, her eyes fixed on the shimmering cloth. Dani was having a good day—her breathing was clearer, her cheeks held a hint of color, and she’d managed to eat an entire bowl of oatmeal.
“A beautiful cage,” she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them, and Dani frowned at her.
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head, folding the scarves carefully and tucking them into her satchel. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
But it did matter. Every thread of that beautiful cloth was a chain binding her more tightly to Gerhard’s schemes. Every shimmer of gold was another link in the trap that was closing around them.
“The trader’s coming back today,” Dani said quietly.
“Yes.”
“And Uncle Gerhard will be here.”
“Yes.”
Dani was quiet for a moment, her thin fingers pleating the blanket in her lap.
“I hate him,” she said finally, her voice small but fierce.
“I know you’re not supposed to hate family, but I do.
I hate how he looks at you. I hate how he talks about Mama’s things like they’re his.
I hate—” Her voice broke, and she pressed her lips together hard.
Jessa crossed to the chair and gathered her sister into her arms. “I know,” she murmured against Dani’s dark hair. “I know. But we have to be smart. We have to be careful.”
“For how long?”
Forever, she thought bleakly. Until he’s taken everything and there’s nothing left.
But she didn’t say that. She just held her sister tighter and prayed for strength she wasn’t sure she had.
The knock came at midday.
She’d known it was coming. She’d been watching through the window as the trader rode into the village.
She’d seen Gerhard emerge from his store to greet Halwick with the effusive warmth of a man who smelled profit.
But the knock still made her flinch and sent her heart racing with a mixture of dread and desperate hope.
She smoothed her hair, adjusted her apron, and opened the door.
Gerhard stood on the threshold with Trader Halwick behind him. Her uncle’s expression held that familiar blend of smugness and threat, his eyes flicking past her to where Dani sat curled in her chair.
“Ah, there she is,” Gerhard said warmly, despite the warning in his eyes. “My talented niece. I’ve been telling Halwick all about your progress, my dear. He’s most eager to see what you’ve produced.”
She stepped back, allowing them to enter. The cottage felt smaller with both men inside, the air thick with Gerhard’s cologne and the earthy scent of the road that clung to Halwick’s clothes.
“Miss Allenby.” Halwick dipped his head in greeting, already scanning the room for the cloth. “Your uncle speaks very highly of your work. I confess I’m curious to see if his claims are justified.”
His claims. As if any of this had been Gerhard’s doing.
She retrieved the folded fabric from her satchel and laid it on the table. The sunlight caught it perfectly, sending golden light dancing across the walls.
Halwick went very still.
“May I?” he asked, his voice carefully controlled.
She nodded, and he lifted the cloth with the reverent touch of a man handling something sacred. He held both scarves up to the light, turned them this way and that, rubbing the fabric between his fingers with an expression of growing wonder.
“This is…” He paused, visibly searching for words. “Miss Allenby, this is extraordinary. The quality, the luminosity—I’ve never seen anything like it. Not in thirty years of trade.”
“Didn’t I tell you?” Gerhard’s voice was rich with satisfaction. “My niece is a true artist. A credit to our family.”
Our family. Her fingernails bit into her palms, but she kept her expression pleasant and her mouth shut.
Halwick set the cloth down with obvious reluctance. “I’ll take everything you can produce,” he said. “How much do you want for it?”
She opened her mouth—
“Now, now,” Gerhard interrupted smoothly, stepping between them. “Let’s not be hasty. My niece is an artisan, not a merchant. She has no head for business, I’m afraid. Best to let me handle the negotiations.”
Halwick’s eyebrows rose slightly, his gaze flicking to her with something that might have been understanding, but he was a businessman, and her uncle clearly controlled the supply. Whatever sympathy he might have felt, profit would always come first.
“Very well,” Halwick said. “What terms do you propose?”