Chapter 44 Astrid #2
“Apologies, Your Highness. I’m Agata, head Weaver.
” She tears leaves from a sprig of mint and places them in a teacup.
“I’ll be leading the Measuring today; and I must say, I’m rather glad it’ll be in a much more civilized manner than it usually is.
Princess Skylar is already settled with the queen, so we’ll just get these drinks sorted,” she says, as she pours hot water into the cup, “and head straight over there, where I’ll explain how this is going to work.
And for you?” she says to Gwen as she passes Astrid her steaming cup.
“Nothing, thank you.”
“Splendid! Well, then let’s press on, shall we?”
Astrid likes the Weaver, she decides, as they follow her over to the tent, then through a pair of copper-colored silk curtains. Inside, Skylar and Ottilie are sitting in silence while a nervous-looking young man cowers in the corner.
“Beni, come over here, boy. My assistant,” Agata says by way of explanation as he rushes to his mistress’s side. “Princess Astrid, Queen Guinevere, please, take a seat, won’t you?”
Astrid joins Skylar on the chaise, while Gwen sits in an armchair on the opposite side of the tent, across from Ottilie.
The Vatran queen has changed since the meeting with the Custodian this morning, and is overdressed compared to the rest of them in their simple tunics and leggings—or shorts in Skylar’s case.
Ottilie’s wearing a rich burgundy gown with wide sleeves and a gold sash around the waist. There’s a look of bland impatience on her face as she sits ramrod straight in her chair, a glass of water held primly in her lap.
Was she forced to come by the king for some reason? It’s doubtful Skylar wanted her here.
“It’s a pleasure to host you this afternoon, Your Royal Majesties, Your Highnesses.
As you know, I’m the head Weaver here at The Rok, where I work primarily with Queen Ottilie on all things from official court fashion to soft furnishings.
I am a rare Prime in my order in that I am a master of all natural fabrics and materials, able to Weave all to my will”—Astrid notes the quiet pride—“and because of that, I’ll be leading the team as we prepare your battle attire this afternoon.
Princess Astrid, Queen Guinevere, we’ve set up an area for you over there”—she gestures to the back left of the tent, which is sectioned off—“and Princess Skylar and My Queen will be in there.” She points to the back right.
“You’re separating us?” Skylar asks, and Astrid doesn’t miss the flicker of alarm as she glances to Ottilie. She obviously doesn’t want to be on her own with the queen, not when this could take a while.
“That really won’t be necessary,” Astrid says to Agata.
“On the contrary, Princess.” Agata presses a hand to her chest. “You will each need your privacy to discuss duel tactics with your team! It would be highly unorthodox and against all tradition—”
“Tradition can get fuc—”
“What Skylar means to say”—Astrid interrupts her—“is that we have already done away with much of the tradition of the Measuring, and we would prefer to remain together.”
There’s an awkward silence as the Weaver looks between the queens; but as both merely shift uncomfortably and don’t actually object, there isn’t much she can do. A wide smile emerges on her face as Agata bounces back admirably from the small hiccup in her plans.
“Very well, then. My colleagues and I have been preparing designs for you to choose from, but before I bring them in to show you, can you tell me if you have a material and a color preference in mind? If you share a few ideas, I can select swatches.”
“I don’t care,” Skylar says, “just make sure whatever I’m wearing isn’t flammable.
And that I have somewhere to keep a couple of daggers.
” Astrid notes Skylar’s clenched fist, the lack of emotion in her voice.
She’s barely holding it together. And why should she?
They’re being asked what they want to wear when they try to kill each other. It’s outrageous, frankly.
“Perhaps, Agata, we stick to a Vatran palette?” Ottilie says. “Red and gold do suit her coloring.”
To Astrid’s surprise, Skylar doesn’t protest.
Agata nods. “And you, Princess Astrid?”
“I want something breathable, and I want to be covered. Color-wise, I’d prefer something silver.”
“Ahh, silver for Arturea,” Agata says knowingly.
Astrid is about to correct her, but Skylar cuts in. “No, not light silver. She wants a gray silver—the kind of silver you find in a storm.”
Astrid is struck speechless, because that is exactly what she wants.
Yes, silver for Arturea, of course, but she wants something that will feel more representative of her mood around this duel—the shadows inside her, the conflict of emotion, the fury—like a storm.
And, yes, pathetically she may have thought of Zryan’s eyes, and she has an awful feeling Skylar knows that.
The Weaver looks unsure what to do, so Astrid inclines her head. “She’s right. Thank you, Agata.”
“As you wish it, Princesses. Do talk amongst yourselves while I prepare, then. Shan’t be long!” With a swish of her periwinkle skirts, she flounces out of the tent.
Astrid sips her tea, the mint easing her roiling stomach.
She pauses when she realizes both queens are staring at her and Skylar.
Staring, she guesses, because of what the two heirs have just revealed in their interactions.
They are meant to be enemies, and if not that, at least strangers to each other—but they’re neither of those things.
Not even close. Astrid reaches for her shoulder and a cat that isn’t there, and she curses the fact that she said he didn’t have to come.
He’s on a flying lesson with Kaida and Mjolnir, of all things.
Bjorn stayed behind to spectate like a mother hen.
“How long is this going to take?” Skylar asks, examining her nails in a good show of nonchalance.
“I can always ask Agata to hurry it along,” Astrid’s mother answers. “Get this over with.”
Skylar’s amber eyes narrow on Gwen. “This hasn’t exactly gone to plan for you, has it?” She’s not talking about the Measuring. “Turns out I wasn’t such an easy option in the end, was I?”
“Skylar,” Astrid says sharply. Skylar drags her eyes away from Gwen, her face softening when she looks at Astrid, half an apology in her expression, half a Well what do you expect?
It’s her fault I’m here. Then she goes back to examining her nails.
Astrid waits for her mother’s response, but instead Gwen turns to the Vatran queen.
“Ottilie, I’ve been meaning to ask. Astrid mentioned a tapestry that she’d seen around the castle, featuring Nyx with a wand and a mate mark. I’d be intrigued to see it, but Astrid couldn’t remember where it was. Do you know the one?”
Astrid’s stomach drops to the floor. She thought this day couldn’t get any worse, but now her mother has inadvertently let slip to Ottilie that Astrid has broken into the Royal Library.
Lowering her teacup to the floor, Astrid wills her features to remain neutral, innocent, then dares to look at Ottilie.
The queen’s eyes—so like her son’s—are locked on Astrid, her face now a sickly yellow.
She’s visibly disturbed by the fact Astrid has seen the tapestry.
Astrid remembers again her summoning charm, the truth, supposedly, in that tapestry.
What does Ottilie know that has her so worried about Astrid seeing it?
“Ah, Gwen, we must have thousands of tapestries throughout the castle,” Ottilie says jovially, but her knuckles are white where she’s holding her glass of water.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you, though I’d be fascinated to see it myself if what your daughter says is true. I’ve never heard of Nyx having a mate.”
She doesn’t, Astrid notes, claim the same about the wand.
“When did you… happen across it, Astrid?” Ottilie asks, and Astrid knows what she’s really asking: When did you trespass in my library?
Oh Goddess, she’ll think someone showed it to her, because otherwise how would Astrid have gotten in?
Astrid feels the color rising in her cheeks, her telltale pale skin always giving her away.
“It was just after we first arrived,” Gwen answers for her, and Astrid internally groans.
Ottilie’s eyebrows scrunch together. “And have you seen it since?”
“No,” Astrid says, but she’s too quick to deny it. “No, sadly not.” She smiles vapidly, but she’s not sure she pulls it off. It certainly doesn’t convince Ottilie. It’s a wonder she hasn’t broken the glass she’s holding.
The copper curtains whoosh open, and she’s supremely grateful for Agata’s timing as the Weaver strides in with a small army at her back, all of them laden with fabrics and sketches, and they descend upon Astrid and Skylar like a swarm of locusts.
The swarm divides into two teams, one for each heir, and start poring over drawings, Astrid nodding along intently and thinking—with a sharp pang now and then—how much Jessa would have simultaneously loved and loathed this.
“Whatever I’m wearing, I’ll have this on,” she says to her group, gesturing to the Brewer’s Belt—a lot of admiring nods greet this proclamation. The pendant will also stay on; Jessa will be with her when she enters that arena.
They lift Astrid to standing, reveal an assortment of measuring tapes and pins, and ask her to strip to her underwear, before proceeding to work their way around her body more thoroughly than an overzealous lover.
While Astrid is being prodded and pulled in every which way, Skylar is still fully clothed and no one has laid a finger on her.
She can see Skylar getting stiffer and stiffer as the team avoids going too near her, and Astrid can’t stand it any longer.