The Stumpwork Robe (The Chronicles of Eirie 1) (17 page)

She passed her glass to Kholi to refill.
‘You can say what you like but she murdered her parents. I had seen her spend time with a herb-gathering crone and I shall bet my life she asked for details of botanical poisons. We all had an idea of what was poisonous or not but her unfortunate parents had more than a bellyful of sickly toadstools. They died in silent and most fearful pain.’ Adelina emptied her glass and rolled it in her hands.
‘She made a thing of grief as we buried them, but a day later the Count arrived.’

'Di Accia!' Kholi broke in.

'Indeed. He was hugely wealthy, anyone could see that. Severine sold herself to him, everyone knew she seduced him on the first night because the next day she wore an opal with diamonds around her neck and left with him immediately, no sign of grievous loss or pain on that face, just an arrogant, cold smugness.’

Adelina finished with a sigh, not relaying that Severine had glanced back as she left that day and bestowed such a look on the Traveller.
Cross my path,
it said
and you will pay. Be warned.
‘So you see, she is dire... no, let us be truly honest here.’ Her body resonated with unequivocal disgust. ‘She is a murderer, as evil as the most unseelie Other.’

Buckerfield’s large attic with its massive worktable became Adelina’s studio, the room warmed by a quaint circular stove decorated with roses and birds, and she was content to work for hours with snow drifting down outside and the measured tick of an old mantel clock filling the interior space. Ana took to joining her and she was set to work sorting threads, beads and fabrics because Adelina needed to know exactly what she possessed to begin this major piece, to have everything ordered and neat.

Butterflies darted against the walls of her stomach as she laid out the fabric ready to cut, as if something momentous might happen. So much so she wondered if the result might be cataclysmic. Would she ruin the fabric? Aine, it worried her. Her hands shook as she took up the scissors and the blades squeaked as her fingers forced them apart. The fabric split with each cut; snip, snip snip, like ice cracking on a hoary pond.

Before long she had the pieces sectioned and stood staring mindfully - how to proceed? And then she thought that if she tacked it together, she would have a succinct idea of how the embroidery design should be and how each ‘scene’ could be linked to the next. ‘Ana, come here. You shall be my dressmaker’s dummy for a moment. Twist your hair up and shed that bulky top. I want to fit this and your shape is a common enough one.’

‘You do have a way with words, Adelina.’

‘I mean you are of an average height and breadth. Now hold still.’

She began to drape and place and pin and the robe took shape over Ana’s
body. With her mouth full of pins she articulated garbled instructions. ‘Turn this way, that, mmm. Mind the pins. Shift your arm that way, this.’ Under her fingers the cool silk responded, moulding and falling until she deemed it perfect. She stepped back.

Ana stood like a queen. She, the fabric and the design were made for each other and as Adelina studied her, it seemed she had become Other in her loveliness and quite simply the robe could be worn by no one else. Adelina knew that a masterpiece was about to be created and just for once, the awful blackness of her intuition faded away and left her with the creamy sheen of the gown. The collar lay up Ana’s neck, defining a swan-like arch. The shoulder fell away to cling to her full breasts, showing the rise and fall of the cleavage until the fabric flared in front and behind, cascading to the floor in an expanse of frothing cream, exaggerated by godets. 'Oh,' Adelina held her fingers to her lips. 'Turn and walk to the end of the room and then come back.'

Ana grabbed a piece of the silk in her fingers and twitched the folds around behind her as she turned, an unquestionably regal gesture as if she was born to the wearing of such a garment. She walked the length of the attic and stopped just as the door opened and two curious heads poked around. Turning in the same manner and seemingly oblivious to her audience, she walked back, the robe rustling, her head held higher, her shoulders straighter.

Liam pushed the door wider. His eyes darkened and his face stilled as
he watched and Adelina could only think of iniquity and her heartbeat thundered like ceremonial drums. Ana’s faraway gaze sharpened as she realised he was in the room and she met him glance for glance with libidinousness in her eyes.

Liam spoke into the explosive silence.
'Adelina, I will pay you whatever you want. Please make the robe for Ana. I want her to wear it when we marry.'

***

I can’t begin to tell you how horrified I felt as Liam uttered those words. As you read on, you will see for yourself. Life just seemed to have pulled away from my control and I hated the feeling...

But we have travelled a long way around the bottom right hem band and followed bees and ladybirds into the first godet, haven’t we? The godets themselves have provided almost their own page of detail, thick with stumpwork as they are. And we are about to follow the hem further around to the back where I have inserted another godet to increase that regal sweep. This time, I’m sure you will find the object of our search easily.

There is a lion, tawny and gold, not unlike my own colouring. He is worked in padded long and short stitch. Underneath the rich bullion stitch of his mane is a tawny journal which will expand to a thick read. You will notice our tawny king lies under a spray of mauve foxgloves and on a grassy mound made of green chenille thread. Entirely inappropriate of course, he should be lying under some vast Raji umbrella tree on brownish native grass. But I believe in poetic licence and I think the mauve is a perfect foil for his coat and the green chenille mound a nice place under which to hide another book.

I wonder if you have realized yet, that the designs I created on this robe were my attempt at controlling something, something
I
contrived, something that I could make or break at my own whim
despite
my gaoler, maybe even because of my gaoler. Being imprisoned, one loses control of one’s life completely. Embroidery and the writing of the journals gave it back.

Chapter Twenty Five

Kholi grabbed Liam in a celebratory grasp and proceeded to shout his excitement in loud Raji dialect. He clasped Ana to his chest and hugged her, kissing the top of her head as her eyes sparkled at the joy Kholi radiated. Liam watched almost paternally. Adelina felt there was a sense of complete ownership in his eyes and under her breath she muttered ‘I knew it, I knew he’d take her.’

‘What did you say, Adelina? Are you not happy for us?’ Liam fixed her to the spot so that she felt like a fish caught on the hook and about to be impaled by the fisherman’s knife. She busied herself with removing the pins from her mouth, transferring them to a tin and then placing the lid on, a prevaricating measure, time to think, to say something that might give her a strategic edge.

‘Adelina?’

‘Well,’ she began slowly. ‘It seems to me, when any man wants to marry a woman, he is beholden to ask her family formally for her hand. And as Ana has foregone her blood relatives and as she named me her highway kin... do you remember, Ana... then I have not had such a question put to me. So I can’t say how I feel just yet.’

‘Adelina…’ Ana’s impatience crackled in the air.

‘No, Ana, I would feel less than responsible if this were not carried out with proper protocol. I’m sorry.’

‘Kholi?’ Ana turned to the merchant whose brow had creased.

‘Ah, my princess.’ Prevarication again, this time from her lover and Adelina was glad. ‘Well, I’m sorry, but you are our family as Adelina rightly says and we would be reprehensible if we did not do this properly. If this were my sister Lalita, I would expect the same. You understand?’

Liam meanwhile had looked at the embroiderer, closed his eyes and
shaken his head imperceptibly. Not a bad move - oh, she knew what he was thinking, but he walked over to her as she sat at the worktable. His plea when it came could be perceived as emotive and poignant or, Adelina thought, as underhanded game play that nullified her move immediately.

‘Adelina, if I ask with my heart and my soul, swearing on my life that I will care for her, may I have Ana’s hand in marriage?’

‘Huh, it is pointless you swearing on your life, Liam. You are Other, you are immortal.’

‘Adelina,’ Ana hit the table with her bare palm.

‘Ah, but you see, you are wrong. I am Other, yes. But while we were with Jasper, I obtained a potion. This...’ he pulled a small stoppered vial out of his pocket, ‘is the juice of the buckthorn. You know of the buckthorn?’

‘Yes. The story of Gilgamesh.’ Reluctantly Adelina nodded. Oh yes, she knew the story of the buckthorn. How from that one tree, if one pricked oneself with the thorns, one could assume immortality. And how if one drank the juice of the fleshy leaves, one could reverse the process. No one knew where the shrub survived and Aine knows many mortals had tried to find it.

‘Indeed. And there is only one shrub in the whole of Eirie, hidden in Faeran.’

‘And so?’ Adelina busied herself at the table.

‘I asked Jasper for this,’ he held up the vial somewhat triumphantly. Inside, viscous liquid clung to the glass sides. ‘I have been taking it each day for the last few days; the juice of the buckthorn leaves. One more dose,' he drew the stopper and drank it down, 'and my immortality is gone.'

Ana and Kholi both gasped an
d stepped forward but he signaled them to be quiet. ‘So you see, no more immortality. Faeran yes, immortal no. I ask you again. May I have Ana's hand in marriage?'

What a pretty speech and so clever, thought Adelina.
Why would he
do it? How can I trust he has really done this thing?
She looked at him. By Aine, he was such a strong and fair-faced individual.
If he has done it, then he truly must love her, just like Kholi and I love each other.
Adelina raised her eyebrows and gave Liam a cool look. ‘How valiant you are, Liam. I commend you. This must surely compare with Oisin and Niamh for devotion. You know the story? In all honesty I can find no reason to spurn your entreaty. So, yes, I give you Ana’s hand in marriage and charge you with her safety and surety.’

As she finished speaking, Ana hurled herself into the embroiderer’s arms, the robe crackling and swishing around her. It was a little too much for Adelina and she pushed her away. ‘Ana, mind my silk. If I’m to make this for you I want it to be perfect.
Remove the robe carefully and leave me, I must prepare for a full day in
here tomorrow.

‘As long as you promise to hurry downstairs when you’ve finished because I am going to get Buckerfield to have a celebration. Oh, Adelina I’m so happy.’ Ana flung the words over her shoulder as she clattered down the stairs after the two men, leaving Adelina defeated, feeling Liam had won. And her intuition burned like acid into her belly.

***

The crowd spilled out from the light-filled door of the Inn of the First Happiness. It was a
markedly euphoric crowd, reveling in the news imparted by Buckerfield that there was to be a winter wedding. And to those nice young things Buckerfield had staying at the inn. Of course warming alcohol had a lot to do with the blithe crowd but even so, Ana and Liam felt themselves the centre of excitement and joy. The feeling was a familiar if not particularly recent one for Ana. For Liam it was another new experience to absorb. A Faeran wedding inspired nothing but grandiose largesse. There was no joy for the groom and his bride. Who cared? They would have multiple partners from now till forever. A constant search for another experience - stronger, longer, better, and so it went on. He raised a glass of the wine Buckerfield had poured as another friend of the innkeeper’s clapped him on the back.

‘Good choice, boy, she’s a beauty. She were in my shop t’other day and my word but she were nice. Friendly like and respectful. I warmed to her, I did. I hope you’ll be very happy. Now you come down and see me, ‘cos I’d like to give you both a gift.’

The noise from the inn drew others to its doors and drinks were passed out as people stood round flaming braziers, sharing happy stories.

‘What’s going on?’ A figure swathed in furs had pulled up on the edge of the crowd, with a small retinue.

‘A betrothal. Buckerfield’s friends. A young girl from the road and her handsome consort. The girl’s a relative of Adelina the Traveller. You know Adelina? Yes, thought you would. Everyone knows Adelina.’

‘Indeed. As you say, everyone knows Adelina.’ The fur swathed person reached white hands to the brazier.

‘Here, have a drink. It’s mulled wine, beautifully spiced and I swear it will warm your cockles.’ A woman handed over the drink and the stranger took it and tipped it up, agreeing it was indeed warming. ‘Better? I thought so. Bitter night but starry and pretty. Just the night for a betrothal. So you know Adelina? Did you know she’s making the wedding robe? Supposed to be a work of art. Buckerfield reckons it’ll look Other by the time its finished. She’s clever, that Adelina.’

The fur swathed stranger finished the mug of mulled wine and placed it on a tray carried by a passing waiter. ‘She is clever, I’ll grant you that. Very clever.’ The words emerged quietly from the depths of the furs because by now the gregarious conversant had moved on and the stranger stood alone. As she turned away to walk back down the street, flaring light caught her face. A pale countenance, dark as slate eyes and blood red lips appeared briefly. Severine’s expression was as cold as the air she breathed and as she followed the path to her own inn, all she could think of was the fabric and the robe that would suit an Other, perhaps even a Faeran. It was an integral part of her plan now, the robe. And by Belial and Behir, she would have it no matter what it cost.

Ana spent the night on a wave of happiness, riding the crest for a long while as each person had come to wish her well. Now however, the wave had broken and she sat becalmed at her window, watching the last glow of the braziers as a small flurry of snow settled in the courtyard.

‘You’re quiet,
muirnin.
’ Liam ran his fingers through the mahogany hair that had bound him to her, was it such a short time ago? A month perhaps? He tried to forget the bonds, to erase the seriousness of what he had done. Asking her to marry him?
And as part of a game? Aine.
She inclined the head towards the sensual pressure of his fingers and turned to him, her eyes wide.

‘Do you love me, Liam?’

He turned away to the bed, pulling off his coat. ‘Why would you ask? Marriage normally implies something of love does it not?’

‘I want to know that I can trust you, the depth of your feeling.’

He stood behind her, pulling her back against his hard body, feeling the need to make love, the lust fizzing over. ‘Methinks you worry too much.’ He lifted the dark brown hair and kissed her neck. She turned to receive his lips, silent, wanting more.