Crewel

‘I see. You also know that your sister, as a minor, was rewoven. You know she’s in Cypress, where many of our finest Eligibles are found each year. As she probably shares your talent, she’s likely to prove useful to us in the future. We’re keeping a very close eye on her.’

‘Amie doesn’t have any skill,’ I murmur, willing it to be true. ‘You’re wasting your time.’

‘Not at all,’ Maela assures me as she lights a cigarette. ‘We need to keep track of her for you. The Guild’s newest prize needs to be kept happy.’

‘Doesn’t matter to me. I barely knew her,’ I lie. ‘We’re not very close in age, and she was always more concerned with being popular and keeping up on the current phases.’ As soon as it’s out of my mouth, I want to swallow it back.

But I can tell from the way Maela’s eyebrow shoots up that this info delights her. ‘You two are different then. Maybe she’ll have what she needs to succeed as a Spinster when her time comes, if that’s what she wants.’

Wants? I hesitate. ‘And her new family?’ I think of the paranoid look in her adoptive mother’s eyes.

‘You saw her new mother. They’re an excellent, loyal family,’ she says. ‘There are an unfortunate number of couples who are childless, so orphans are often rewoven into other sections to those deserving people.’

The wire’s buried half an inch in my thumb before I realise how hard I’m clenching it. I don’t know why I’m stopping myself. No one would miss Maela.

‘Thanks for the update. I have a lot left to do.’ I force myself to return to the work, and I hear the soft click of the door closing behind her.

When Maela saunters into the room at noon, she practically chokes on her cigarette to find me done. ‘I guess I didn’t give you enough thread,’ she says in a low voice. ‘You look like you got bored.’

‘Maybe I’m as talented as you don’t want me to be,’ I counter, keeping my eyes level with hers and ignoring the woozy shakiness spreading through my body. If she thought her diversion would sidetrack me, she was mistaken. ‘Will someone be coming to check my work?’

Maela’s eyes narrow, but she speaks in a normal voice. ‘Of course. Later.’

‘Let me know what they think,’ I say as arrogantly as I can, while bleeding profusely. My terse new escort takes me back to my quarters, and I try not to drip blood on the high tower’s expensive rugs.

There’s no one waiting in my room. Not even Enora, who I fully expected to descend on me as soon as I entered. So I let myself cry, my tears washing down along the blood soaking my skirt. I can’t bring myself to examine my hands, and a search of my cavernous bathroom yields no medical supplies. I finally call on the companel to ask for bandages and a doctor. Neither request is denied.

An eternity later someone raps at my door. I don’t know who it could be. No one knocks here. The maid, kitchen staff, my aestheticians – all of them enter and exit at their convenience. So for the first time I discover my door has a peephole. Peering through the tiny circle of glass I’m greeted by a single electric-blue eye. For a moment, I freeze. It could be Erik or Jost, and I realise I’m not sure which one of them I want to see more, or if it’s even safe to let either of them in. But finally I take a deep breath and open the door.

13

Maela wouldn’t knowingly send me the one person I might be both dying to see and wanting to avoid, but it would be the evil icing on the cake to have Jost attend me. Does he know I’m being punished for kissing Erik? Or maybe he’s just been thinking about me, too. The idea that he might want to see me sends my pulse racing so fast that my mutilated fingers throb. Now might not be the time to worry about this. He’s seen me looking worse, so I instruct him to come in, anyway. Jost’s head is turned away from the open door.

I clear my throat to get his attention. ‘I’m not naked, you know.’

‘I’ll try to be less polite in the future,’ he says.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask as I gingerly wrap a clean towel around my bleeding hands.

‘You sent for medical help.’ He holds up a small medic bag.

‘Exactly. They don’t have a clinic here?’ Realising my exasperation might be misinterpreted – because I’d much rather be here with him than on an exam table – I quickly add, ‘I’m glad you make house calls, but what is your job anyway?’

‘I do the dirty work, remember? I’m trained to do basic medical patching. If you aren’t dying, you get me. The clinic is reserved for other things.’ His tone implies there’s more to the story, but I can’t handle any more information right now. I make a mental note to bring this up later when I’m not bleeding profusely.

‘So your job is to clean up after me?’ I ask, tilting my head to get a better look at him. Unfortunately, the small shift makes me extremely dizzy.

Jost catches me in time. ‘Exactly.’

He helps me to the large floor cushions and takes my hands carefully. His own are warm and rough against my wrist as he inspects mine. His soft touch isn’t doing much to help me with the light-headedness, but I couldn’t care less.

‘Do I want to know what happened?’ he asks.

I shake my head. ‘Maela has taken a shine to me.’

‘What happened to a low profile?’ Jost asks, with a follow-up groan to seal his disapproval.