Chapter no 19

This Woven Kingdom (This Woven Kingdom, 1)

MRS. AMINA WAS A STRANGE woman.

It was a thought Alizeh could not shake as she pushed through the dark, ducking her head against the blustery wind of yet another brutally cold night. She was on her way to Follad Place—the grand home of the Lojjan ambassador—for what was doubtless one of the most important appointments of her short career. As she walked she could not help but reflect not only on the day’s many strange events, but on the mercurial housekeeper without whose permission they might not have occurred.

Alizeh had timed her exit from Baz House that evening so she’d not be noticed by Mrs. Amina; for though Alizeh was not breaking any rules by leaving the house after the day’s work was done, she remained wary of having to explain to anyone what she was doing in her spare time, least of all Mrs. Amina. The woman had so often threatened Alizeh for putting on airs that Alizeh worried she’d be seen as reaching above her station by pursuing extra work as a seamstress.

Which indeed she was.

Alizeh had been struck dumb, then, when Mrs. Amina had come upon her just as Alizeh made to leave, one hand reaching for the door, the other clutching the handle of her modest carpet bag, which she’d fashioned herself. Alizeh had been but a sturdy three-year-old the day she climbed up onto the bench of a loom, settling her small bottom between the warm bodies of her parents. She’d watched their deft hands work magic even without a pattern, and had demanded right then to be taught.

When her mother died, and Alizeh sank into a resolute stoicism, she’d forced her trembling fingers to work. It was during this dark time that she’d fashioned the carpet bag she carried with her always—that which housed her sewing supplies and few precious belongings—and which she disassembled whenever she found a place to rest. Most days it remained on the ground next to her cot, transformed into a small rug she used for much appreciated warmth in the room.

She’d been carrying it the day she arrived at Baz House.

Tonight the housekeeper had appraised Alizeh upon her exit, examining the girl from crown to boot, her keen eyes settling just a bit too long on the bag.

“Not running away, are we?” Mrs. Amina had said. “No, ma’am,” Alizeh said quickly.

The housekeeper almost smiled. “Not before the ball tomorrow night, anyway.”

Alizeh dared not breathe at that; dared not speak. She held still for so long her body began to shake, and Mrs. Amina laughed. Shook her head.

“What a strange girl you are,” she said quietly. “To behold a rose and perceive only its thorns, never the bloom.”

Alizeh’s heart thudded painfully in her chest.

The housekeeper studied Alizeh a moment longer before her expression changed; moods shifting as reliably as the phases of the moon. Sharply, she said, “And don’t you dare forget to bank the fire before you go to bed.”

“No, ma’am,” said Alizeh. “I would never.”

Mrs. Amina had turned on her heel and stalked out of the kitchen after that, leaving Alizeh to step into the cold night, her mind spinning.

She walked along the road now with caution, taking care to remain as near as possible to the glow of the hanging gaslights as she went, for the bulk of her carpet bag was not only a bit difficult to handle, but would certainly attract unwanted attention.

Alizeh was seldom spared when she was out alone, though nighttime was always worse. A young woman of her station was reduced to such circumstances more often than not because she had no one upon whom to rely for her safety or well-being. As a result, she was more frequently accosted than others; considered an easy target by thieves and scoundrels alike.

Alizeh had learned to cope with this over time—had found ways to protect herself with small measures—but she was well aware that it was her many physical strengths that’d saved her from worse fates over the years. It was easy, then, for her to imagine how many young women in her position had suffered greater blows than she ever would, though the understanding offered her cold comfort.

The sharp trill of a nightjar suddenly pierced the silence, the sound promptly followed by the hoot of an eagle owl. Alizeh shivered.

What had she been thinking about? Ah, yes, Mrs. Amina.

Alizeh had been working at Baz House for nearly five months now, and in that time the housekeeper had shown her both unexpected kindness and stunning cruelty. She’d strike the girl across the face for minor infractions, but never once fail to remember Alizeh’s promised allotment of water.

She’d threaten the girl constantly, finding fault in faultless work, and demand Alizeh do it again, and again. And then, for no apparent reason at all, she’d permit the lowest ranked servant in the house a fifteen-minute audience with a questionable guest.

Alizeh did not know what to make of the woman.

She realized her musings were strange—strange to be pondering the strangeness of a housekeeper who was doubtless strange even to herself— but this evening was quieter than she liked, causing her hands to twitch from more than mere cold. Alizeh’s reliable, creeping fear of the dark had evolved from uncomfortable to unsettling in the last several minutes, and with so much less to distract the senses tonight than the evening prior, she needed to keep her thoughts loud, and her wits about her.

This last bit was harder to achieve than she’d have hoped. Alizeh felt sluggish as she moved, her eyes begging to close even with the incessant snap of winter against her cheeks. Mrs. Amina had worked the girl to within an inch of her life in the wake of Omid’s visit, tempering a single act of generosity with swift punishment. It was almost as if the housekeeper had sensed Alizeh’s happiness and had made it her business to disabuse the girl of such fanciful notions.

It was unfortunate, then, that Mrs. Amina had very nearly accomplished her goal.

By the end of the workday Alizeh had been so ragged with exhaustion she’d startled when she walked past a window and discovered it dark. She’d been abovestairs most of the day and hardly noticed when the sun was siphoned off into the horizon, and even now, as she stepped from one pool of gaslit cobblestone to another, she could not fathom where the day had gone, or what joys it once held.

The glow of Omid’s visit had faded in the aftermath of many hours of physical toil, and her melancholy was made worse by what seemed the permanent loss of her firefly. Alizeh realized only in its absence that she’d conjured an unreasonable amount of hope at the insect’s initial appearance; the sudden and complete loss of the creature made her think the firefly had found her only by mistake, and that upon realizing its error, had left to begin a fresh search.

A shame, for Alizeh had been looking forward to meeting its owner.

The walk from Baz House to Follad Place came to an abrupt and startling finish; Alizeh had been so lost in her own thoughts, she’d not

realized how quickly she’d covered the distance. Her spirits lifting at the prospect of imminent warmth and lamplight, she headed eagerly to the servants’ entrance.

Alizeh stamped her feet against the cold before knocking twice at the imposing wooden door. She wondered, distantly, whether she’d be able to use some of her new earnings to buy a bolt of wool for a proper winter coat.

Maybe even a hat.

Alizeh wedged her carpet bag between her legs, crossed her arms tightly against her chest. It was far more painful to remain unmoving in this weather. True, Alizeh was unnaturally cold at all times—but it really was an uncommonly frigid night. She peered up at the staggering reach of Follad Place, its sharp silhouette pressed in relief against the night sky.

Alizeh knew it to be rare for an illegitimate child to be raised in such a noble home, but it was said that the Lojjan ambassador was an unusual man and had cared for Miss Huda alongside his other children in relative equality. Though Alizeh doubted the veracity of this rumor, she did not dwell upon it. She’d never met Miss Huda, and did not think her own uninformed opinions on the matter would make a jot of difference in the facts as they stood now:

Alizeh was lucky to be here.

Miss Huda was as close to high society as her commissions had ever come, and she’d only even been granted the commission via Miss Huda’s lady’s maid, a woman named Bahar, who’d once stopped Alizeh in the square to offer a compliment on the draping of her skirts. Alizeh had seen an opportunity there and had not squandered it; she quickly informed the young woman that she was a seamstress in her spare hours and offered such services at excellent prices. It was not long thereafter that she’d been engaged to fashion the woman a wedding gown, which her mistress, Miss Huda, had then admired at the ceremony.

Alizeh took a deep, steadying breath. It had been a long and circuitous path to this moment, and she would not fritter it away.

She knocked on the door once more, a bit harder this time—and this time, it opened immediately.

“Yes, girl, I heard you the first time,” Mrs. Sana said irritably. “Get inside, then.”

“Good evening, ma’am, I was j— Oh,” Alizeh said, and startled. Something like a pebble had struck her against the cheek. She looked up,

searching the clear sky for hail.

“Well? Come on, then,” Mrs. Sana was saying, waving her forward. “It’s cold as death out there and you’re letting all the heat out.”

“Yes, of course. I beg your pardon, ma’am.” Alizeh quickly crossed the threshold, but instinct bade her look back at the last moment, her eyes searching the dark.

She was rewarded.

Before her eyes burned a single, disembodied prick of light. In a flash it moved, striking her again on the cheek.

Oh.

Not hail, then, but a firefly! Was it the same as before? What were the odds that she should be found by two different fireflies in such a short window of time? Very low, she considered.

And there

Her eyes widened. Just there, in the tall hedge. Was that a flutter of movement?

Alizeh turned to ask the firefly a question and promptly froze, lips parted around the shape of the interrogative.

She could scarcely believe it.

The fickle creature had disappeared for the second time. Frustrated, Alizeh returned her gaze to the shadows, trying again to see through veils of darkness.

This time, she saw nothing.

“If I have to tell you to get inside one more time, girl, I’ll simply push you out the door and be done with it.”

Alizeh started, then scrambled without delay across the threshold, stifling a shudder as a rush of warmth gathered around her frozen body.

“Forgive me, ma’am— I just thought I saw—”

A glowering Mrs. Sana pushed past her and slammed the door shut, nearly snapping off Alizeh’s fingers in the process.

“Yes?” the housekeeper demanded. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” Alizeh said quickly, pulling the carpet bag up into her arms. “Forgive me. Do let us begin.”

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