When a woman with gray antlers on her head saw the tears beginning to glisten in Levana’s eyes, she nodded understandingly and handed her a crisp gray handkerchief.
* * *
Levana convinced herself that it was boredom that drove her out of the palace three days after the funeral, still dressed in gray for the third and final day of mourning. She told herself that she wanted something bright and beautiful to wear when the mourning period was ended and all the kingdom rejoiced as their new queen took the throne for the first time. She told herself she needed a new pair of embroidered slippers for the coronation, or perhaps a finely spun scarf for her waist. Nothing in her wardrobe would suffice for such a historic occasion.
If she’d made up a story to tell to the guards at the maglev platforms, it was in vain. No one stopped her or asked where she was going.
AR-4, the most popular shopping district in Artemisia, was bustling with court families and nobles and their servants, all dressed in shades of gray, all making their arrangements for tomorrow’s festivities, but no one recognized Levana, who was wearing the glamour of a dark-skinned goddess, tall and lithe, with a gracefully elongated neck and edged cheekbones. She did not bother with hair, not wanting to distract from the glamour’s perfectly sculpted head and figure. Only the silent palace guards that followed in her wake would have given away her identity, but the street was too crowded for anyone to notice them or the girl they were tracking.
She paid no attention to the cobblers or the dressmakers, the milliners or the jewelers, the art galleries or the candy shoppes. She knew precisely where she was going. She counted the streets that she had seen on the holographic map that morning. Her eye caught briefly on the crescent Earth that could be seen in the black sky beyond the dome’s protective sphere, but lost sight of it as she turned the corner into a lovely little side alley. The scent of roasting coffee from a small café followed her as she trotted around the flowering window boxes and stone-carved benches that lined the alley. Though it wasn’t fully deserted, it was serene compared with the bustle of the main street.
There was the shop, just where the map and directory had indicated. A simple sign hung over the doorway, showing a needle and thread, and the paned window displayed an assortment of different yarns and fabrics.
As soon as she saw it, Levana realized that her stomach had knotted itself since turning into the alley. She was nervous.
And over what? The wife of a palace guard? A mere seamstress? Ridiculous.
She gestured for her guards to stay outside, braced herself, and pushed open the door.
She found herself in a well-lit showroom. A quick scan confirmed that no shopkeeper was present, but a second door was cracked open, leading to a back room where she could hear the whir of mechanical looms.
Two holographic mannequins in the corners were modeling a variety of garments—everything from lingerie to ball gowns, three-piece suits to crocheted stockings. Every piece was magnificent. It was easy to see how even this insignificant shop in a tiny alleyway in AR-4 was building such a quick reputation for itself among the families.
Levana paced around the showroom. It wasn’t large, but there was a lot to see. Shelves stacked with embroidered towels, bed linens, and window draperies. Silk scarves so delicate they felt like spiderwebs. A dress form wore a corset-style bodice that appeared to have been woven entirely of fine silver thread and tiny sparkling gems—it was jewelry as much as it was clothing.
Then she spotted a quilt that hung on one wall, large enough to take up almost the entire space. Levana stepped back to admire it, enchanted.
Earth. And space. Pieced together from shredded fabrics of all different sizes and shapes, the edges left raw where they’d been seamed together. Shining forest greens and rough-textured desert browns, shimmering ocean blues and velvet ebony blacks, all stitched together with gold thread. Every segment of the quilt was embroidered with whimsical patterns of ivy and flowers, elaborate spiral curls and glowing starbursts, and though it seemed like it should have been chaotic and excessive, the consistency of the gold thread grounded the piece. Made it beautiful and somehow serene. Levana knew very little about quilting or embroidery, but she could tell, instinctually, that every tiny stitch had been done by hand.
“Hello.”
Levana gasped and checked—first—that her glamour hadn’t faded with her distraction, before turning around.
Solstice Hayle stood at the door to the back room, a smile on her lips and an embroidery hoop holding a swath of white cotton in her hand. A needle had been secured in the corner of the material, dark maroon thread strung through its eye.
“Can I help you?”
She looked like the embodiment of kindness, in a way that made Levana instantly defensive.
“Yes. I—” She hesitated, forgetting why she was there. What had possessed her to come to this shop, to see this beautiful woman and her enormous stomach and all the lovely garments she made with her own skilled fingers?
She swallowed down the rising despair. Remembered that she was beautiful too, so long as her glamour held. Remembered that she was a princess. “I need something for tomorrow,” she said. “To wear to the coronation.”
Solstice nodded. “Of course. I’m afraid anything constructed brand-new for the occasion would have to be rushed, which I try to avoid. But perhaps we can find something you like here in the showroom and alter it to fit your tastes.” She set aside the embroidery hoop, her hand moving to rest on her stomach as she waddled around the room. “Were you wanting a gown? Or perhaps some accessories?”