Not even the breezes of late afternoon swirling lazily through Jaspaton could cool Silver’s flushed face as her father took her up two flights of stairs toward the yarnsladies’ tents.
When Silver realized where they were going, part of her flashed with relief. The other part of her flared with an emotion she didn’t quite understand. Why couldn’t her father see what everyone, even Gama, could see? Silver had no talent for metals or jewels, no matter how much Rami wanted her to.
Her father didn’t say anything more until they’d reached the upper levels of Jaspaton, where the yarnsladies’ tents afforded views far and wide.
“Sit in here,” he said. “And don’t leave. Not once. I don’t care if the greatest sandstorm in history rises up.” His words were clipped, but as he turned to leave, his mouth softened. His eyes did, too, in a way that hurt Silver. She’d rather have her father’s anger than this disappointment.
Silver dropped her gaze to the ground and didn’t look up until she heard Rami leave. She set her jaw. Someday, he would see her for who she really was.
Trying to ignore the pain of the burn, she picked her way through the yarnsladies and the goods scattered about. Baskets, clothing, and scarves for the approaching winter season were the basics, but there were also luxurious rugs threaded with silver and gold; blankets made from the finest fur from the herd animals’ underbellies; and felted coats with fluffy collars. Instead of the usual organization of the silk tent, the place was chaotic as the women prepared for the queen’s arrival.
“Do you think these buttons will suit the queen’s tastes?” one yarnslady asked another, showing some hammered-gold rounds.
“It appeals to my tastes,” the second woman said.
All the ladies laughed, but Silver suppressed a groan. Hammered gold was the last thing she wanted to see.
“She’s a high-mountains goat,” a third yarnslady said, following Silver with her eyes. “Untamable.”
“Wild,” another said.
“Smelly,” said a tiny ele-yarnslady, sticking her five-year-old nose in the air.
Silver ignored them until she saw a familiar face. She plopped down on a rug. “I don’t smell.”
“You smell, all right,” said Nebekker. “But not bad. A bit salty. I don’t mind.”
Silver squinted at the old lady. For a yarnslady, her hands were surprisingly rough and scarred. And she kept her hair cropped short, unlike the waist-length waves all the other women had. The project in Nebekker’s hands wasn’t like the others’ work, either. The patterns weren’t symmetrical or ordered, as was Jaspaton’s tradition. Even the five-year-old ele-yarnslady knew how many lines of red wool to weave before adding turquoise and then an almost imperceptibly thin line of amethyst. But Nebekker’s patterns swirled and tumbled.
The other yarnsladies went back to their gossip, working their wool in time to their laughter. Silver scooted closer to Nebekker.
“I couldn’t come this morning,” Silver said. “Not after getting in trouble last night. But now I have time to finish my suit. Do you have my scales?”
Nebekker leaned forward to collect one of her baskets. As she did, a pendant fell out of her caftan, swaying in the light for a moment before slipping back under the clothes again. Silver had never known the old woman to wear any jewelry. From that glimpse of the pendant, she couldn’t make out what kind of stone was encased in the swirl of silver wire. It was blue, but not deep and rich like sapphire. Clear, though, unlike turquoise. Perhaps topaz or aquamarine, except Silver had never seen violet slash through the blue in those stones the way it did through Nebekker’s.
Nebekker dumped a pile of wool in Silver’s lap. Silver smiled as she quickly got to work, the fight with her father fading into nothingness.
“My father wanted to punish me by sending me here, but it’s the best thing he could’ve done. He’s practically escorting me off to Calidia.”
Nebekker gave her a sidelong glance.
“Silver, you’ve hurt yourself.” Sersha Batal came up behind her daughter and took her arm to inspect the burn. She rubbed cool cream on the wound. “Does it hurt?”
The cream felt delicious on her skin. “Not anymore,” Silver said. She hastily stuffed her scales back into Nebekker’s basket with her other hand.
“You must be patient with your father.” Sersha sat cross-legged next to Silver. “I know you’re frustrated, but your father is trying to do what he thinks is best.”
Frustration heated Silver’s chest. “Best for him!”
“Best for us. You have a rich future here in Jaspaton, if you’ll only develop some discipline. You are loved here. That’s not a thing to toss dust at.”
Silver looked away. Her mother was never angry with her; Sersha simply fell back on her unwavering belief in her daughter. Silver felt both warmed and suffocated by it.
“You and your father are so much alike. Driven in a way that makes you a touch narrow-sighted,” her mother said, squeezing Silver close. “Keep heart, my girl. My wild desert fox. You’ll find your place soon enough.”
After her mother left, Silver looked at the injury on the inside of her wrist for the first time. She gasped. The burn was a raw and angry red that was already beginning to blister. There was a shimmer, though, as if it were gold, not the fire itself that had popped and was embedded in her skin.
But the most interesting thing about the injury—the thing that solidified Silver’s knowledge that she was neither meant for the jeweler’s workshop nor the yarnsladies’ tent—was the shape of the burn.
In the right light, it looked like a coiled water dragon.
WHEN NIGHT FELL, all of the town’s work ended. Silver stacked the wool in her bag with a renewed sense of determination. Her glance continually flickered to the water dragon–shaped burn, and she smiled.
“The scales are finished,” she told Nebekker. “I only need your help joining them. Tomorrow morning I’ll have a suit, and then tomorrow evening I’ll ride away from Jaspaton in Sagittaria’s very own cart. See you before first light.”
Before Nebekker could answer, Silver rushed to follow the yarnsladies out of the tent. As they left the shadows, the ladies draped colorful scarves over their heads and dipped their hands into a bucket of cream to keep their skin soft. They crowded the door so that Silver had to shove to get through.
“Rude,” that little ele-yarnslady said, rubbing her hands together slowly.
“Silver!” Sersha Batal caught up to her daughter. “I’m staying late. There’s still so much to get ready for tomorrow. And your father expects to be in his workshop all night.”
“Oh.” Silver tried to keep her voice steady, but excitement thumped in her veins. With everyone so busy, no one would notice her finishing her riding suit. She glanced around for Nebekker, but the old woman had slipped away. Good. Nebekker would be waiting for her at her home.
“Go to your aunt and uncle’s if you need anything.”
“I will.”
“And, Silver?” Sersha laced her fingers with her daughter’s. “Look at the things these women have accomplished together. Look at the honor we will bring our city when the queen arrives. I am proud of the work I do. So is your father. I want you to be proud of your work, too.”
Silver nodded and took her hand back, then left the tents.
If her racing-suit reveal went as planned, she would be proud of her work.
And Sagittaria Wonder would be amazed.
SEVEN
Silver wrapped herself in layers of brown and white scarves and slipped into the night.