The Threads of Magic by Alison Croggon (best ereader for pdf and epub .txt) 📕

He watched Amina combing El’s hair. It was spread out in a golden fan across Amina’s lap.

“You got pretty hair, El,” he said. “It’s as pretty as Georgie’s.”

El opened her eyes and smiled. “You think so, Pip? Really?”

“If you had dozens of flunkies like she has to make it into curls and things, it would be much prettier than hers.”

“You’d never say that about my hair,” said Oni.

Pip was going to retort hotly that he had never said it about El before, either, but after the meal Amina had given them earlier, he felt unusually generous. He studied Oni’s close-cropped, curly head. “Your hair’s really pretty too,” he said. “I bet if you had lots of ladies putting gold in it and that, it would look like you was a princess.”

“I wish I could have dresses like Georgie’s,” said El dreamily. “And golden necklaces and everything.”

“No, you don’t,” said Oni. “Remember she said that they all stick into her, like pins?”

“You kids,” said Amina. “You’re like a bunch of magpies. Anybody would think you were five years old.”

Oni grinned. “That’s just Pip,” she said.

El turned to look at Oni. “You never said you knew Princess Georgette,” she said, trying to keep accusation out of her voice, but not quite succeeding.

“You both knew Georgie. Don’t you remember?”

Pip frowned. He did vaguely remember a blond-headed girl, one of the many children Amina had helped over the years, who might have been a scruffy version of the princess. They had never become friends.

He saw El’s face shift from recognition to outrage. “But she was a princess. A real princess! I can’t believe you never said. Why didn’t you tell me, Oni?”

Oni was quiet for a while. “Georgie was just one of us,” she said at last. “Mostly. She was around from when I was a baby; she was my milk sister, and then she went to be a princess and I didn’t see her again until today. And anything to do with the royals . . . Well. It’s better not to talk.”

“Seems there’s a lot you never talk about,” said Pip.

“For good reason,” said Amina. She ran the comb one last time through El’s hair. “Your turn, Pip. And Oni, get the clippers.”

“I don’t want my hair cut,” said Pip quickly.

“All the cardinal’s spies are hunting someone who looks like you,” said Amina. “So the less you look like you, the better.”

Pip had to admit the sense of that, but he watched sadly as his pigtail fell to the floor. His neck felt chilly without its oily clump of hair.

“What happens now?” he said. “El and me can’t go home. And that’s all we got, those rooms. Everything we own. What if someone breaks in and steals all our stuff?”

“It’s not like we got anything to steal,” said El. “Why would they bother? Aside from Missus Pledge’s will.”

Amina’s hands stopped moving. “A will?”

“Missus Pledge told us the will says the rooms are ours, so nobody can take them away. She showed us the words and explained what they meant.”

Amina started combing again. “I would like to see that will,” she said.

“Missus Pledge said to keep those papers safe as safe,” said Pip. “So we put them under the floor. There’s a secret place. Nobody would find it.”

“If the cardinal’s men have been through your room, I guarantee they have found it.”

“No!” said El. “It’s ours!”

“There’s nothing to be done now. We’ll think what to do tomorrow. Perhaps they haven’t found it.” She put the louse comb down on the table. “You can get up, Pip.”

“What’ll we do?” wailed El, wringing her hands. “If we’ve lost the deed, we got nothing. We got nowhere to go.”

“Hush, child. We’ll work it out. For now, as you’re free of pests, you can sleep in this house. And we all need to sleep.” She stood up, brushing off her knees. “You have the Heart safe, Pip?” He nodded. “I’ll get on with burning those clothes, then.”

GEORGETTE HAD BAD DREAMS THAT NIGHT. SHE didn’t remember any of them when she woke, but they left her with a residue of dread. She was sitting in her nightgown staring at her reflection in the mirror, wondering when Amina would help her escape from the palace, when Duchess Albria, her senior lady-in-waiting, sailed into her chamber. She was holding a gown of stiff gold cloth that was usually reserved for high festivals.

“Not that one,” said Georgette impatiently.

“Oh no, Your Highness,” said the duchess. “This is the only dress in our wardrobe that suits for the betrothal.”

“What betrothal?” For a moment Georgette couldn’t breathe. “No one has mentioned any such thing.”

“Your father informed me earlier that King Oswald offers for your hand today,” said the duchess. “Sadly, your suitor’s haste means that we don’t have time to have another dress made up, as is proper, but this one is perfectly adequate to this occasion. There are orders in hand for your wedding raiment, of course.”

All Georgette’s ladies-in-waiting squeaked with excitement.

“He must be burning with love for you, dear Highness,” said Lady Agathe, clasping her hands to her breast. “He saw your face, and he fell. I knew it that evening, when we sent you out. How could any man resist such beauty?”

Georgette rather liked Lady Agathe despite her silliness. She was kind, which was rare in King Axel II’s court, and would be hurt if Georgette snubbed her. All the same, it took all the princess’s self-control not to respond sharply.

“No doubt King Oswald has business he must attend to at home,” said the duchess, who never missed the smallest chance to depress Georgette’s pretensions. “It isn’t good for a ruler to be absent from his realm for long.”

“Probably,” said Georgette, as lightly as she could. “So when is this ceremony to take place? And how will I know what to say?”

“My understanding, Your Highness, is that you need say nothing.” The duchess picked up the bodice. “Allow me, ma’am.”

Automatically the princess held