The Threads of Magic Alison Croggon (warren buffett book recommendations TXT) 📖

out her arms to permit the duchess to fit the bodice around her chest, drawing it tight as she did up the tiny pearl buttons that ran down the back. Georgette hated this dress at the best of times. It was so stiff and tight that she could scarcely breathe inside it, and the gold thread woven through the silk was so heavy it was hard to move.

Georgette had often thought that when she became queen, she would start new court fashions: light, comfortable dresses that were soft against your body, and that never made you sweat like a pig in summer. The way things were going, she would never be queen now.

Be obedient, Amina had said. Be good and dutiful. Georgette reminded herself that a royal wedding, even a rushed royal wedding, couldn’t happen in three days. It wasn’t proper unless there was pomp, and pomp takes time. Georgette forced a smile but couldn’t bring herself to respond to the chatter and speculation. Her ladies-in-waiting put her silence down to anxiety, which was only natural, so handsome as her suitor was, and of course, having a new court far away in a strange city . . .

It was difficult to remain calm. Georgette had no idea how Amina planned to help her escape this marriage. She couldn’t help wondering if Amina had deceived her to make her go home without protesting. Hurtful though that thought was, Georgette could understand such an action. She might have done the same thing herself. The princess’s rank would be some sort of shield if plans went awry, but Amina would have no protection at all.

On the other hand, Amina had never lied to her before. It was one of the reasons Georgette trusted her.

The betrothal was to take place in the throne room immediately after chapel that morning. The princess had enough time to collect herself, and by the time she was escorted to the throne room, pacing slowly toward the royal dais past rows of solemn nobles, she had perfected an icy, expressionless exterior: the blank face suitable for a baby-making queen, which gave nothing away. After she curtsied before her father, she looked up and briefly caught Queen Theoroda’s eye, and realized that her stepmother wore exactly the same expression.

Georgette’s betrothal was likely a death sentence for the queen: King Axel would have no reason to be married to her when he no longer needed the alliance she had brought with her. And the king, still desperate for a male heir, could only marry again if he were a widower. Even in the midst of her own distress, even though she heartily disliked the queen, Georgette felt a pang of pity.

The duchess had been correct: Georgette needed to say nothing. King Axel, after making a short and pompous speech about the peace that would reign between two kingdoms and the union that would seal it in the bodies of these two young royals, took her hand and placed it in King Oswald’s. His hand was as cold as a pane of glass on a winter morning. The dread of her nightmare returned, thick in her throat: now the trap was closing, and she had nowhere to run.

King Oswald stepped out to the front of the dais and held their linked hands high. The courtiers and officials stood and applauded. And that was it. Now that she was betrothed, there was no getting out of the wedding. She hadn’t even been given the chance to refuse. She wasn’t permitted to say anything at all.

Georgette numbly received the congratulations of the important nobles who were seated with the king. Cardinal Lamir smiled, if a mere curve of the mouth could be considered a smile. Queen Theoroda had turned pale to her very lips. Then the duchess escorted the princess back through the throne room. The lesser nobles all bowed as she passed, like a field of grass before a breath of wind.

Nobody watching would have thought that Georgette was in complete despair.

I’m nothing more than a cow for sale to the highest bidder, she thought bitterly. I’ve never been anything else. Why did I ever think I was?

For the first time, she understood why the other suitors had failed in their petitions for her hand. It wasn’t because of her cleverness at all. It was because the most powerful men in the kingdom had other plans.

“NO. AND THAT’S FINAL.”

“But, Ma . . .”

“Oni, I swear if you don’t listen to me on this, I will . . .”

Pip, watching from near the kitchen stove, thought that Amina was going to explode with rage. It was a bit frightening when Oni and Amina fought, and they’d been quarreling for almost an hour now.

“Ma, you can’t tell me what to do. I’m not five anymore.” Oni was at the door, already lifting the latch. “I have my own house. I make my own money.”

“That’s not the point. It’s too dangerous.”

“It is the point, Ma.” Oni opened the door. She was about to pass over the threshold when she turned around and smiled mischievously. “I know how to hide, Ma. I know all the tricks. I know because I was taught by the best in the business: you.” She blew a kiss and then shut the door gently behind her.

For a few moments there was a charged silence while Pip and El sought uncomfortably for something to say.

To their surprise, Amina started laughing.

“She’s my daughter, all right,” she said. “Damn it.”

Oni left the Old Palace the same way they had come, darting through the cover of the overgrown gardens. It was just after sunrise. Pools of mist gathered in the hollows, wisping up into nothing where beams of sunshine pierced the trees. When she reached the broken fence, she checked carefully before she crept out, then drew her hood over her head and walked briskly down the deserted street.

It took her an hour or so to make her way to Pip and