destruction. My hands twitch toward the strands on the loom. Cormac
wants a demonstration of my abilities, but shouldn’t Arras see what I can also do?
What all the girls trapped here can do? I suck in a breath and force myself to see
the delicate weave in front of me. It teems with life, sparkling as it intersects
with every piece around it.
I am not death. I am life.
“What an amazing demonstration,” the reporter says, intruding on the euphoria of my
work. The loom clicks off and the piece of tapestry fades away.
I miss it immediately. My center aches, hollow but for the longing to become part
of something greater.
This is why the Spinsters do their work. This is why they don’t abandon their duties.
Because in the glorious moment when you can touch the fabric of the universe, you
are one with it. You become it as you create it.
And this is why what the girls in the Eastern Sector did is spectacular to me. They
walked away. And even now, with what I know, part of me wants to beg Cormac to bring
the loom back for a few more moments.
I turn on my stool, crossing my legs in a prim posture for the camera, and smile again.
But I wonder if the women watching at home spy the ghost of emptiness in my eyes.
“As you can see, Miss Lewys is a great asset to our looms and our world, and her role
will continue to grow after she becomes my wife,” Cormac says.
“Will she be working outside the looms?” the reporter asks. There’s some hesitation
to the question, but I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to ask or if it’s
because Cormac’s insinuation is stunning, even to me.
“Not only will she be working outside the looms, she’ll be working outside the home.
It is our dream to move this world forward to more power and prestige. Each year Arras
has advanced technologically, but it’s time our greatest powers joined together in
a new path. As you know, Spinsters are not allowed to marry. In many ways, Miss Lewys
and I are embarking on a new world together, not merely a new marriage.”
“And what is your hope for this new … world?” The reporter stumbles over the question.
I don’t listen to Cormac’s answer because I know it’s lies. He’s feeding the progressive
dissenters what they want to hear: Look, I’ll give a woman some power on the Stream. We’re moving forward, so stop worrying
your pretty heads about the fate of the future generations.
But anyone with half a brain would notice I’m not allowed to speak. They would see
my pristine costume, specifically chosen to look demure and womanly on the camera,
and know I have no more power than they do. Cormac’s plan is to show them that even
a woman of great power is willing to lay it aside and become a wife. But I can hardly
expect them to know that when even Cormac doesn’t take my power seriously.
And yet, he placed me on this loom tonight. If I were a true rebel, I would never
have done what he asked. I would have wreaked havoc over the entire Southern Sector,
throwing it into an uprising. But even as I think this I spot the techprint on my
wrist.
That’s not who I am. Unlike Cormac, I have no desire to abuse my skills to hurt the
innocent. He knew that when he placed me here tonight. He’s calling my bluff, but
he doesn’t know the cards I’ve hidden up my sleeve, especially not the access card
I swiped from one of the guards. Cormac knows I’m a Tailor, though I don’t think he’s
considered exactly how I could use that to my advantage.
But I have.
TEN
T HE DREAM IS THE SAME. I am in a white room. When I look closely I see them. Frozen. Trapped. The faces
of those I have loved and lost. My father. Enora. Loricel. They stare at me with dead
eyes from translucent faces. Their mouths are twisted open, but struck dumb.
And still I go to each of them and ask them how to help. Nothing changes, so I return
to the loom. On it are strands, but they
wants a demonstration of my abilities, but shouldn’t Arras see what I can also do?
What all the girls trapped here can do? I suck in a breath and force myself to see
the delicate weave in front of me. It teems with life, sparkling as it intersects
with every piece around it.
I am not death. I am life.
“What an amazing demonstration,” the reporter says, intruding on the euphoria of my
work. The loom clicks off and the piece of tapestry fades away.
I miss it immediately. My center aches, hollow but for the longing to become part
of something greater.
This is why the Spinsters do their work. This is why they don’t abandon their duties.
Because in the glorious moment when you can touch the fabric of the universe, you
are one with it. You become it as you create it.
And this is why what the girls in the Eastern Sector did is spectacular to me. They
walked away. And even now, with what I know, part of me wants to beg Cormac to bring
the loom back for a few more moments.
I turn on my stool, crossing my legs in a prim posture for the camera, and smile again.
But I wonder if the women watching at home spy the ghost of emptiness in my eyes.
“As you can see, Miss Lewys is a great asset to our looms and our world, and her role
will continue to grow after she becomes my wife,” Cormac says.
“Will she be working outside the looms?” the reporter asks. There’s some hesitation
to the question, but I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t want to ask or if it’s
because Cormac’s insinuation is stunning, even to me.
“Not only will she be working outside the looms, she’ll be working outside the home.
It is our dream to move this world forward to more power and prestige. Each year Arras
has advanced technologically, but it’s time our greatest powers joined together in
a new path. As you know, Spinsters are not allowed to marry. In many ways, Miss Lewys
and I are embarking on a new world together, not merely a new marriage.”
“And what is your hope for this new … world?” The reporter stumbles over the question.
I don’t listen to Cormac’s answer because I know it’s lies. He’s feeding the progressive
dissenters what they want to hear: Look, I’ll give a woman some power on the Stream. We’re moving forward, so stop worrying
your pretty heads about the fate of the future generations.
But anyone with half a brain would notice I’m not allowed to speak. They would see
my pristine costume, specifically chosen to look demure and womanly on the camera,
and know I have no more power than they do. Cormac’s plan is to show them that even
a woman of great power is willing to lay it aside and become a wife. But I can hardly
expect them to know that when even Cormac doesn’t take my power seriously.
And yet, he placed me on this loom tonight. If I were a true rebel, I would never
have done what he asked. I would have wreaked havoc over the entire Southern Sector,
throwing it into an uprising. But even as I think this I spot the techprint on my
wrist.
That’s not who I am. Unlike Cormac, I have no desire to abuse my skills to hurt the
innocent. He knew that when he placed me here tonight. He’s calling my bluff, but
he doesn’t know the cards I’ve hidden up my sleeve, especially not the access card
I swiped from one of the guards. Cormac knows I’m a Tailor, though I don’t think he’s
considered exactly how I could use that to my advantage.
But I have.
TEN
T HE DREAM IS THE SAME. I am in a white room. When I look closely I see them. Frozen. Trapped. The faces
of those I have loved and lost. My father. Enora. Loricel. They stare at me with dead
eyes from translucent faces. Their mouths are twisted open, but struck dumb.
And still I go to each of them and ask them how to help. Nothing changes, so I return
to the loom. On it are strands, but they
Similar Books
