Rose’s eyes lit up at Sage’s promise, and she hugged her as Eleanor came bustling back in with a bolt of cream-colored fabric and a pile of linen. The seamstress set down her burdens and then shook out a bleached linen undertunic.
Right before she made to toss it over Sage’s head, she paused and frowned. With one finger she tugged on the shoulder strap of Sage’s lace-trimmed breastband. “I’ll have to make you a few of these that are a bit sturdier.”
“I’ll take notes for you,” offered Rose, moving to the table with parchment scraps and charcoal pencils.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Eleanor said, lifting the shirt over Sage. “I think three should be a good number, and this one fits well, so I can use the measurements in Mistress Fowler’s file. Now wait here a minute.” The last comment was directed at Sage as the seamstress walked back to the fabric bolt.
With the deftness of her profession, Eleanor laid out the cloth and used a wheeled blade to cut a rough shirt in a matter of minutes. She brought it back to Sage and helped her layer it over the white undershirt. Princess Cara dragged the full-length mirror—a luxury afforded by Eleanor’s position as personal seamstress to the royal family—to where Sage could see as Eleanor pinned the sleeves and set the hem to the length she wanted.
The long, cream-colored tunic flared out from her waist like a skirt but stopped at her knees. She would still wear breeches or hose underneath. “I envisioned something shorter,” said Sage.
“Pah!” Eleanor paused her pinning to brush away Sage’s complaint with a dismissive wave. “You don’t want to look like a man, do you?”
Sage opened her mouth to say she didn’t care what she looked like, but then clamped it shut. She did care. When Alex looked at her, she wanted him to like what he saw.
“This is a good compromise,” the seamstress said. “Simple and easy to move in, but feminine. Look.” Eleanor stood and wrapped a cord around Sage’s narrow waist, crossed it in the back, and brought it around to the front to join at a downward angle. “A belt here like this and it’s quite becoming as well as functional.” She moved aside so Sage could see the effect in the mirror. Rose clapped her hands in approval.
Sage gazed at her reflection thoughtfully. It almost looked like a short dress, but she would be able to move in it like the breeches she grew up wearing. The more she looked at it, the more this outfit felt like the best of both worlds. After a few seconds she smiled shyly at the seamstress. “I’ll need several. Do you have this fabric in dark green or brown, too?”
Eleanor’s apple cheeks plumped up as she grinned. “I have both.”
The seamstress worked to pin and record what she would need to make more outfits, reminding Sage of the last time she’d been prodded and measured like this. She’d been preparing to meet the matchmaker, enduring everything with an increasing sense of dread. As she peeked in the mirror again, Sage had a different sense entirely. Then she was being wrapped in the role everyone wanted her to play.
This was like finding herself.
16
LESSONS WERE OVER for the day. Sage was in the schoolroom, copying a three-hundred-year-old trade agreement as the late afternoon sun slanted through the window. Clare sat at the table on the opposite side of the room, doing the same work and studiously ignoring her. All Sage’s optimism from the morning had faded. She wondered if it was too late to back out.
There was a knock at the door, and Alex burst in before either Sage or Clare could answer, the queen’s note clutched in his hand. He scowled at Sage before addressing Clare. “Will you excuse us, my lady?”
Clare looked startled and began to stand.
“Actually, Clare, I’d prefer you stay,” said Sage without breaking eye contact with Alex. Even if Clare was angry with her, Sage felt like she needed her friend’s support in what was coming.
Alex clenched his jaw. “Fine.” He held up the queen’s order. “What the hell is this?”
Sage refused to be cowed. “Her Majesty is concerned about the prince’s education and feels a gap in instruction will only do him more harm. She asked me to serve as his tutor during the mission.”
“She asked, or you offered?”
“Does it matter? I’m the queen’s choice.”
“It does matter, Sage.” Alex slapped the parchment on the table. “I thought we discussed this last night.”
“Really?” Sage raised an eyebrow. “I recall you refusing to discuss it at all.”
“So this is what you did? You went above me to get what you wanted?”
“I went to someone who listened,” she retorted. “If they could see the merit in my coming along, I thought perhaps you might.” Sage sat back and crossed her arms. “I’m not sure why you have so much trouble with it. Your own mother told me how she traveled with your father for months at a time. While pregnant.”
“Excellent point, Sage. They were married.” Alex ran a hand through his hair and gripped it above his neck as he looked down at her. “We’re not.”
“It’s not like we’ll be sharing a tent.”
Alex flushed and glanced at Clare, who wasn’t even pretending not to listen. “I never thought we would. But I can’t have you distracting me.”
“I have no intention of being a distraction,” Sage replied with calmness she didn’t feel. “I’ll have my own responsibilities to the prince. You’ll hardly see me.”
He dropped his hand and shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. Just having you there—” He broke off.
There it was again, that undercurrent of fear. Why was he so damn afraid? “If you want it undone,” she said, “go to the king.” She almost hoped he would.
Alex shook his head. “I received this in front of all my officers. There’s no way I can without making one or both of us look like complete fools.”
One or both of us. He wasn’t willing to tear her down. Sage felt her face grow hot. She hadn’t even considered how foolish her actions could make him look. “Then the solution is obvious,” she said, going back to writing to hide the moisture in her eyes. “Let the order stand.”
“I’d rather you came to your senses.”
She didn’t reply, and there was a long pause, during which Alex picked up the order parchment again.
“Just think about it, Sage,” he said quietly.
“I have.”
“Then think some more.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “Can we talk tonight? Same time and place as usual?”
“I might be busy.” Sage still refused to look up. After what felt like a full minute, he left without another word.
When the door closed behind him, Sage heard Clare gathering the papers and books she was working on. Apparently, her friend had had enough of her, too.
But instead of leaving, Clare brought everything to Sage’s table and laid it out, then sat next to her.
“Clare,” Sage began.
“Hush,” said Clare. “We have work to do, especially if you’re leaving the day after tomorrow.”
17
EMOTIONS WERE EASIER to keep in check when one’s mind was fixed on a challenging task. It was the reason Uncle William had made Sage tutor her cousins after Father died—it distracted her from her grief, and the small victories she achieved with her students had helped counter her depression. Sage focused on copying the documents now, refusing to let any other thoughts enter her head. Clare worked alongside her, acting as though their argument of the morning hadn’t happened, and Sage was grateful.
They finished around the seven o’clock hour, and Sage sat back with a sigh, rubbing her tired eyes with the back of her hand to avoid touching her face with her ink-stained fingers. Clare set aside the original parchments and the ledger containing the copies for the master of books. “Did you see the similarities between the Kimisar and Casmuni languages?” she asked.
“I saw some at first in several words,” Sage answered. “But after a while I just concentrated on getting it all copied. The order I put each set in was Kimisar, Demoran, then Casmuni, which also separated them in my mind.”