Enora comes to help me pack, and my primary aesthetician, Valery, trails behind her. I’m grateful for the company. I know I’ll never sleep, like the night before Winter Solstice, when all you can think about is presents. But this time it’s fear, not excitement, that’s keeping me awake.
Valery whispers something into Enora’s ear and she squeezes her forearm in response. ‘Ready for tomorrow?’ she asks me, leaning against Enora.
I bite my lip and screw my face into one of panic. Valery laughs, but Enora shakes her head in amused disapproval.
‘I’ve been prepping her all day,’ Enora says to Valery, but her eyes are on me. ‘She’d better be ready.’
‘If you prepped her, I’m not worried,’ Valery says, giving my mentor’s arm a friendly pat. ‘But I’d better be ready to do my part.’ My aesthetician grins at me and slips into the bathroom. She’ll be sure to have all her tools ready for this trip: the thought sends me spiralling back into dread.
Most of my belongings are being sent along with the crews following me through the rebound stations, but Enora hands me a small red box tied with a satiny white bow. It reminds me of the presents my parents brought into my room on my birthday each year. I never got a chance to enjoy the perfume they bought me on my last one, a gift to celebrate turning sixteen and the promise of my long-awaited dismissal. I ooh and aah as I open Enora’s gift, but I have to fight the hollow ache it prompts in my chest.
It’s a personal digifile.
‘For your rebounds,’ she tells me as she shows me how it powers on. ‘I know they can make you sick, so I thought this might distract you. It has all the information you need.’
I gently touch the screen and it offers me a variety of entertainment options: cosmetic and clothing catalogues, Stream vlips, and the latest Guild Bulletin.
‘Thank you,’ I say, genuinely pleased with the gift. Although I’ve seen some people like Maela using them, in Romen only highly ranked businessmen could afford digifiles, and I’ve never seen a woman use one outside the Coventry. It makes me feel important to have one of my own.
‘It will also allow you to communicate directly with Ambassador Patton,’ Enora says, sliding her finger to select complant compatibility. ‘He wanted us to fit you with a complant, but Maela threw a fit.’
For the first time I’m grateful for Maela’s jealousy. ‘He wanted me to have a complant?’
‘He’s been pushing for Spinsters to be fitted for years,’ she tells me. ‘He claims it will allow for quicker response to imminent threats to Arras.’
‘Is he right?’
‘No, we’re prepared with Spinsters on emergency duty at all hours. He’s more interested in keeping tabs on us.’
I try to hide my surprise at her openness. Despite her kindness, Enora rarely speaks so directly with me.
‘Why did Maela say no?’
‘Don’t worry,’ she says, and laughs. ‘She’s not reconsidering your relationship. She couldn’t get approval from Loricel, so I suggested this.’
‘Loricel?’ I ask, scanning through the files.
‘She’s the only person around here who says no to Cormac.’
I set the digifile down and pay closer attention. ‘Who is she?’
‘She’s the Creweler.’
‘Like you?’ I ask, recalling Enora’s various duties.
‘No, I’m nothing like her,’ she admits. ‘I merely assist her on certain projects.’
‘But there’s more than one, right?’
‘Not really,’ she says, lounging back on a floor cushion. ‘True Crewelers are very rare. Loricel is the only Creweler in Arras.’
‘The only one?’ I stop pacing and sit down next to her.
‘Crewel work is an act of pure creation. Crewelers do more than weave the fabric of Arras. They can capture the materials to create the weave. Only they can see the weave of the raw materials.’ She looks at me pointedly. ‘It is only through Loricel that Arras survives. The Spinsters wouldn’t have any matter to weave if it weren’t for her special gift.’
‘How old is she?’ I ask, my stomach dropping. All the years of hiding and lying about my ability to touch the weave without a loom, even here at Enora’s request, make sense now.
‘It’s hard to say, with renewal patches and medication,’ Enora says lightly. ‘But she’s been in service for over sixty years.’
She must be ancient. ‘What happens when she dies?’
‘They’ll find a new Creweler.’ Enora’s gaze is steady on mine. ‘But so far there haven’t been any real contenders.’
‘And if we can’t find one?’ I whisper.
‘Arras will fade away.’
I search her face for a sign of sadness or fear but it’s not there. If the possibility of Loricel’s death frightens her, she doesn’t show it. But the image of Amie laughing with her friend floats to my mind, followed by how Jost’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. Without a Creweler, they’ll fade away too. It’s a possibility I can’t even consider.
‘Cormac showed me Amie, you know,’ I say in a quiet voice.
‘Your sister?’ Enora confirms, and I nod my head.
I haven’t spoken of her often since I’ve been here. My life feels split in two: before and after. Everything that preceded my retrieval is a secret. A past life that has no place here, and although Amie is alive, for me she exists only in that time. I keep her there in my private thoughts, but something about the memories parading through my head as they prep me for travel longs to break free and be acknowledged.