Page 39 of Born for Silk
I stare at my feet, watching my toes disappear into rich, clean soil. I’m not sure I have ever walked outside with bare feet before.
Where are you?
What is this place?
I must have noticed the weather shift, cooling. Must have walked down the giant manicured hill, the one surrounded by castle-like buildings made of granite, veined with grey and white marble.
I must have smelt the fresh-cut flowers and sniffed the lemon and vinegar cleaning tonics through the open windows, must have walked these gardens more than once already, but I cannot recall the specifics.
I only remember eyes tracking me. For days now, between one shadowy memory to the next, I recall several eyes on me—one from above, keener than the rest.
On my tippy-toes, I pluck a red rose from a tall perimeter hedge. Looking at it, I inhale. There is a breeze. My hair moves on my shoulders, the ends brushing my waist. Surely, I noticed such an odd sensation, a perfectly controlled gust from the south.
I must be at the very bottom of The Estate. I look down the green landscaped garden hill to a high wall in the distance, and beyond, to the tops of woven tree canopies. The branches move with life, but the limbs strangle together, unwelcoming and defensive.
I wonder how deep the woods are…
I know that to the north, an architectural masterpiece makes the Redwind behave—a fort of protection, with just enough vents to allow a conditioned atmosphere within the keep. I only know this from my studies. I have seen pictures of The Estate. It houses over fifty-thousand citizens and is entirely shielded by a rolling limestone wall shaped like the open wings of an eagle.
Foliage moves beside me.
“Are you ready for some lunch?” someone calls from my right.
A grumbling in my stomach suddenly answers for me. That’s good. I’m present. I know what happened. The Endigos cut my tongue and sliced my mark right off like a strip of meat. Though, all the things that happened to me are jumbled together now. I am still not convinced I didn’t bite my tongue while eating an apple or maybe Iris cut me in my sleep.
All possible.
Iris… is she alive?
And the Wardeness?
With the fever I’ve had… was it three days? I’ve been gliding through one strange land to another, stepping from cloudy plain to cloudy plain, never knowing which is real and which is a construct of my mind.
“Aster?” Someone touches my shoulder.
I look over at Paisley. I like her. She wears the cutest dress shirts, in all colours, and trousers that are pleated down the centre. I wonder if she presses them each day.
She has the strangest expression, and I realise I have the rose to my mouth as though I am going to eat it. I cannot have her believe that I’m not better, because I am.
“Are you ready for some supper?” she repeats.
“Yes.” I drop the rose. “I’m ready.”
“Are you sure? I can’t eat with you today. Sire returns from the trial, and so you’ll be eating with the other Silk Girls for the first time. I need to meet with him and Master Cairo.”
“What needs to be done?” I ask. “Can I help?”
“That’s not your Purpose.” Taking my hand in hers, she says, “Come with me. We can just stand outside, and you can decide if you’re ready to sit with the other Silk Girls. If you are, then I will leave you with them. If you don’t want to, then you can eat in your room just this once.”
I want to be ready.
To prove this, I straighten and keep her pace as we stroll toward their wing on the opposite side of The Estate.
“As you were a little foggy, I didn’t get a chance to give you a tour of The Estate,” she starts as we stride onward. “But you are welcome to enjoy the gardens, and every unlocked door you come to. Stay away from the forest line to the south, there are wild animals in the trees, but don’t be frightened. Sire and his hunters cull them back into the mountains. It's what we eat most days. There are three new greenhouses, best not to go in there or you’ll get in the way of production. The majority of The Estate dates back nearly two thousand years.” As we pass under a stunning archway, she gestures toward it. “The original structure was renewed with unbreakable marble stone, but the integrity of the buildings still shows respect to the old-world. All except the piazza. The late, Turin of The Strait, The Cradle’s longest standing Monarch and Protector, desired a more elaborate piazza, so fifty years ago he completely recreated it with crystal mosaic tiles and water fountains.”
We walk between grand double doors and into the Silk Girl Wing, the scent of lemon growing with each step.
Entering a cloakroom, I remember I’ve not worn a coat. It was imperative whenever we visited the Lower-tower. The wind is sharp there. But here, the breeze swirls my hair and skirting all around my body, rising hairs on my legs and arms, and I quite enjoyed the subtle and playful sensation.