Threads“My Lady, the barbarian army is at the gates,” said Corym. “We must sound the trumpets. We must assemble the Red Guard before we are overrun.”
The young Queen, Myrgiane, paid Corym no attention. She continued to sit on the marble floor of her throne room amid a mountain of ruffled cloth and spools of shining thread, working away at her embroidery. Corym watched her delicate fingers as they pushed the silver needle into the stretch of cloth on her knee, pulled it free from the other side. Did she not understand? He thought of all the people out there in the city. He thought of Armian and Jeph, his children, idling away their days at the baths, the market, the playhouse. What chance would any of them have if the barbarians entered the city?
“My Lady? We must act. They bring batterin
