Veil of Amethyst

CHAPTER ONE The village of Lirimor lay on the outskirts of the province of Azydon, home to the Amethyst clan, a picture of peace and joy. Mornings here had a rhythm of their own, the creak of shutters opening, the smell of bread rising in ovens, the low murmur of neighbors trading gossip over garden fences. The market was always bustling, always alive, stalls overflowing with dyed silks, jars of preserved fruit, and flowers grown nowhere else in the province. But today, there was something different in the air, a tightness beneath all that familiar noise, though I couldn’t yet say what it was. Walking down the aisles toward the store, I let my eyes drift over the crowd, trying hard to recall if I was missing something. Vendors called out prices. Children wove between skirts and market carts. Somewhere behind me, a cart wheel groaned against cobblestone. Then a loud clang echoed from the bell tower, marking the hour. Oh no. Late. Again. My pace quickened, weaving past a stall of dyed ribbons without so much as a glance, which, for me, was saying something. A lecture from my mother was waiting at the end of this walk; that much was certain. Still, no amount of scolding could make me trade the walk for the carriage. Who in their right mind would give up the chance to stroll, to daydream, to drool shamelessly over the scent of freshly baked cakes drifting from the corner bakery? Certainly not me. A soft sigh escaped as the store came into view, my second home, more familiar to me than my own bedroom on some days. The name hung above the door in elegant script: Chayil Moshel. Two dresses stood on display near the entrance, catching the morning light, and behind the glass stood my mother, arms crossed, scowling at me before I’d even reached the step. Just great. Stepping inside, already reaching to hand my bag to an assistant, I found my mother closing the distance between us, her frown deepening. “I am sor—” Zaya! she cut in. I specifically told you today would be busy. What happened? No, do not answer that. Get yourself useful. We need new designs. A lot of ladies are coming in today for fittings for The Ascension. The Ascension. That’s what I’d forgotten. Or, more honestly, what I’d been trying very hard not to remember. Alright, Mum. The design room waited at the back of the store, and my thoughts churned the whole walk there. The Ascension, how could something so loudly announced across the province slip my mind so easily? Or maybe it hadn’t slipped at all. Maybe I simply wasn’t interested. The Ascension is held among the five clans of Azydon: the Clarets, Sables, Verdants, Azures, and the Amethysts. Each clan takes its turn to rule, five years at a time. In the fourth year of a king’s reign, The Ascension begins, stretching across a full year until a winner emerges, crowned queen beside the king of whichever clan rises next. The Claret clan held the throne now. Next in line was the Amethyst. My clan. But as I’ve said, and will likely keep saying, I wanted no part of it. The fashion house had my heart, now and for the foreseeable future. Needles, fabrics and the particular satisfaction of watching a design come alive on someone’s shoulders meant far more to me than a crown ever could. The door to the design room stood open, which struck me as odd before I even reached it. Before the thought could settle, Seraphyn burst out, hair half-pinned, looking thoroughly frantic. Relief flooded her face the moment she spotted me. Where have you been, Z? You’re aware of the rush during The Proving. I’m aware, I said, brow furrowing. But what rush? The Proving isn’t for another week. She shook her head, already pulling me back toward the workroom. It was moved up. No one knows why. The ladies are anxious; half of them don’t even have their dresses ready yet. A pause, then a sigh, Well, there goes my peaceful morning. Exactly, she said. Alright. Something in me shifted, the familiar click of switching into work mode. First, how many dresses are we making, and how many more ladies do I need to see this morning?” So far, twenty dresses. And you’ve got fifteen more consultations.” That’s a lot, I muttered, already moving. Get the seamstresses checking whether we have all the materials on hand. Mum, you, and I focus on the designs. Divide to conquer. The day dissolved into a blur after that. Questions fired back and forth, pencil scratching against paper, fingers running over bolts of fabric, measuring tape looping around waists and shoulders. Threads of a dozen different conversations tangled together in the workroom air. And I loved every second of it. This, the hush of concentration, the hum of the seamstresses’ machines, the particular joy of matching a fabric to a face, this was home. I never understood the fuss ladies made over marrying into the royal family, parading themselves in front of thousands for a stranger’s approval, when they could instead spend their days making something with their own hands. Something real. I loved wearing dresses just as much as I loved making them, but I’d always rather wear them for myself. That was how I spoke, without needing words at all. By the time my portion of the work wound down, the seamstresses had taken over, hunched over their stations with pins between their lips. I needed cake. Urgently. Stepping out to find some, I nearly collided with Phyn coming the other way, already holding one out toward me like she’d read my mind. A smile broke through despite the day’s chaos. You know me too well. After the stress of today? It felt necessary. The first bite was pure relief. This is what cake is about, I sighed. Moist. Then something clicked, a small, cold thought surfacing. Wait, where’s my mum? Phyn hesitated, just a beat too long. Honestly, forget I asked, I said quickly, already dreading the answer. She’s only going to pester me about registering for The Proving, and I don’t want to hear it. Z, you know she’s doing it for your own good, Phyn said, gentler now. This might be your only chance to…. To what? The words came out sharper than I meant them to. I don’t want to rule as queen. I like it here. This fashion house has been my dream, and I’m finally living it. I don’t want the throne. Another bite of cake, mostly to give my hands something to do. I don’t even like people that much, and you know it. Phyn let out a long breath. You should register instead, I added, only half joking. You’d love it. It’s exactly your scene. I’ll even be your designer. Phyn stiffened and I frowned studying her face. What’s going on?. She swallowed hard before answering. Well… I did register. I blinked, the words taking a moment to land. Okay, that is wonderful, you never showed any interest ever but its fine. And your mum put your name down too. The workroom noise seemed to fade around me. She did what?! I was moving before I’d even decided to, storming toward the showroom. For crying out loud, some part of me had suspected she might try something like this, but she could have at least asked. Warned me. Given me the courtesy of a conversation before signing my name away. Do I need to put up a sign? Zaya Dawton, not interested, please read carefully. As if summoned by the thought, my mother stood waiting in the showroom, composed, unbothered, like she’d been expecting this exact entrance. At forty, Maraya Dawton was still striking, dark brown hair, green eyes, caramel skin, a figure that turned heads without her trying. When she set her mind on something, it was nearly impossible to move her from it. That same stubbornness, apparently, was what had drawn my father to her all those years ago. Today, it felt less like charm and more like a verdict already decided. Zaya, dear, she said, infuriatingly calm. What is the matter? Don’t pretend you don’t know, Mother, I snapped. You’re well aware of what you’ve done. Why? I’ve said countless times I don’t want to be in The Ascension. A sigh, heavier than I expected. Zaya, come sit. I hesitated, torn between storming out and needing answers, before sitting. You know I have your best interests at heart, she said. You need to join, regardless of how you feel. Winning isn’t the goal, you need to socialize more. You can’t keep yourself locked away at home or in this fashion house forever. Her voice softened, and something in my chest tightened in response. I know it’s been hard since we lost Haron. But we have to move past it, as a family. I’m not saying forget him, I’d never ask that of you. But you have to move on. I swallowed against the sudden thickness in my throat. Mum… you didn’t give me a choice.