“Are you able to come home with me?” she asked. “I need a warm bath, and my drawing pad, then...I’d like to talk with you, privately.”“You can do that,” Manwen said. “I have to go to the barracks. The squadron leaders are having a meeting—apparently Captain Phae arrived this morning with important news about the skirmishes in the south.”“Please come,” Rena insisted. “I would like to speak to you before I sleep. Something important that must not wait.” Something I should have told you long ago. Yes, Manwen, if I can’t trust you, then I can’t trust anyone.“Of course, sister. But you might want to light a candle—you know how these meetings go sometimes.”“I won’t sleep until you come.”

Why had she let Uncle discover her secret? Greedy Uncle Kurt, who she loathed more than she loved. Why hadn’t she just continued to lie to him and pretend all her money came from hard work and high demand? Really, she shouldn’t have let herself get so drunk with him that night he’d appeared, eager to spend time with his “favorite niece”. With the fire of liquor burning in her veins, her usual restraint she felt around him vanished and she thought it about time to show him she was more than just a quiet, timid girl. A seamstress and a cloth-maker? he’d replied when she told him her secret, and what, you say it only takes you a few clockturns to make a bedcloth? Uncle poured her another drink, then said he didn’t believe her, which only provoked her further. She’d led him, drunk and staggering, through the streets of dark Gholheim to her shop, where she kept her loom in the attic. She’d made a kerchief in half a clockturn as Uncle loomed close, wreathing her with the stench of Kerran scotch, the world swimming with blurry colors. It seemed a small victory, seeing the bald lecher’s eyes widen, hearing for once praise instead of criticism. It seemed a small victory, until this.