Free A Thread of Time: Firesetter, Book 1 by J. Naomi Ay Page A

in the
motherland, a place I had never been to, nor ever desired to be.  Yet, it gave
me comfort in a way, imagining myself sleeping upon the forest floor, beneath
these same stars, as my ancestors had done for centuries before.  If they could
survive as this, certainly, so could I.  If they could brave the wild animals
of the night, I could brave the creatures who roamed these city streets. 
    Although, I quickly became adept at
defending both my person and place for the night, with Grandmother’s needles
and shears at the ready in my pocket, my homeless adventure ended quickly when
the brief spate of warm spring weather turned into a deluge of torrential
spring rain.  The few shelters in the city quickly filled, as well as all
doorways and abandoned buildings, thus increasing the urgency for me to find a
place out of the storm.
    I could return to Farku, but I was
determined to avoid that at all costs.  I would not go back and admit my
failure, especially so soon.  I resolved to keep trying, even if it meant I
would take up the needle and thread again, and so with my grandmother’s letter,
I approached the Palace gates. 
    The guard took pity on me.  That could be
the only explanation for his generosity.  I sincerely doubted that the
recommendation of an elderly Karut woman, who had once sewn for the King’s
mother, held any weight.  Neither was it my appearance, for I was wet and
ragged, my hair knotted and filthy, my clothing dirty and torn.  Still, I
landed inside at the behest of the Royal Seamstress.
     
    Living in the palace was little different
from the university boarding house.  In fact, the university was better, in
that my bed was entirely mine.  At the palace, I shared a bunk with two other
girls, who I never saw awake, nor ever learned their names, although I knew one
was a housemaid and the other, a cook. 
    The housemaid was tidy and after her, the
sheets were always pulled tight and the bed nicely made.  When her schedule
briefly changed and the cook became the one who preceded me, she left a tiny
mountain of crumbs, as fine as grains of sand, scattered throughout the sheets.
    In our room, there were eleven other bunks
with thirty-six girls overall to share the bathroom and showers.  Our meals
were taken in the servants’ cafeteria and our two sets of uniforms were washed
every week.
    My job as seamstress-apprentice was to
repair those same uniforms, for the staff had a habit of acquiring holes and
tears.  When I proved I could darn well enough or reweave with the best of
them, I advanced to new construction where I sewed together caps.
    Six months later, instead of acquiring a
university education, I was promoted to the title of Seamstress and placed on
the King’s staff.  Had there been a queen or even a princess, I might have
preferred to design their beautiful gowns, but there was neither, both having
been lost to the sickness several years prior.
    Instead, I was given the King’s own
trousers to hem, his cuffs to take up or let down, his buttons to replace, his
aiguillettes and epaulettes to reweave.  For this, I was also given a purse
full of coins, which on my weekly day-off, I took into the city and deposited
in a bank. 
    I spent a few coins on clothes for myself,
for on that day-off, I chose not to look like a seamstress-servant, but rather
a woman of means enjoying herself about town.  Once a week, I treated myself to
a nice meal in a restaurant, and once every two months, I went to a salon and
had my hair styled.  It pleased me inordinately to pretend I was someone else
here in the Capitol City amongst the planet’s most well-to-do.
     
    On one such day in the beginning of the
autumn when the last of the sun’s warmth was turning the marble building into a
million shades of pink, I was returning from my outing to the city, strolling
lazily among the palace grounds.  I was reluctant to retire to my shared bed
and the work day that would commence in precious few hours.