Today I was tasked to weave ten arm's lengths of linen for the queen's third prince-consort. You would think that either the first or second should have knocked her up by now. But it is rumored that the first one was impotent, and the second one is so simple and unrefined that the queen considered him unfit to sire an heir.
Each time some royally important guy like that needs a wedding dress, it's a blessing and a curse. It's a blessing, because it means I get to work with linen and gold, and brilliant colors like you never see in day-to-day life. But it's also a curse. These wedding dresses require so much damn fabric, your fingers bleed before it's finished. It's not like the royalty could be bothered to plan their weddings far enough in advance that weaving the linens becomes a manageable task. That would be too easy. The deadline is month 7, day 1, just a week before the wedding itself. And it's not like the oven-like climate of Kathiedrau's environs can support flax; linen has to be brought in over long distances at great expense. The gold thread that enriches the pattern is cheaper than the material that makes the matrix of the cloth. So the pattern has to be correctly woven with not a stitch out of place in all ten arm's lengths.
Sure, the palace is nice-looking from the outside. Huge walls of smooth limestone adorned with intricate carvings and intense colors, showing off Kathiedrau's hoarded wealth. But inside those walls, it's almost as hot as it is outside. The inner chambers of the palace, where it's cool and the burning rays of the sun don't reach, are for royalty and clergy only. Leaving ordinary spinning-girls like myself to work in the periphery, where the hot, dusty air can blow in through the windows and dry up your lungs like you just inhaled a bundle of lint. Even the bedchambers are similarly hellish.
The pattern I've been given is the most complicated pattern I've ever seen. It's even more convoluted than what was issued for the first and second wedding dresses. I'm known for being someone who can hold a very complicated pattern in her head, but I worry this may be too grand a design even for me. If the spinning-room was perhaps a bit cooler, and if I didn't have the sun in my eyes half the day, maybe it would be manageable. But does Prioress Malia care about the conditions under which her spinning-girls labor? Of course not.
I barely got the pattern started today. It's going fine, I guess. But I keep thinking it would be nice if I could get out of this situation. I'd like to go someplace that isn't so hot and bright and dry. I feel like a beached dolphin.
I've been spinning since I was thirteen years old. All this time, I've scarcely used any of my leave. What would I use it for? I don't have any living family, no friends aside from my coworkers. Over the past ten years, I've built up three entire weeks of leave. Technically, I could take that leave right now. The Prioress would have to let me -- it would be sacrilege to deny me the leave I've earned. She'd be mad as all hell, though. With fair reason; none of the other spinning-girls have the skill to weave this pattern, so she would have to take it on herself. If this was any event less stately and sanctified than a royal wedding, I have no doubt she'd sooner sideline the project and let me take the blame. But in this case, she would have to do it, or they'd have her head.
I guess that gives me a bit of power over her, doesn't it? Isn't that a nice change of pace. Too bad it's not really practical for me to exercise that power.
Today's work was as tedious and hot as the day before. My poor fingers aren't bleeding yet, but they sure are red and inflamed. The temperature in my bedchambers does not help.
Where would I even go if I took my leave? There's no place I would go that I could come back from feeling relaxed. If I go somewhere, I have to stay there. But surely that would be somewhere even hotter and brighter than here. I guess I'll just suck on my blisters and stay.
At lunch today, I told my coworker Lilith about my thoughts of running off. She's a few years older than me, and from her rebellious nature I know she can be trusted with those kinds of secrets.
She told me that there's a place you can walk to in a day, a place where older girls like to go when they've built up enough leave. They call this place Endaira's Cavern. I'm told that, though it doesn't stand out much from the white sands around the palace, it can be spotted by the landmark of two enormous rocks, of a most unusual shape, which overhang the mouth of the cave and just barely touch each other above it. At the bottom of the cavern, there's a pool of water, ice-cold, and the fishes and scum that inhabit this pool glow brightly with a light that illuminates without warming. This sounds too mystical to be real, but two other girls who share a room with Lilith say they've been there too.
I want to take my leave, but I'm not coming back. I'm going to live in Endaira's Cave. I'll live on glowing fish and scum, and I'll get familiar with the cave's layout, so that I can tell other girls all the best spots when they come down to visit.
When I told the Prioress I was [TODO unfinished story]