Pins and Tornados

“Juniper?” I call as I teeter on a stool, once again surrounded by dim-witted sewing maids armed with meters of white fabric and specially sharpened pins.

“Yes, milady?” Juniper answers, emerging from my study with the Russian grammar book I asked her to bring me. Yekaterina said she would help me learn some of it while I’m performing my balancing act. If she must be around, at least I can take advantage of her few beneficial qualities. Malina and the Russian nuisance follow in Juniper’s wake as the British Chief of Staff wades through the sea of sewing maids and white cloth.

“Why are we still doing dress fittings when the wedding has been postponed indefinitely?”

“Because Lady Berkeley has decided that we will finish the fashion-related aspects of the wedding while Yekaterina is staying with us.”

“I am delighted to help,” Yekaterina recites, though not without genuine feeling; it’s obvious that she has been taught this particular phrase and practiced it many times.

“Not as delighted as we are to have your assistance,” I reply with a smile. Malina catches my eye, looking skeptical, and I wink at her. Her skepticism turns to a smirk of enlightenment. Poor Malina has endured my venting about the constant vexation Yekaterina has caused me ever since her arrival five days ago. Although Yekaterina has restrained her flirtations with Dmitri in my presence, I have heard that the opposite is true during their English lessons, and that Dmitri seems not to know what to do about her behavior. He has not, to my knowledge, told her to stop. I dare not mention it again to Dmitri, even in private on the roof, at least not until the situation becomes more critical. Things between him and me are strained enough as things are. In our attempts to avoid upsetting each other by mentioning Yekaterina, Giacomo, my grandmother, or even the news of escalating negotiations between countries involved in the Austro-Serbian dispute, we find ourselves unable to speak of anything consequential, and our conversations fail. Long-suffering Malina listens to my complaints when we meet to study, and she has pledged to help me find respite wherever it might be found. That and harassing Giacomo at morning training are the only things keeping me sane.

Yekaterina takes the grammar book from Juniper and perches daintily on a stool next to me so that I can see the book. She then proceeds to try to teach me the intricacies of the genitive case when used with numbers, which is one of the more complicated aspects of Russian grammar. Between pinpricks from the incompetent maids—are those blood drops on the fabric?!—and the infernal July heat, I am sour and unable to focus, although Yekaterina is being uncharacteristically congenial. Indeed, Yekaterina’s unusual kindness and patience are all that makes this remotely bearable. She must be plotting something.

“No, no, not like dat!” Yekaterina exclaims suddenly, interrupting herself mid-explanation of zero-ending genitive plural to take a piece a fabric from a particularly hapless maid and pinning it--without stabbing me!--so that it drapes around me more becomingly. “Aerys lovely flower, and ve must make her bloom on vedding day. Show her off, not hide her.”

“Why, thank you, Yekaterina. That does look nice,” I smile, admiring her handiwork in the conveniently placed looking-glasses around the room. What she did with the fabric really does look much better than what the maid was doing with it. Although she is arrogant and vain and sometimes lacking in intelligence, she has an uncanny ability to design clothing and decorations and an unerring instinct to find what looks best in any situation. “You have great talent. I don’t suppose it would be possible for you to design fashions professionally?”

Yekaterina looks confused, and so I repeat the question in halting Russian. She frowns and shakes her head, a flash of pain in her eyes. Oops. I didn’t intend for that. It goes against my whole “kill her with kindness” scheme.

“Oh, no, Aerys. I no can... Mama say dat men no vant vimin vit job.” How preposterous. “And because...I not like you, vit husband chosen for me, I must dink of dese tings.” According to Malina, who eavesdrops in Zinaida’s apartments in the mornings while I train, this really is a vital aspect of Russian culture, at least for the women. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“Of course, of course. Excuse my ignorance.”

“Your mama never teach you how catch husband?”

“There was no need. It seems I have been promised to Dmitri almost since birth.”

Yekaterina’s eyes widen at that revelation. I doubt she had known our engagement was so well planned.

“I see. Vell, it could haf been vorse, for you.” The implication here is that it could not possibly have been worse for Dmitri. “You given into vellty family, vit nice house, many servants--”

“Indeed, I have been immeasurably blessed,” I agree, hoping to steer her to a subject less intimately connected with Dmitri.

“--good connexions, and of course, your fiancé such vunderful man,” she continues as though I had not spoken, a malicious glint in her eyes. “He so smart, and speak so many language vell, and so handsome! Lucky girl, Aerys, very lucky.”

“No one would ever dream otherwise.” Are you quite finished? Do you have any idea what a dangerous road you are travelling?

“It strange to you at all, that he no human?” she asks suddenly, her tone innocent and eyes full of malevolence. Malina catches my eye. Yes, I do believe it’s time for a little game.

“Beg pardon?” I ask with a squeak of pain from a pin that’s been (conveniently) jabbed into my shoulder. Perhaps these maids would be better suited as acupuncturists. A drop of blood wells up and soaks into the fabric. Glad I’m not squeamish. Though it might be useful to pretend…and oh, to be a fly on the wall when Zinaida sees how they’ve ruined this fabric!

“You learn, did you not, at engagement ball dat whole family is elementals?”

“What?” I clutch my forehead, feigning shock. “I...I don’t remember much.... People were whispering, and it was all moving so fast.... There was a conversation with someone, and he said such shocking things, but I can’t...can’t...remember....”

I stare at Yekaterina blankly for a few long moments, then shrug hopelessly. “It’s all gone now,” I add when I sense she’s losing patience. “You say...they’re all--”

“Aerys, dear, don’t listen to her,” Juniper entreats me, sending a reproving glance in Yekaterina’s direction. “Just a lot of Russian folklore. She’s only trying to frighten you.” So that’s what Malina meant when she said she would help me find respite. She’s somehow gotten Juniper involved. Excellent. I’ll have to find out how she did it later. Maybe I can use similar strategies to get out of dress fittings and wearing corsets.

“No! I tell de truf!” Yekaterina contradicts, her accent thicker than usual. “Dmitri control fire. Surely you notice he warm all de time--”

“And how would you know that? Have you been conducting yourself improperly with my fiancé when I am not present?” I accuse calmly, with a hint of malice poisoning my tone. I may or may not be implying that she behaves inappropriately towards him in my presence, as well. Oops.

“No! Of course not! Ve just lean close togeder, ven ve study de textbooks so I learn English,” Yekaterina protests vehemently, but a glimmer of guilt lurking in the backs of her eyes betrays her. Wonderful. “I feel de heat den, sometimes. I cannot believe you not know. Besides, ve talk a little about elemental skill, because I also elemental. Control air. He tell me himself he control fire.”

“Prove it. Prove that you’re an elemental, that they even exist,” I challenge. I want to see how strong she is. She sets her jaw with determination and whips up a small tornado within my apartments. The sewing maids shriek and flee as the tornado sucks up their infinite meters of white fabric. So that’s how you make them go away. I promptly feign a swoon and fall into Malina’s arms.

“Stop that at once!” Juniper thunders. I watch through slitted eyes, which I hope appear closed to anyone bothering to watch me, as the tornado sputters out, leaving my apartments in abject disarray. Yekaterina shrinks away from Juniper, whom I’ve never seen more irate. “Look what you’ve done, you foolish ninny! We’ll never get any more work out of the sewing maids today, after you’ve traumatized them so, and poor Aerys has plumb fainted away!” Some of the braver ladies have come out from their hiding places and are waving smelling salts in front of my face, trying to revive me.

“I...I sorry...I not meant...” Yekaterina stammers.

“Sorry! Well, I should hope you are, and a good deal more than sorry, at that,” Juniper fumes. Yekaterina bursts into tears. “You’ll be cleaning all of this up, and apologizing to Aerys, once she comes to. A fine thing to do, being so stubborn, and admitting to getting closer than you ought with Aerys’ fiancé, besides! If I ever hear of such a thing again, I’ll tell Lady Berkeley before you can say Jack Robinson!”

“Oh, no!” Yekaterina blubbers. “You never--! Please, no tell Zina anything! I clean up, and apologize, and fix dress later--vatever you vant me do.”

I “come to” with a start at this point. I simply must watch this from a wider vantage point than the narrow slit between my eyelids that allowed me to see while pretending to be unconscious. Juniper is regarding Yekaterina with smug satisfaction while the Russian girl sobs with fright at having her misdemeanors revealed to Zinaida. She must really be afraid of Zinaida. I’ll have to keep that in mind, for future reference.

“She wakes!” Malina exclaims. “Oh, thank goodness, Aerys dear! I simply cannot believe that wretched girl’s nerve, shocking you when it’s common knowledge that you have such a delicate constitution! Ladies, let’s help Aerys to bed. She simply must lie down. Fainting is such a stressful experience, you know.” Well played, Malina. I would expect such balderdash from Juniper, but never from you. She’s taught you well. The ladies support me as I walk with tottering steps into my bedchamber, without giving Yekaterina so much as another glance. Once I am settled into my nest of overstuffed pillows and bedcovers, Malina shoos the rest of the maids away and shuts the door gently behind them, saying that she will stay to watch me “in case I relapse.” However, once the door is closed she comes and sits by my bed so we can share a secret, muffled giggle.

“Brilliant show, Malina. How did you convince Juniper to join? She couldn’t have done better,” I congratulate my partner in crime.

“Junie is just as fed up with Yekaterina as you are, for Yekaterina’s disrespectful conduct towards you and her scandalous conduct towards Dmitri. What’s more, Junie is ‘bloody proud’ of you for the way you’ve been handling yourself around Yekaterina. It hardly took much convincing,” Malina replies with a blush.

“Well, I’ll have to thank her later, nonetheless. The two of you were simply marvellous.”

“I’ll make sure you get a chance to tell her yourself, once she’s done overseeing Yekaterina’s punishment. For now, you ought to take the opportunity to rest. I’m sure these past few days have been anything but easy on your nerves, though you are far from delicate in constitution.”

“Thank you. You’re right, I could use a nap.”

“Pleasant dreams, then, milady.” Indeed. Pleasant dreams of what? My fiancé is implicated in infidelity with this arrogant, foolhardy Russian strumpet, war is potentially imminent, and if the Berkeleys do not declare free agent status, my grandmother could come down on us like a hawk on its prey. This is why I try not to sleep. It keeps the nightmares away....