Folding the Sky

-35-

One prolonged hour after arriving at the Lee family cottage back on Artisan's Row, Chike was beginning to regret his decision to come there.

The downstairs work table was swamped in a diverse pile of suits and vests and bowties, in every color from apricot to cobalt, fashioned of every material from polyester to silk. His mother fluttered about in the storage closet, sifting through old cardboard boxes that had sat unopened for so long that at least an inch of dust gathered atop them like fresh snowfall. She crouched below the hanging racks, droning on and on about how she'd so wished for an occasion like this as she tossed garment after garment back upon the table.

"I mean, it's simply about time," she was saying. Her skirts dragged through the tiny clumps of dust on the closet floor. "We tailors always have to make the gowns and the tuxedos that catch the crowd's eye, but we never get to be in that crowd for ourselves! Or be the ones doing the eye-catching! Is that so much to ask? No, I don't think it is!"

Another suit landed atop the pile with a soft thump. This one was a very fervent sunshine yellow; Chike would never be caught dead in something that bright. He leaned his chin tiredly into his hands, inhaling a large whiff of lavender fabric cleaner and turpentine. "Mama."

"I know you're not there to attend the ball, not really. Still, promise me you'll try to have some fun, okay? You're still young. It shouldn't be just work, work, work all the time, even if there's some stupid war on the horizon. In fact, that's even more the reason to have some fun now—"

"Mama," Chike said, a bit louder this time. The stool underneath him creaked as he eased his weight off of it, coming around and offering to help his mother to her feet. "Please, I think you've pulled out more than enough. I'm sure I can pick something out of these."

"Damn these old knees of mine," Mrs. Lee croaked, squeezing Chike's knuckles as she dragged herself up from the floor. She grinned, patting her son's cheek. "Very well, then. I was just trying to make sure you had options, my love."

Chike laughed a bit under his breath, sizing up the pile. "Looks like I've got plenty."

So he began his own sift through the heap of clothes, separating the brighter fabrics from the darker ones, slipping his arm through the jacket sleeves to check for size, brushing his thumbs across the bowties, checking that each button on the vests was firmly attached. A myriad footsteps thudded erratically above his head, the comings and goings of his siblings and his father, the sort he would've hardly noticed if he had not been away for so long. He missed it, he realized: that controlled chaos, the noisy storm of familiarity.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. His mother was watching him, in the sort of way he could tell that he wasn't supposed to know she was watching him.

"Mama," Chike began slowly, and his mother jolted. "Is there something you want to ask me?"

She said nothing, just stood with her shoulder leaned against the doorframe, her hands folded across her ample chest.

Chike brushed a tuxedo jacket on the low table before him. Silk. A delicate silver-blue. It would suit Aldric quite well. "Mama—"

"You look different."

"Different?" Chike's eyes fluttered up to hers. Admittedly, that wasn't what he had been expecting. "Different how?"

His mother's brows furrowed, frown lines deepening around her mouth as she studied Chike's face. "I can't quite put my finger on it," she said, approaching him, brushing a knuckle along the dark skin below his eyes. "It's here. You seem...older. More tired. Like you're carrying something. Tell me, now. Is it the Queen's request? Is everything going alright?"