Chapter 7 The Seamstress and the Spy

Chapter 7 The Seamstress and the Spy
“Fix your posture, Eris. This isn’t a stable. You can’t just walk through the West Wing like you’re still in the slums, duh.”
Dominique’s voice cut through the hallway, sharp and grating. We had just finished dinner—a meal that would have been a luxury to anyone else, but to me, it tasted like ash. The steak was perfectly seared, the wine vintage, and the service impeccable. Typical Thorne standards. I saw the other Proteges look on in awe, especially Lulu, who barely dared to touch the silver cutlery for fear of scratching it.
But me? I ate in silence. I wasn’t impressed by the gold and porcelain; this used to be our table. Every bite was a reminder that the food in my mouth was bought with the blood of my father.
“Dominique, can you just shut up for once?” I replied, my voice calm but laced with a boredom that clearly irritated her. “We just finished eating. Can’t you let your insecurity digest before you speak to me?”
“Insecurity? Me?” Dominique laughed, a high-pitched, mocking sound. “I am Rank 1. You are a nobody Julian found in the mud. You still look filthy no matter how many times they scrub you. And now, we’re going to Vera’s. Do you even know who Vera is? She doesn’t dress peasants.”
I didn’t bother answering. I knew exactly who Vera was. She was the most sought-after seamstress in Vespera. She didn’t just sew clothes; she engineered armor for the elite. We entered The Atelier, a hidden room in the East Wing that smelled of expensive silk, lavender, and old sewing machines. The room was filled with mannequins draped in half-finished gowns that shimmered under the warm lights.
In the center of the room stood an elderly woman with a silver thimble on her finger. Her eyes were sharp, scanning us like a hawk.
“Dominique, stand on the pedestal,” Vera ordered without even looking at us. “And you… the new one. Come closer.”
I took a deep breath and stepped forward. Vera reached for her measuring tape. The moment the cold, yellow tape touched my shoulder, the world began to blur. The callouses on Vera’s fingers and the rasping sound of the tape being pulled felt like a time machine. Suddenly, the lavender of the Atelier was replaced by the scent of fresh roses—my mother’s favorite.
FLASHBACK STING: THE UNSTOPPABLE ARMOR
Ten years ago. I was sixteen, preparing for my debut. My room was a chaotic sea of stitched silk and loose pearls scattered across the floor. My mother was kneeling behind me, her mouth full of pins, carefully securing pearls onto the bodice of my gown. Every stitch was an act of love.
“Margo, my jade,” she whispered, smoothing the hem. “This dress is your armor. Tonight, we show Vespera that the Valderamas are unbreakable.”
She kissed my shoulder, at the exact spot where Vera’s measuring tape rested now. That was one week before the sabotage. One week before that armor turned to ash, and the pearls she worked so hard to sew became the funeral shroud for my mother.
PRESENT
“Don’t fidget,” Vera snapped, pulling me back to reality.
I felt her tighten the tape around my waist. I remained rigid, my face an expressionless mask even as every touch of the tape measure felt like it was carving open my memories.
“Dominique, you’re done. Go wait outside with the others,” Vera commanded, scribbling measurements into an old notebook.
“Why do I have to wait? She’s just a Rank 15,” Dominique complained, stomping off the pedestal. “Don’t make her too pretty, Vera. It’s a waste of fabric. Mud will always be mud.”
I turned to Dominique, a cold smile dancing on my lips. “Mud is where the most beautiful lotus grows, Dominique. Unlike plastic, it actually has substance. Why don’t you go check if your Rank 1 badge is still shiny? At the rate you’re going, it might be faded by tomorrow.”
Dominique turned beet red, her fists clenching, but she slammed the door on her way out. Vera and I were left in a heavy silence. She stepped closer to measure the length of my neck, but suddenly stopped. Slowly, she brushed my hair away from the back of my right ear. I saw her eyes widen in the mirror. There, beneath my hairline, was a small, heart-shaped birthmark.
“This mark…” Vera whispered, her voice trembling. “I’ve only seen this once before. I made the dress for Mrs. Valderama’s funeral. I remember the daughter… the little girl who cried over the casket. You… you have her eyes. You have her mark.”
I didn’t blink. “I think you’re mistaken, Vera. Plenty of people have birthmarks. And the Valderamas? They’re all dead. I’m Eris.”
“Eris,” she repeated, sounding unconvinced. “Whoever you are, be careful here. This house eats girls like you for breakfast. The uniform I’m making for you… I’ll make it strong. You’ll need it.”
She dropped the measuring tape and pulled a black envelope from under her table. “I heard the guards talking earlier. Senator Silas is coming here tonight. He’s meeting Madame V and Julian in the East Wing library. They’re finalizing the transfer of some… ‘old assets’ from the Valderama estate.”
The name “Silas” felt like a physical slap. My grip on my skirt tightened until the fabric groaned. Silas. The man who signed my father’s death warrant.
“He’s here?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm.
“He’s already in the East Wing,” Vera replied. “And if I were you, Rank 15, I wouldn’t go near that library. Silas likes young, pretty things. And girls like you? He turns them into decorations before throwing them away.”
I left the Atelier without looking back. Once we reached the dormitory, I waited for the lights to dim. Exactly 10:00 PM—the Curfew of Shadows. I slid out of bed and pulled on the black leggings and hoodie I had hidden under my mattress. I crawled through the narrow, dusty ventilation duct that connected to the East Wing.
I reached a vent in the ceiling directly above the library hallway. There I saw him. Senator Silas. He looked exactly the same—bloated, in an expensive suit, wearing my father’s ring on his finger. He was laughing, clinking a glass of scotch with Julian Thorne.
“The Valderama ports are finally in my name, Julian,” Silas chuckled. “Your father would be proud. It took ten years, but we finally erased every trace of that family. Except for the boy, of course.”
I stopped breathing. The boy. Leo.
“Leo is under control, Senator,” Julian replied, his voice chillingly cold. “He’s in the facility. He stays alive as long as he’s useful.”
“Good. Because if that boy ever speaks…” Silas made a throat-slashing gesture.
My hands shook with a violent rage. Leo is alive. My brother is alive and being held like a lab rat.
“Is the new asset ready?” Silas asked. “Madame V told me about a girl Julian found. Eris, right? Bring her to my gala next week. I want to see if the hype is real.”
I slowly backed away into the duct. I had heard enough. My heart was already a graveyard, but today, a new grave was dug—and it had Senator Silas’s name on it. I made it back to the West Wing undetected, breathless and covered in dust.
I pulled the charred scrap of my mother’s robe from under my pillow.
“Vera was right, Mama,” I whispered into the dark. “This dress is my armor. But this time, it’s not for a dance.”
Senator Silas wants me at his gala? Fine. He’ll get more than he bargained for. I will become the Top Protege. I will become the Mistress they can’t control. And when I’m standing next to Silas at that gala, the last thing he’ll see is the Jade of Valderama—shining, lethal, and finally back for blood.
I opened my notebook and wrote a new name at the bottom of my list.
Captain Rios (The Handcuffs)
Madame V (The Brains)
Senator Silas (The Signature)
Target Number Three is scheduled for next week, I wrote.
I closed my eyes, the image of Silas wearing my father’s ring burning into my mind. Rank 15? I won’t be here for long. To get to Silas, I need to be the best. I need to be the girl Julian can’t say no to.
The sanitization was over. The Jade was back. And next week, I’m the one holding the blade.