Mira Threadwell's Arc

Chapter 6 of 13

Mira left the gutted cloak on her bench and ran for the lodge before dawn. She had to know if the inspector had taken her stripped seams as evidence, or worse, posted them. The cold bit through her sleeves. Her breath came short. She found her answer at the fire pit ringed by ice benches. Above the flames hung a wide slate board, and pinned across it were her seams. Her doubled shoulder. Her bone toggles. Every cut thread laid flat like a butchered bird. A small placard sat beside it, marked with the inspector's antlered seal. Fighters crowded the benches. A woman traced Mira's stitch line with one finger. Two men sketched the toggle pattern onto a scrap. Someone laughed. Mira stood at the edge of the firelight and felt the heat on her face while the rest of her went cold. They were not mocking the work. They were learning it. She stepped closer. A broad fighter glanced up, saw her, and did not look away. He tapped the pinned shoulder piece. "This yours?" Mira nodded. He grunted. "Holds against a hammer?" "Three," she said. "From three sides." He studied her a long moment, then turned back to the board and kept reading. Mira walked home through the gray light. The secret was gone. By dawn every fighter in the trial would know her build, and some would wear pieces of it before she ever stepped into the ring. Her cloak still lay in threads on her bench. She had until sunrise to decide what to rebuild, knowing the ring would now be full of her own work, worn by other hands.