Read The Stumpwork Robe (The Chronicles of Eirie 1) for Free Online Page A

unbreakable.
    However you have reached the end of this latest revelation and you know what you must do - charm, replace. And then if you would like to continue the journey of words, I would ask you make a traverse across the warp and weft of the robe. Can you see a pavilion with small tassels hanging off the awning? Such a difficult thing to make with copious hours of needleweaving which is my least favourite stitch. But I think the effect is worth it. See how it’s roomy enough to contain a stool and a basket of strawberries? This is a larger piece of stumpwork, well padded and deceiving and most people would focus on the strawberries I am sure. You must feel around inside the walls of the tent where you will find a much thicker booklet than before. Fortunately this will enable you to continue reading for some time before you once again must amble on your treasure hunt across the byways of my embroidered countryside.
    But I must tell you that this pavilion was stitched as a gentle reminder. On my journey with Kholi Khatoun, he would rig a delightful tent, exotic and colourful, with tassels and bells all around the awning. The bells were to keep malign wights at bay and it was in this tent that our friendship transformed to love amid the harmonies of tinkling cones of engraved silver.

 
    Chapter Six
     
     
    When Ana left Liam to run to her brother’s celebration, he was not afraid of losing her in the crowd or never seeing her again. He had already placed her on the board and in the manner of the aliyat he was going to play her. Momentarily though, in the mere blink of an eye as her hair had grazed his cheek, he looked at her in a different light. Not as a sarbaz but as someone he could share something with, learn from even. He wondered if she had innocently turned the tables on him, made him the game.
    Blatant arrogance curled the strong mouth. Never! This is my game, played by my rules. And so he wandered amongst the crowds, observing mortals; the happiness and joy, the belligerence occasioned by drink and jealousies, mothers’ love and fathers’ discipline. All the while he knew it would be easy to find Ana in such a small, provincial town. He had only to ask. But somewhere in his consciousness curiosity hunkered. What if she should come to him willingly, without the glue of Other glamour? The bored loneliness of his life shifted at the thought, it would be such a change… no manipulation and no game plan.
    So it was, as the crowds broke from the boat racing and set about the serious job of denuding the food stalls and emptying the stitchers’ troves, he entered the dark, shady end of Quickstep lane. Hiding, blending himself with the chiaroscuro of shadow until he was merely another shade amongst the shifting patterns wafting on the river breeze. Just as Kholi Khatoun spoke to Marte about Jonty Bellingham. ‘He assaulted your daughter. I was witness... Such a man should be castrated.’
    Liam thought he would explode with rage. Ana was his ; his trophy, his prize, to do with what he wanted. Not the possession of some mortal miscreant. His hand went to his stiletto... a way to emasculate Ana’s assailant just as Kholi had said. Splitting Bellingham’s legs open, reaching for his plump testes and slicing them off with one stroke, blood spurting, and then handing the offensive, flaccid bags to the wounded individual. Watching the horror and pain erupt forth from the mortal mouth. Just desserts.
    But perhaps not enough.
    Marte hurried past and Kholi Khatoun turned the other way toward Liam, toward the black shadow that seemed deeper than the time of day would warrant. The breeze stirred the tree occasioning a peppering of nuts on the ground, their noise a subtle patter. Kholi stopped at Liam’s feet to pick one up and sniff its sharp astringency. On the verge of revealing himself to the Amritsands merchant, Liam knew he would have a ready accomplice but he held back. He needed no help. Thus Kholi Khatoun walked