Look Beyond What You See

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.