Page 46 of A Crown So Cursed
Esme cleared her throat impatiently. “As touching as this reunion may be, time is of the essence. We need your help, Arachne.”
Releasing Gwendolyn, Arachne stepped back to appraise Gwendolyn with keen, dark eyes. “I know,” she replied, gesturing for them to follow into her lair. “You need a new cloak.”
“Can you provide it?” Gwendolyn asked.
“Of course, Child,” Arachne said, in very much the same tone Demelza had so often used to address her. “However, you must use it carefully. Once you decide what you want, simply place the cloak about your shoulders. But youmustbe certain what you want, because you can lie to yourself, but you cannot lie to the cloak.”
“What will it cost me?”
Arachne’s answering cackle echoed through the cavern. “Cost you? Child, the question isn’t what it willcost, but what you will gain—or lose. Art prepared for the Court to see you as you are? Can you deny your mortal lands, forsake your beloved Cornwall? The cloak will know, and make no mistake, whatever it decides, that is who you will be.”
Arachne’s many-jointed fingers danced through the air, gesturing wildly, and then she stopped to retrieve a length of cloth that lay upon a stool.
“Here,” she said, holding up the cloak. She paused before handing it over. “But be warned… and be prepared.”
“She is,” Esme asserted. “Give her the cloak. Really, Arachne, must you make every presentation so dramatic?”
“Would you begrudge me?” said Arachne, and Esme shook her head. Arachne smiled.
Nervous now, Gwendolyn’s blue-gray eyes met Arachne’s black ones, and then her sister’s green ones, searching. “How can you be so certain I am ready?”
A wry smile tugged at Esme’s lips. “Because you possess something we never had—a warm, beating heart. And this is your strength, Gwendolyn, not your weakness.”
Her expression softened. “Besides… you have me.”
“The Shadow Court will underestimate you,” predicted Arachne. “Use it to your advantage.” And then, at last, she handed Gwendolyn the cloak.
Unlike Arachne’s first gift, and more like the tapestries, there was nothing common to this cloak. The air hummed with magic, and the pearlescent fabric rippled like liquid starlight, casting prismatic reflections across the walls of the lair.
Gwendolyn’s fingers trembled as she reached out to touch the shimmering fabric, marveling over its incredible design. It felt cool to the touch, like water made solid. “Breathtaking,” she whispered, and all her fears were momentarily assuaged in the presence of such beauty.
Esme whistled. “Well, ifthatdoesn’t make the court take notice, I don’t know what will.”
Arachne released the cloak, and Gwendolyn said gratefully, “How can I ever thank you?”
“For what, Child?”
“For this gift… for your wisdom… for your friendship… it means more than words can express.”
“You will thank me by facing that viper of a court with your head high, Gwendolyn. Show them the strength that lies in being one’s true self… and then, later…” She grinned. “If it pleases you, perhaps you may loosen the terms of my exile. No doubt, I prefer to remain here—this place is more to my liking. Yet I do so crave the court now and again, and I may even return to weaving tapestries.”
Gwendolyn nodded. “Consider it done.”
“How far we have come,” Arachne purred, her silken hair shining against the golden light of her cavern, as she stepped back to allow Gwendolyn to leave with the gift of her cloak. Clutching it to her breast, Gwendolyn gave a nod to Esme.
“Art ready?” asked Esme.
Gwendolyn nodded again, but as they turned to leave, she turned once more to the spider-woman. “Thank you,” she said warmly.
“Art welcome,” Arachne said, and thereafter, Gwendolyn and Esme took their leave, hoping to be back before Málik came looking.
“You know,” said Esme after they had departed, her tone uncharacteristically sober, “I will stand by you, no matter what happens in that cesspool of a court.”
Gwendolyn felt a surge of affection for her half-sister. “I know,” she said with certainty, because she did. Through everything, Esme had been there for her… the first to stand in her defense—even against Málik when the occasion demanded.
“Art nervous?”
“I am,” Gwendolyn admitted. “I am only wondering… if I will still be...me.”
