As the spinning frame jerked to a stop, I heard the ripping sound of my day’s work being torn to shreds. “Tathen’s teeth,” I swore, pulling the lever that lifted the gear from the water-powered generator. The shuttle rubbed against the weave, causing the worn strings to bunch until they caught the boat shuttle from its path and tore the fabric. I pulled the offending shuttle from the center of the rows of strings. The wood along its edge was still warm.

  The door opened behind me. “Lila, come help me unpick the threads. If we ruin any more product, Griffin will lose his mind.” Lila’s steps came closer until they were right behind me.

  Then a hand lifted the shuttle from my own. A man’s hand. I jumped to my feet, almost knocking over the stool I had been perching on. The man behind me stood about 6 inches taller than me with light brown hair streaked with blonde highlights. His broad-shouldered build betrayed his familiarity with a sword, and his broad grin, his playful nature. “Griffin!”

  Griffin chuckled and caught my waist with his right hand, still holding the shuttle. “I think we can survive a few more spools of fabric. Here.” He held in his left hand a heaping plate of bread and sliced chicken. “I’ve already told Lila to go home. You’ve worked into dinner again. You can’t afford to let your diversions get in the way of your health anymore.” He touched my slightly protruding belly and kissed me on the forehead. I leaned into the warmth of it.

  “Our baby is smaller than an apple. How can he eat so much?” I asked as I took the plate from him and sat in my chair.

  He leaned against the workbench beside me. “I want a pudgy little one, so she doesn’t have a choice.”

  We had a bet going since the first time the doctor told us I was with child. If it was a boy, we’d name him after my father. If it was a girl, she’d be named after his grandmother. Ever since, the growing child had two names.

  “How is the new project going?” He asked.

  I took a large bite of bread and glowered at the loom. “It’s fighting me now, but once we have it off the ground, we’ll be able to halve the time spent at the looms for simple fabrics.”

  I began picking at the fabric, but Griffin interrupted me. “I mean it, eat. You can work me through how to fix it while you eat.”

  I placed the oil lamp on the floor below the fabric so that the light showed through where the threads had frayed. The first sign was six picks before the tear. I pointed it out. “See how the thread thins in this row? This is where the damage began. Find a place before it, somewhere stable. That is where you cut.”

  Griffin leaned forward as I sat back, holding my sandwich. He took the sewing scissors from my desk and cut into the weft.

  “Now unpick the damaged thread.”

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  Griffin pulled the thread away, bit by bit pulling it free from the warp. After a few seconds, he held out the loose string in triumph. “There, good as new.”

  I took the thread and wove it between my own fingers. The frayed texture made it soft. Almost. I shook my head, dismissing the thought. “Once we have it off the ground, we’ll be able to halve the time spent at the looms for simple fabrics. I still haven’t managed the patterned ones. Regardless, it will free up production for more high-cost items. When it works, that is.”

  “I’m still partial to your last invention.” He placed his hand over the wooden box containing the newly designed pistol that leaned against the desk.

  “You would be. It’s the soldier in you to favor the thing that destroys over the thing that creates. We’re not even at war and it’s more expensive to hunt with than a crossbow. We’ll make twice the profit on the textile machine.” My rifle wasn’t the first gun on the market, but by my calculations, it was twice as accurate and less reliant on good weather conditions too.

  Griffin pulled the metal pin from my hair clip. My brunette curls sprang free and settled around my face and into my food. I looked up at him in annoyance, but he just smiled. That peace that he always gave me washed over my annoyance, melting it away. “Oh, I’d say I favor things that create far more.”

  I turned away to hide my warming face.

  Griffin riffled through the papers on my workbench. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow, and little baby Eleanora needs her beauty sleep.” Tomorrow, all of our carefully planned work would be tested. The very thought of it made me want to stay awake until the morning light just to delay the day’s arrival.

  “I know. I’ll wrap things up in a few minutes.”

  Griffin took my designs from the table and tucked them away in an oversized envelope. Then he came back to my side and kissed me on the forehead. His breath tickled my hair. “Don’t stay too long.” He left with the envelope tucked beneath his arm.

  As the door clicked shut, I stood up and placed my ear against the wood. His footsteps tapped down the hall and faded as he turned the corner. Carefully, I lowered the latch on the door, locking it from within. I felt beneath the workbench for the narrow slit at the front right. I took from my desk the long, curved pick used to loosen the threads of damaged cloth. It fit smoothly into the opening. With a twist and a gentle tug, the hidden bottom drawer hinged open. Inside was a row of journals. Each was a different length, some only a couple pages, others the size of novels.

  I picked up the thick volume from the far-right end. On the front was the number fourteen in the messy handwriting of a child. This one was unbound, nothing more than a collection of papers in a leather wrapping. On the last page, I wrote out the day’s events. When I had finished, I unraveled the thread from my fingers and folded it between the pages. Then, I took out one of the smaller volumes, number six, and opened it to where I had last left off.

  Second Dippersday, Sorrow’s Month, Imperial Year 208

  It’s been a week since Fitz pulled me from the pond. Papa sent Mother to visit Wesley. I think she knows something’s wrong. Tomorrow, Lila and I will collect blackberries to make tarts. Seraphina would have loved them.

  I traced the words as I read, reciting them beneath my breath. The shorter books were the worst. It only took one entry for my heart to ache and my stomach to turn. I shut the two journals, replaced them, and lifted the panel until I heard the soft click of the lock.

  My appetite ruined, I unlocked the door and padded down to the kitchen to leave the remaining chicken for the morning staff to clean. Griffin hadn’t come to bed yet, so I fell asleep alone but woke to his breath rising and falling against my back.