Ambriella

Things that make me suicidal:

Drisella/Anastasia screaming at the top of their lungs when I am right next to them.

Lucia waving me off like a cockroach.

The doorbell ringing repeatedly. Like it is right now.

"Ambriella!" Drisella screams. "AMBRIELLA! GET THE DOOR!"

Just stop breathing, Ambriella. How hard could it be?

Don't. Not yet. Three more days to go. You are literally so close.

"Good afternoon, Miss," says a man in a prim and proper suit. "I am Officer Buckley of the King's Guard. May I speak with the owner of the household?"

"Just a moment," I say. Jesus. What's Drisella done now? "Mother!" I call as I lead the officer into the parlor. "An officer is here to see you."

Lucia and the girls sit up as we enter the room.

"Good afternoon, officer," Lucia says, rising to her full height. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"On behalf of the crown, I'm investigating a robbery that occurred at the royal palace during the balls of the fortnight past."

"Why—my daughters and I attended those balls," Lucia says. "But this is the first we've heard of a robbery. Whatever was taken?"

"The twin for this shoe," Buckley says.

Oh, Jesus. Shit. That's my other shoe. I instantly take a step back. The sudden movement turns every eye in the room on me.

"Sorry," I squeak. "Sorry."

"Oh, what a beautiful slipper!" Lucia exclaims. "It looks…awfully familiar now I think on it. I do distinctly recall admiring one very similar to it in appearance in town."

"Where specifically did you see it?"

"At Master Buxton's workshop," Lucia says. Oh, god. My heart just sank out of my asshole. It's there on the rug.

"Master Buxton?" repeats Buckley.

"Buxton," Lucia says. "He's an excellent craftsman…of very refined tastes. He brings things in from all over the world. They say he once made a gown for the late queen, God rest her soul. But when I asked for a price for those shoes he told me it was exclusively for display. He doesn't usually sell the accessories. Only the gowns."

Buckley is writing the name onto a slip of paper. Oh God oh God oh God.

"Thank you for your time, Madame," Buckley says, folding up the paper and tipping his head before walking away.

Oh, God. Tell me there's a letter than needs posting. Tell me we're short on bread. Tell me something—give me a reason to go to town right this instant to shut Master Buxton up before Buckley gets to him. If Lucia gets wind of this then I am going to die before I ever get to turn eighteen.

I look around the room quickly as they settle back into their seats.

"Who would be stupid enough to rob the palace?" asks Lucia as she picks up her needlework.

"And why would the queen purchase a pair of shoes that so resembled the ones on display at Master Buxton's?" asks Anastasia.

"Mother," I say quietly. "We're out of claret. May I run to town and fetch some?"

"Hurry to it," Lucia says, waving me off. "I'll not be eating dinner without claret."

"While you're there," Drisella says. "Tell Master Grimsby to expect me. I'll be right behind you."

Yes, thank you GOD. I curtsey and pick up my cloak, rushing out the door. Officer Buckley's horse hasn't even disappeared from the yard yet.

Here and now is where I'd employ every shortcut I've ever picked up over the course of the last ten years. I never thought I'd need them—when I left the house on errands to town I was never too eager to get back home. But God above, I need them now.

Master Buxton is in the back corner terrifying the tar out of some young seamstress when I rush in. He looks up at me.

"What happened to you?" he asks. "Here to pay off that other sho—"

"SHH!" I take his arm and pull him aside. "Listen to me very carefully," I say. I pause. The seamstress is watching us intently. I drag Master Buxton out of the shop, to the side of the street. "The King's Guards are searching for that other shoe."

Master Buxton's brows fly. "What for?"

"They're looking for me," I tell him, looking around to make sure no one's heard.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Master Buxton asks.

"They're going to come here any moment now," I say. "And they're going to ask you about it."

"Well, of course I'll have to tell them something!"

"I know," I say. "But just leave my name out of it."

"You're asking me to lie to the King's Guards?"

"If anyone gets word of this, then the King's Guards won't be able to save me from Lucia!" I hiss.

"Well, what am I supposed to tell them?" he asks.

"Just tell them you lost both of the shoes," I say. "Tell them they got stolen—tell them anything, I don't care! Just don't give them my name. Lucia will kill me if she learns that I was at that ball!"

Master Buxton sighs, closing his eyes, then nods.

"Fine," he says. "Fine. But that is it. That is the last favor you'll be getting out of me. Alright? The end."

And the he inhales sharply, spotting something over my shoulder. I turn around. Oh, no.

Drisella stands less than three feet behind me, her eyes darting between me and Master Buxton. They stop at last at some point between us. She turns and runs back up the road—back home.

Shit.