Devrim's Discipline - Brianna Hale Page 0,3

comes back, and she and Mama finalize our gowns. “How much will that be?” Mama asks evenly, though I can see tightness around her mouth. The dressmaker names a sum, and I see from the way Mama’s knuckles clutch her handbag that it’s more than she anticipated. In a brisk tone, she says, “Very good. Have the bill sent around to our address.”

The dressmaker’s eyes flicker with misgiving as she hears the name of the street we’re living on. If Mama were a lesser mortal, she might have hurried to explain that the Rugovas are still waiting to move into their new home. Mama is not lesser anything and stares the dressmaker down.

After a moment, the dressmaker smiles. “Of course. You must give me your new address as soon as you’ve moved.”

Mama nods politely, takes my arm and walks us briskly out onto the street. “Did you notice what I did just now, darling? Never explain yourself to those beneath you.”

My spine prickles uncomfortably. It wasn’t so long ago that we were treated with contempt. Doesn’t she remember what that feels like?

“Are you sure we must attend the Court of Paravel right away?” I gaze into the shopfronts we pass, each one displaying plumed hats, leather shoes and porcelain dinner sets. “Can’t we go back to work and wait until we’ve saved more money?”

Until five weeks ago, we were both chambermaids at Hotel Ivera. As soon as Chairman Varga died and the People’s Republic fell, Mama handed in our notices. She told the head of housekeeping that Lady Rugova and Lady Wraye were restored, along with the King, and it was beneath us to do menial work any longer. We were laughed out of the place.

“No, Wraye. We will be present in Court from the very first day, or we will be left behind. Now, come along, or we’ll miss the tram.”

We hurry the three blocks to the stop, my second-hand high heels pinching my feet. “How did we even get an invitation to the first ball at Court, when the King hasn’t acknowledged our family?”

The tram arrives, and the doors clatter open. We squeeze ourselves on with the afternoon commuters. Mama looks down her nose at them, as if they’re offensive to her, the people who are going home to a warm, comfortable house and a far better dinner than we have to look forward to.

“Never you mind. I managed.”

Mama gets off the tram early, announcing, suddenly, that she has an appointment. She’s been doing this a lot lately, departing quickly before I have the chance to ask where she’s going.

I step off the tram at our stop and cross the bridge into the slums. A little girl is skipping rope. She’s singing as she skips, and her high, sweet voice floats through the summer air. “…there sat Aimee, sweet as a rose. Along came Gunvald and he kissed her thrice…”

It’s the same rhyme I used to skip to. Gunvald and Aimee. Their names are like old friends, though I never did find out who they were. I would sing the song under my breath because grown-ups could become scared or angry if they heard it.

I sing the last line with the girl as I pass. “He shot himself once and he shot Aimee twice.”

She looks up at me in surprise. Then she grins, still skipping, and starts the rhyme over. “Down in the valley where the green grass grows, there sat Aimee, sweet as a rose…”

I hum as I walk. Jump rope was my favorite pastime when I was a little girl. It took my mind off the hunger and loneliness and the bitter winter cold. We never had enough to eat, despite the posters proclaiming, The harvest is bountiful! and Life is good for the citizens of Paravel!

I was skipping rope the day I found out what happened to Papa. What really happened, not what Mama told me had happened. I had nightmares for the longest time after that, terrified that she would be taken from me, too. If Mama came home from the hotel in tears or cried over her breakfast, which was often, I’d be too afraid to let her out of my sight. Just a few months ago, before Varga died, I heard her sobbing at three in the morning. I lay in bed, wretched with the knowledge that there was nothing I could do to comfort her.

I turn into the alleyway and unlock the peeling front door that leads up to our tiny