Turrin paced nervously in the upstairs loft of the Falworth Bakery as his parents and Emmy sat in silence, anxiously waiting for Turrin to cease his incessant pacing and sighing. As Emmy watched, she wasn’t sure if she should be worried or annoyed by his dramatic performance.

Emmy watched on and munched nervously on an apple Danish as her parents simply sat on the couch, fingers entwined.

What is the big deal?

It was unlike Turrin to act so unnerved or to request to meet with them alone. Normally, he’d just barge in whenever he pleased without a moment's notice. The bronze clock above them resounded ten times, reminding Emmy of the increasingly late hour. She’d stitched so much in the last few days her bones ached, and her neck was stiff from her poor posture. The longer she watched Turrin, the greater the dull ache in the back of her head became.

Turrin exhaled with an awkward laugh as if to lighten the atmosphere in the room. Needless to say, it was ineffective.

“Well…” he trailed off before even beginning.

“Turrin, son.” Mr. Finchly called, “Why don’t you tell us what this is about? You’ll feel better if you sit down.”

Turrin hesitated before sinking into a nearby stool.

“I’ve been put on probation from the assembly of knights.”

“Probation?” Emmy discarded her pastry as shock surged through her.

Probation was a dishonor to any knight. In the kingdom of Falwroth, probation signified professional misconduct rather than poor performance. Their mother scrunched her brows together in confusion, unable to fathom what her son had done to deserve such a punishment.

“What happened?” Mrs. Finchly asked finally, voicing the question they were all wondering about.

“They’ve identified me as a potential suspect for yesterday’s charade. You know… the ordeal with the Royal Commander. They think I’m responsible for the magical item that caused him to act like a buffoon. They’re charging me with foul play and disorderly conduct against a superior.”

Emmy ground her teeth, head spinning from what Turrin had just relayed to them. She hadn’t the slightest notion how Theo Radcliff had obtained her magical handkerchief, but she was certain her kindhearted brother would never have intentionally caused embarrassment for another.

Turrin rested his arms on his thighs and bent over, distraught from the unexpected charge against his character, “But that’s not all.”

A haunting silence hung in the room yet again.

“Go on and tell us,” Mr. Finchly spoke in a patient tone.

“I think I might have caused the incident,” he lifted his head to see the surprise reflected in his sister’s eyes. “I saw a stranger leaving the Commander’s room, but I didn’t say anything. I just figured he had business with him, but when I talked to the Commander, he said he was out of the room all day until just an hour before the presentation. I could have stopped the man or at least reported him to the Commander, but I did nothing. I dishonored my title as a knight.”

“What a load of nonsense!” Emmy shouted, rising to her feet. “Don’t you dare back down; this isn’t your fault.”

Emmy took a deep, slow breath to calm herself. Their father clapped Turrin on the back and grabbed his shoulder with his enormous hand. As the family talked over the issue, Emmy’s mind was churning. They needed to think of a plan to restore Turrin’s honor and Emmy would do her darndest to make it happen.

And to think I was swayed by his handsome face! Unbelievable.

The Finchly family wrapped around Turrin, encouraging him with the warmth of familial love. Emmy was bound and determined to resolve this issue—especially since it involved her own ridiculous magic. In fact, it was a ridiculous magic that she intended as a joke for Turrin, a simple joke between siblings. She heaved a heavy sigh at the weighty irony. No matter how she looked at it, she had some part in the ordeal, whether it was intentional or not. She would find this Theo Radcliff and demand an apology for her dearest brother.

I had thought him a discerning and gentle kind of man. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Emmy hastened to the small desk, pushed up against the corner of the loft, and scrambled to find something to write with, hand digging through the drawers. “Mother, fetch me some paper and ink. I’m going to show him what happens when someone dishonors the Finchly name.”

Turrin, snapping out of his woes, approached her doubtfully. “Come on, sis. I appreciate the support, but he’s the Commander of the entire assembly of knights. What are you going to do?”

“Simple. I’ll harness my power as Sir Albert’s adopted granddaughter!”

Back at the palace, Albert sneezed with gusto… “Is someone talking about me?”

* * *

Emaline sat at her workbench, a handful of unpolished gems on her left and a heap of white thread on her right. Taking a handful of emerald chips, she cupped them between her hands as a warm light illuminated from them.

“Eep, hot, hot.”

Emmy scurried over to the end of her desk and dropped the shining green liquid into a funnel-shaped contraption, squeezing the dregs from her hand. The glistening glop ran down the funnel into a tray of yarn that soaked up the hue with a magical shimmering glow. Emmy put her hand above the threads, sending a light breeze to cool the threads, leaving them soft, though vibrant. She snickered to herself in delight as she examined her creation.

Despite her title, the Yarn Spinstress was mostly in the business of threads and ribbon, fashioning fantastic fibers into exquisite apparel. However, her excellent stitching helped imbue her clothes with unique traits, like beauty, charm, wit, and so forth. If the stitch embodied the trait "charm," the clothing would make the wearer more charming. If the threads were harnessed from a gem, the effect was heightened to a more noticeable degree.

Emmy whipped out her favorite needle and began embroidering a floral pattern on a balloon sleeve. As nature offered her a continual peace from the chaos of day-to-day life, Emmy often frequented the creek behind her house. It was a small stream, but it picked up downstream into a lovely pond. Her embroidery flew from the tips of her finger to the dress sleeve, her mind recalling the wildflowers she’d recently admired.

As she embroidered, her mind raced with Turrin’s situation, causing her embroidery to slow—before ramping up to a flurried pace and back down again. Pausing, Emmy sighed and looked around her workshop as if looking for clues to what troubled her.

Emmy spied the letter she’d addressed to the Royal Commander, sitting upon a heap of discarded snippets of cloth. Resuming her embroidery, she wondered if her letter was too forceful. She outright declared him a liar.

But what if there’s some simple explanation for this?

Shrugging off her worries, she threw down the unfinished sleeve on the workbench and hastened to put on her boots. Inaction would only breed more anxiety. It was time to confront the Commander…. Or at least get the letter to him. She energetically bounded toward the door, her yellow dress flouncing around her with the momentum of her quick movements.

I have to find Albert and get him on my side… even if it means an uninvited trip to the palace.

Emmy swung upon the aged door and nearly ran right into Sir Albert himself!

“It’s you!” Emmy shouted.

Albert chuckled to himself, “Yes, dear, I would hope that I am myself.”

“I was just coming to find you. You rarely visit here. Did the word get around?”

“Word? I’m ashamed to admit that this may be the first time the town rumor mill didn’t get around to me. I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to. I must encourage my dedicated gossipers to do better.”

Albert, despite living in the palace, seemed to be everywhere—always. As such, he was among the first to hear news or gossip stemming from either the palace or the townsfolk.

“I’ve come to you with a request!” Emmy blurted.

“Technically, I’ve come to you. You haven’t gone anywhere.”

Emmy shot him an annoyed glance as he raised his hands in the air. Emmy gestured him inside and asked him to sit down in the one uncluttered chair. Clearing off a space for herself beside the window, she handed him the letter.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the rumors with the Royal Commander and Turrin. I wish you to deliver this letter to him. Can you do it?”

Albert scoffed, “Such little faith in me. I’m not the aid to the crown prince for nothing. Leave it to me, my dear. Though, I hope you know what you’re doing. It isn’t generally advised for young women to push their way into palace business, even if it does involve your brother.”

Emmy let out a snort and looked Albert in the face, “I wouldn’t ever let that stop me if it meant helping my family and dealing justice at the same time.”

“I should have known better! Well, fret not. I’ll deliver it to him this evening.”

With Albert’s assertion, Emmy was somehow both relieved and more anxious than ever. If Albert was true to his word, she had no doubt she’d have to face the Royal Commander soon.