Chapter 10 Auria
Ayoung woman who looked exactly my age, though ten thousand times more beautiful, rose gracefully from a chair in the sitting room. She tucked into a short curtsy and smiled perfectly. “My lady. I’m Brielle, from the Luxar House. Dearan suggested I help you with some outfits.”
She had the same fiery red hair as her brother, but hers was plaited in elaborate braids and wrapped around her head like an ornate crown. Her blue dress complemented the color so perfectly that she looked like a queen. And I looked like a servant in comparison.
Not a servant, I reminded myself. Married to a lord. I plastered a big smile on my face and quit chewing on my lip. No fear. “Thanks for coming, Brielle.” I smoothed my hands over my skirts’ many folds and pockets. “I obviously need new clothes, and Bylur hasn’t been any help.”
She almost giggled but covered her mouth with a polite hand instead. “I apolo—”
“Oh please don’t!” I rushed closer to her, but stopped before I grabbed her hands.
“I—” I debated trying to sound or behave like a sophisticated fae lady, but dismissed the thought almost immediately.
I’d never be able to fake the elegance Brielle emanated, so I might as well start out with myself.
“Our marriage is unusual, I know almost nothing about fae, and if you’re not embarrassed or afraid or annoyed by me, I need a friend as much as I need a new dress. ”
Her smile was radiant. Like the sort of perfection young girls imagine they might possess if they were famous queens and princesses.
She took my hands. “I am so happy to hear that. When Dearan told me Bylur had married, I nearly died. I would like nothing better than to be your friend and hear about everything!” One of her rings was loose enough that I slipped it off her little finger as we let go of each other’s hands.
What was I thinking? I didn’t need to steal jewelry to trade for food anymore.
But I couldn’t just give it back now—what would she think?
I dropped it into my pocket. Bylur worried about spies, and she wanted to know everything.
Bylur’s best friend’s sister couldn’t be a spy, right?
That was definitely a question I shouldn’t ask.
Another thought stiffened my back. What if she’d hoped to marry Bylur? “Wait.” I couldn’t ignore this. “Why did you nearly die when you found out?”
She let the giggle escape this time. “Because Bylur is so methodical about everything. I don’t think he’s ever done anything spontaneous or without detailed planning in his life. And he’s been like another brother to me for fifty years.”
My shoulders relaxed. I couldn’t really trust her, but I didn’t have to worry about her being jealous of Bylur. But— fifty years? They must age like the elves. “How old are you? If that’s not a rude thing to ask a fae?”
“It might be rude if I was over a thousand, but I’m just a hundred seventy-five. Nobody really cares at this point. How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
Her eyes widened. “Is that a human thing? To grow up younger?”
I nodded. “I think so. We’re basically an adult at twenty.”
“Twenty!” She gasped. “I don’t know how I could be so ignorant. I mean, we don’t have a lot of humans here, but I do have a good education. Fae start to hit adulthood in their fifties. But you don’t act like that’s a surprise”
“Yeah.” I rubbed my arm as I shook off phantom memories of elf soldiers grabbing it. “I grew up around elves, and they’re basically the same as fae. I’m used to feeling the same age as people five times as old as me.”
She clapped her hands. “Oh good. Many fae don’t get married until after they’re a couple hundred years old, so lots of people will be surprised that Bylur married so young.”
I raised a brow. “How old is he?”
“One hundred eighty-one. But anyone who knows him will be even more surprised because it’s so unprecedented for him to do anything without obscene planning.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’d love to know how you two fell for each other.”
My stomach turned. There was no falling involved. “I wouldn’t dare tell that story without him.”
“Oh!” Her eyes widened again. “Has he been going to see you during the day? Everyone wondered why he’s been disappearing.”
Oh, this was not good. Bylur and I needed to sort out our story. Several stories. But I couldn’t ignore my new friend’s question. “He’s… had some things come up that he has to deal with during the day. I can’t really say anything more without his permission.”
Her face fell, but then her lips pursed.
“Well. When you see him, get permission. Even if I have to keep it a secret. He should trust me enough for that after all the years I’ve covered for him and Dearan.
And in the meantime—” A sly glint filled her expression.
“Let’s get you some clothes that he will find irresistible. ”
* * *
I twirled in a small circle on top of the little box Brittania—the seamstress—had me standing on, and the elegant dark blue gown swirled satisfyingly around me. “It’s perfect,” I gushed. “It just needs pockets.”
“Pockets?” The sweet fae lady raised both eyebrows at me as if I’d said something in another language. Which actually… I needed to ask Bylur about that too. How was it that we spoke the same language, despite being separated by a magic portal?
I tucked that thought away for later and gave the grey-haired seamstress a practiced smile. “I must have pockets in every dress.”
She chuckled and started singing under her breath about the joys and dangers of pockets.
Brielle turned her head toward us, away from the jewelry rack she’d been examining. “You won’t need to carry money. Bylur’s finance scribes will take care of any bills you accrue. And if you ever need something carried, there are always fae around that you can assign to do it.”
Well. Wasn’t that the epitome of wealth and privilege?
I couldn’t tell her that sometimes I needed to tuck things into my pockets that I didn’t want to assign someone else to carry because I didn’t want anyone to realize I had acquired it.
Rat came to my rescue, squawking at the window as someone walked past the shop like a dog annoyed at people walking too close to his home.
I tapped my thigh where I imagined a pocket could disappear in the sleek folds of fabric. “I need to carry treats for Rat.”
“Treats for a bird, and secrets you’ve stirred,” Brittania sang, “all in pockets you’ve never heard.” She cut a piece of fabric a little bigger than her hand, pressed it to my thigh, and then hummed as loose threads magically wove the pocket to the fabric of the dress.
“That’s amazing,” I breathed. “Can all fae magically sew?”
She chuckled. “No. My family is particularly gifted in manipulating plants, and I’ve studied and practiced to be able to work threads this way.”
I stared, transfixed, as the pocket and dress grew together in mere minutes. “Is one pocket sufficient?” she asked.
I gave her a hopeful smile. “Two would be better.”
She cut another piece of dark blue fabric, but only made two snips before the door to her shop flew open with so much force that it hit the wall.
Everyone turned to face the large, angry fae who glared around the room.
His muscles bulged against the thick sleeves of his tailored suit, and his lush white hair contrasted with his dark skin.
His bright, white hair didn’t seem to indicate his age—he had no laugh lines, no wrinkles at all, and he looked strong enough to tear down a house. This man—fae—was a beast.
His lip curled in disgust when his dark, angry eyes landed on me, but then they ground together when he settled his expression on Brielle. He marched up to her and practically growled. “What are you doing here?”
I fisted a hand. I might not be ready to trust Brielle with much more than dresses, but I didn’t like seeing this pile of muscles act like she’d done something wrong.
She laughed, her voice as musical as her hair and dress, and waved at me. “I’m shopping with my new friend.” Then she winked at the intruder. Winked! “Did you know she’s Bylur’s new wife.”
“Yes,” the monstrous fae bit out, wrapping his fingers around her bicep. “Let’s go.”
“No way!” I jumped off my box and ran across the shop to the jewelry counter they stood at. “You can’t just tell her what to do.”
I regretted my impulsive behavior immediately. He let go of her arm, spread his hand on the counter, and leaned over me, looming like I was no bigger than a dog. “And who are you?”
“I am,” I stammered, “Bylur’s wife.”
He snorted, but some of the violent stiffness in his shoulders shook out. I didn’t like his dismissive snort, but I would take the less violent version of Muscles on Legs any time. “Not impressed.”
I planted my hands on my hips. “And who are you?”
“Dedalus, Lord of House Artifex.”
I smirked. “Not impressed.”
“What?” He stood taller, anger rolling off him so thick I was sure I could feel it.
Mocking him had not been a good choice. I just needed him to go away.
But what could I say to make him less angry?
He gripped my wrist, placing a sparkling cuff link directly in my line of vision.
It looked like a diamond. I wanted to look at it closer, curious exactly how valuable these people considered gemstones.
All my anxiety was instantly replaced by years of experience in survival. I made a low “not impressed” whistle, and Rat flew right in front of Dedalus, close enough to brush his feathers against his face.
Dedalus swatted at my cockatoo, but the bird had already flown back behind bolts of fabric.
“What in the Kahunamon—” Dedalus growled, but my voice took over.
“I knew I recognized your name.” My mouth loved this part, where I just made up anything that sounded like a proper distraction while my free hand relieved his cuff of the sparkling link.
“Dedalus was one of the people Bylur told me he suspected of betraying him. How could I possibly be impressed by someone my own husband is suspicious of?”