5. Boundaries and Bargains #5
Surian seemed to read her thoughts. Her voice went soft, thoughtful. "Do you remember that night we stayed up drinking and you told me you wanted to go to the lake? Or maybe to see a play? Just the two of us?"
Allora turned, surprised. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything," Surian said simply. She squeezed Allora's arm. "We'll do it. One night, just the two of us. We'll leave the guards and males behind, sneak out if we have to."
Allora felt a glowing warmth in her chest, a glint of gratitude. She looked away, trying to hide her expression. "You're so sentimental."
"Yes, but I am confident you would never want it any other way."
"Shut up."
They both smiled, leaning together as the carriage slowed in front of the tailor. The building was draped in rich green velvet, the sign above the polished glass painted in elegant script: Esarithae's Sil'Soryenne, the finest tailor in Caelistra, where gowns cost more than most houses.
Allora's stomach twisted as she realized every passing noble and merchant would know exactly why she was here. Not because she was free. Because she was Malec's.
Surian felt her stiffen and whispered, "Just breathe it's only clothes."
Allora eyed Malec through the window as he dismounted. "It's never only anything with him."
"Probably true," Surian sighed, and squeezed her arm again, gently. "But at least you look beautiful while plotting his murder."
That made Allora snort despite herself. She watched Malec cross the cobbles, every inch the patient warden. An Awyan who'd rather burn the world to the ground than let her slip away. And for just a heartbeat, she felt seen. Not in the way she wanted but at least in a way she couldn't deny.
Allora looked at the polished glass storefront, her reflection faint but unmistakable in the morning glare, and felt her stomach coil into an anxious knot.
It wasn't her own face she dreaded. It was the invisible eyes behind the windows, all of them watching, measuring her, cataloguing every detail of her existence like she was a rare specimen in a traveling menagerie.
She drew a slow breath, pressing her hand flat to her skirt to hide the trembling.
Beside her, Surian kept her arm tucked reassuringly through Allora's, a warm anchor against the rising tide of nerves.
"Everything's going to be fine," she murmured, her voice soft as she gave a gentle squeeze.
"Stay close to me, keep your hood up, and remember, no one will dare so much as breathe in your direction.
" Her tone shifted, colored by dry amusement.
"Not with your oversized stalker lurking around. "
The door swung wide on no command but Malec's own, and he stood there framed by the bright bustle of the street behind him.
He was every inch the legend they'd whispered about: his silvery-pale braid caught the breeze, his uniform gleaming with polished metal fastenings, his expression carved in that same blend of authority and intimate familiarity that made her stomach twist in unwelcome ways.
He said nothing. Just extended a gloved hand, palm up. That muted khaki focus stayed fixed on her, steady enough to make her chest tighten while irritation sparked beneath it.
Allora considered refusing him, staying exactly where she was, forcing him to stand there like a fool in front of every curious onlooker. But she knew, even as the thought formed, that she wouldn't.
So she drew in a long breath, ignoring the stutter in her chest, and placed her hand in his. Fighting him would cost more than she had left, and there were too many watching to let fear show. He wouldn’t leave her be regardless.
His other arm closed around her waist with effortless precision. One moment she was braced in the carriage, the next she was suspended, weightless, before being lowered carefully onto the cobblestones as though she were too precious to risk even the slightest stumble.
She didn't look up at him. Not even when his hand lingered at her waist.
But she felt the whisper of his voice brush her ear, warm and low. "Are you ready to see the Capitol the way it was always meant to be seen?"
From inside the carriage, Surian's dry snort broke the charged quiet. "Oh, don't worry about me. I'll just climb out on my own, like the lowly handmaid I apparently am."
Allora turned at once, her irritation easing into bright mischief.
With an over-the-top flourish, she extended her free hand back into the carriage.
"My lady," she intoned, affecting the theatrical diction of a stage performer.
Surian let out a peal of laughter, placing her hand in Allora's and stepping down with exaggerated, swanlike grace.
Their shared amusement spilled into the street, bright and genuine against the weight of all those stares.
For one heartbeat, they simply stood there, linked arm in arm, giggling like co-conspirators.
Malec watched them, a curious tension creeping across his face.
He looked almost perturbed, his dry, heat-stripped amber eyes flicking from Allora's smile to Surian's laughter and back again.
Like he'd only just realized his most formidable rival wasn't a political enemy or a jealous noble, but his own sister.
But the Silver Fox was nothing if not adaptable. With a smoothness born of lifelong calculation, he stepped closer, sliding his arm back around Allora's waist and offered his other arm to Surian in a gentleman's gesture that was both courteous and possessive.
Surian accepted, but not before rolling her eyes so gracefully it could have been an art form.
She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow, and with that, the three of them stepped together over the threshold into a world of silks and whispers, where unspoken wars were waged with nothing more than a glance.
As the towering doors of Esarithae Sil'Soryenne’s Silks and Regalia swung open, Allora stepped across the threshold and felt the world fall away.
Inside was no ordinary shop. It was like stepping into the hollowed heart of some vast, living temple.
The air shimmered with the delicate scent of rain-slicked stone and blossoms that had no name in her tongue.
A tree, an actual massive tree, rose up through the center of the chamber, its bark a pale, luminous silver, each leaf like a shard of moonlight.
Between its spreading limbs, small jewel-toned birds flitted and sang, weaving in and out of the hanging strands of crystal lanterns that glowed soft aquamarine.
Sunlight cascaded through a dome of colored glass etched with curling Awyan script, turning the flagstone floor into a shifting mosaic of light. Petals drifted from hidden chutes high overhead, perfuming the air in a way that was both cloying and intoxicating.
To one side, slender columns carved from pale veined stone supported a mezzanine of intricately latticed balconies, private dressing chambers veiled behind heavy silk draperies the color of dawn.
Each private alcove had its own water basin and a tiny fountain that spilled liquid as bright as molten glass.
Beyond the tree and its living canopy, the entire rear wall was thrown open to a courtyard garden.
A ring of sun-warmed ivory tiles surrounded a pool so clear it mirrored the sky.
Clusters of flowering vines trailed over smooth archways, and silken pavilions with low couches were arranged like miniature kingdoms waiting to be occupied.
Allora's mouth had fallen open. She couldn't help it. The sheer splendor of the place stole the breath from her lungs.
Malec watched her take it in—the slack of her jaw, the widening of her eyes—and pride unfurled in his chest. This was what she deserved, what being his meant.
Not cages or chains, but beauty and luxury to match the fire she carried inside her.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a murmur meant only for her.
"This is yours now, little dove. All the perks of being mine. "
Around them, other patrons turned to look.
Elegant Awyan nobles draped in silk and jewels, their honeyed tan eyes keen with curiosity.
A few stared openly at Allora, their gazes sliding from her dark skin to the possessive hand Malec kept at her waist. Some looked down their noses with thinly veiled disdain, but not one of them spoke. Not a single soul dared.
Because Malec Talandros stood beside her, his expression pleasant but his eyes promising violence to anyone foolish enough to test him.
Surian was practically glowing. She squeezed Allora's arm, her smile bright and genuine as she took in her reaction. "Beautiful, isn't it? Wait until you see the fabrics. They have silks from the Eastern Isles that feel like water."
But Malec's hand didn't leave Allora's waist.
Surian sighed, tilting her head back to glare at her brother. "You cannot follow us into the fitting chambers."
His expression didn't change. "I go wherever I please."
The air between them went stagnant. Allora stared straight ahead, her jaw locked.
Before the standoff could tip into open sibling bickering, a tall elfess in robes the color of crushed plums approached, her expression serene but watchful.
Her hair was shaved at the sides, the rest coiled into a crown of braids gleaming with polished bone beads.
She moved with the fluid confidence of someone who had never once been told no.
"Lady Surian," she purred, bowing just enough to be polite. "It has been far too long. We still have bolts of that sea-glass silk you favored." Her gaze shifted. "And Commander Talandros. An honor."
Her attention settled on Allora, curiosity glinting.