Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
AUDREY
A flower growing in the wrong place is a weed.
—La’Angi saying
8th Day of Summer’s Wife Moon,
Age of the Locways, Year 272
La’Angi Keep
Daniel’s body was barely cold when Sullivan rode out.
He was remembered, unfortunately, by the men he left behind.
In the span of a day, Isolde had numerous reports from staff who’d been propositioned, some teary-eyed accounts of coercion, and far too many tales of their heavy-handed excitement to be home.
Sullivan’s eyes had been everywhere when he’d been present. What he was going to report, I hated to think. Meanwhile, I was grateful we’d had so long to retrain the existing guard to accept they couldn’t demand bribes or sex at every whim. Not that I’d done much except support Kaelson.
Isolde had been a little more hands-on, I suspected, but I hadn’t actually asked.
I spotted Luca on my way back to my tower after Kaelson had been called away from our drills. With my belly full, body tired, head overflowing with Kaelson’s singular drill and all the gossip about Daniel’s apparently natural death.
My outlawed ex-betrothed slunk out of the shadows long enough that I couldn’t easily pretend not to see him.
“I hear your day was complicated again,” Luca said. “I stopped by your tower, but you were out. I’m sure you’re tired. Can we try tomorrow?”
I had no idea if I’d want to see him tomorrow, but he was right, I was exhausted. Grateful for the reprieve, I accepted his offer without a moment of guilt.
Chay still wasn’t back to normal the next morning, but there wasn’t much I could do to make him feel better.
It wasn’t like I’d been opening my door to Luca at every opportunity.
I didn’t trust him. If he was a rebel—the mere thought was ridiculous—he was the worst Arcanloc had ever seen.
Regardless, he certainly wasn’t someone I’d turn to unless I had no other option.
“Well come, my lady,” the talkative tailor said, smiling at both Sandra and I before stepping back so we could enter. Today the tailor’s ribbons were pink and yellow.
“Thanking you.” I let her usher us in.
Her roommate stood beside a steaming pot, tarts on a plate proving she’d been begging Bernadette.
They were a hot commodity. I’d had to look through my filed correspondence to find the note Fiona had sent me to discover their names.
One of them was Matilda. The other was Ivy.
The Stitcher mage was Amber, and she was Matilda’s sister.
I suspected “Ribbons” was Matilda, going off her resemblance to Amber, but I wasn’t sure.
While I was second-guessing that, I let them guide me through the social tos and fros, taking some herbal tisane, accepting a small slice of tart despite being full. I expected some discussion of the weather or yesterday’s upheaval.
Instead, Ribbons sat on the edge of her seat and leant forward, eyes intent. “I know you’re busy. Matilda and I talked about what you said, about wanting to create trends. Are you thinking something small, or something large?”
I wished Yasmine was here, suddenly. I didn’t have many people my age to talk to, and fewer who understood the pressure.
The right answer was that I didn’t care.
I was bold enough to carry off anything.
It was true, to a point. There was no one’s gaze I wanted to catch that I hadn’t already.
I’d had people look at me with longing while wearing elaborate gowns, sweat-soaked training clothes, and nothing at all. I didn’t think it really mattered.
But it did. I needed to come across as rich and powerful. I couldn’t magically make myself classically beautiful, but I wasn’t too plain, and that was good enough.
“I don’t care if it’s big or small,” I told them, leery of the excitement I could feel. “But I’ll warn you, I got my build from my father.”
“Oh.” Ribbons, who must’ve been Ivy, blinked. “We meant big or small changes, m’lady, not garments. A small change might be a different neckline, or an unusual palette. A big change would be an entirely different cut, from toe to crown.”
I took a sip of my tea. Normal misunderstanding.
No problem. I nodded, but the different benefits of the options before me were my main focus.
A small change would raise less eyebrows.
A large change, if it was successful, would drive sales.
Sales would bring in money. Money in the hands of the people doing the work would improve quality of life.
“I’m happy for a major change from what’s fashionable,” I told them. “As long as whatever you create is appropriate for my station.”
They exchanged a look. “What would be appropriate?” Ivy asked.
My etiquette teacher’s wizened, bitter face popped into my mind, clashing with Elnyta’s wicked grin as I settled on their knee.
“I’m fine for day to day. I’d be happy to see a sketch or plan for formal wear for the faire, though.”
They looked at each other. Matilda’s cheeks were pink. Her eyes dropped down to her cup.
“We heard you were running La’Angi differently,” Ivy said. “But it’s more than that. Or it feels like it.”
“Your father’s knight, yesterday.” Matilda paused, glancing over at Sandra.
“He was terrifying,” Sandra offered, with a shudder. “Have the tales of the Blackguard reached…where are you from?” she asked Matilda.
Sullivan’s hands on my hips. The child crumpling in the bailey. Raider’s. Ban. Men. I took a mouthful of tea.
“I thought it was an exaggeration until I saw him,” Matilda offered, tentatively.
Sullivan was the least of them. “The Blackguard are highly specialized,” I said carefully. “It means their skillset isn’t always appropriate for day-to-day life, but where they’re needed, they shine.”
“Of course,” Ivy said. “I can’t speak for everyone, but I was impressed at how you managed the situation yesterday.”
I tried to recall what part of his visit would have counted as a situation. When Chay drew his sword? When the runner announced Daniel’s death? The way I hadn’t gagged on Sullivan’s reek? My restraint in not picking the sealing wax out from under my nail and flicking it as far from me as I could?
“I have some ideas. Some designs. They’re bold,” Matilda said, color in her cheeks. “You seem like you might like that?”
The tentatively offered comment went straight to my heart.
Never could I recall anyone telling me I was bold. Certainly not with color in their cheeks and what looked suspiciously like hero worship in their eyes.
“I noticed your dresses don’t have the dropped shoulders that are most popular for noblewomen who aren’t creating the two-triangles silhouette.
” Ivy flipped open the bound collection of designs before her, showing a dress with sleeves that were as exaggerated as the skirt at the bottom.
I hated to think how tight laced the wearer’s corset would need to be.
“I’m assuming you prefer comfort to style. ”
“I do.”
“How would you feel about modifying men’s style?” Ivy asked, then blew on her tea.
I froze. Should I be scandalized? Excited? Concerned about whether it would suit me?
“If I look like someone you can’t ignore, then I feel fine,” I told them both, hoping that was an acceptable response. “I need to be able to ride or dance in it.”
They might be scandalized to know I habitually wore men’s garb.
Ivy took a stack of charcoal sketches and slid one over to me.
It was a riding jacket similar in style to the ones from the west—specifically, from Raider’s Ban cavalry dress uniforms. Big collar, high shoulders, double-breasted.
This one had been sketched to come up over hips and hang lower in a vee at the front.
The skirts beneath it were shockingly simple, lacking bulk or detailing.
She went to move the design, but I my hand down to stop her.
That looked comfortable.
Mayhap they wouldn’t be scandalized, after all.
“I love it.” Then I imagined myself in that sort of cut and sighed. “Someone with more exaggerated curves would wear it better.”
“Would they?” Matilda asked me.
“We’ve actually got some twill that would be excellent to bring into vogue,” Sandra murmured quietly to me. “It’s been sitting for some time.”
I disguised my surprise and kept my eyes on Ivy as she showed another sketch.
I’d forgotten the twill. It wasn’t a fabric we used much, but it had been claimed from one of the deceased’s estates.
There wasn’t enough of any one color to use it for uniforms, and dying had been more effort than it was worth. It was an elegant solution.
Ivy was smiling at us. She moved the sketch to the side to slide another in front of me. This one was effectively a long overtunic, but with none of the bulk or underlayers. It would be so comfortable.
I wanted to cry.
“When you move in it, it’ll flatten against your body. If that’s something that concerns you...” Ivy let it trail off. I didn’t care. “Best for days when you’re quite busy and then wish to relax. If it was well embroidered, you’d have more leeway with crumpling from sitting.”
“I love it,” I repeated.
More sketches were offered up, sensible adaptions that maintained modesty and allowed room for movement. Shirts with wide belts in the place of bodices. Riding habits with jackets that featured sleeves much like men’s. Collars that would sit comfortably atop a cloak. Not a hoop or bustle in sight.
The last sketch was different from the others. Many different poses were scribbled on the page, sensuous and almost feline. Matilda leapt forward to conceal it while Ivy simultaneously tried to shuffle it under the pile, but I snatched it up too fast for them to hide.
Here was a woman, back bare, the curve of her spine exposed, the muscles in her arms hinted at by quick, sensual strokes on the page.
The fabric lingered over her buttocks. Her hair was piled up on her head.
One hand was buried in her hair, the other hidden behind her body.
Beside her was the front view, fabric barely covering her breasts and leaving her bare from throat to navel.
A heavy belt rode low on her waist. Her lips were parted, her expression one of bliss.
Other views were of her dancing, her arms held up over her head, curtseying with a wicked grin, made excitement hum in my veins.
She was a kraken.
I still had the bolt of silk I had sitting against the wall in a corner. I had made a promise.
“Apologies, my lady,” Matilda said, reaching for the parchment, her cheeks blazing. “’Twas late, and my mind wandered. That wasn’t supposed to be in the proposal.”
“I want that.” I had the perfect fabric…
and the perfect person to wear it with. I let her take back the parchment.
“I may never wear it.” Where any of you would see.
“But I want it.” I could modify it so I could wear my Matri’sion war-belt with it, too.
The thought of the smirk on Elnyta’s lips made anticipation rush through me.
“What can I do to have you make it for me?”
They looked at each other. Matilda’s face was on fire, but Ivy had the gleam of a merchant in her eye.
“We want to dress you. Exclusively, we want to dress you, during the faire. You wear our designs.”
“Or my old ones,” I said. “But I won’t commission anyone else this year to make me formal wear.”
She shook her head. “You’re not going to find tailors like us, my lady. Dressing will become a source of joy. You’ll have clothes that show your strength and boldness as well as your pragmatism. And everyone who looks at you will know where to go for their wardrobe.”
“I don’t do exclusivity,” I said flatly. “No matter how brilliant you are, I can’t promise I won’t be excited by someone else’s designs.”
“Just the dresses,” Matilda said. “Shirts, skirts, cloaks, pantalets, mantles—get them from others if you must. Let us make the dresses. And if you’d prefer what you’ve already got, all we’d ask is that you tell people it isn’t our work.”
Ivy shot her an irritated look, but the quiet woman’s excitement was reassuring. “Can you dress my friend?” I asked them, waving to Sandra. “She’ll be attending the festivities and needs a wardrobe.”
Sandra’s eyes bugged. She looked at the sensual dress, white as bone.
Ivy slid the first sketch into place, with the modified calvary jacket and simple skirt. Sandra let out a long breath.
“We’d be honored, m’lady,” Ivy said, smiling. I saw the quick, knowing way her eyes skimmed Sandra’s form, and knew she’d be figuring out how to keep the younger woman comfortable.
“Write me up a contract,” I told them. “Three full wardrobes: myself, my handmaid, and my friend. And that dress. Allow clauses for me to provide materials, as I’ve some that would work, and costing for accessories and undergarments if requested.
If it’s all or nothing, then price me for all, and I’ll see if it’s feasible. ”
I stood, and so did Ivy. “With our experience of Azashi, and having a Stitcher to help expedite the process but requiring magical reagents—” she began.
“You don’t work for free,” I confirmed. “That’s just fine. I’m not agreeing until I’ve seen the cost, but I expect, with such a request, you’ll need to hire on a local or two.”
They exchanged looks once more. I could feel the excitement in that one quick exchange.
“Specifically, I’ve a high-quality silk for this dress,” I told them, leaning over to tap on the parchment Matilda had half-hidden.
She looked at it hungrily. And she should’ve. I was throwing open the doors to my treasury for that.
We all needed a specialty.
Mayhap mine wasn’t being a kraken, but it’d be nice to play pretend occasionally.