CHAPTER 13 #2
“Stars above. You realize my girls will be working around the clock to satisfy the demands for such an event? You couldn’t have simply picked a color for your theme? Blue maybe?”
When Adora’s gaze lands on the general, she gives him a thorough perusal as if she has only now become aware of his presence.
Her lips curve up at the ends as she says, “I take it you will be wanting a gown as well? I suppose I could work in a third. Something bright and cheerful to cover up that disposition of yours.”
Oh, I like her.
The general on the other hand doesn’t look particularly amused. Which only makes it better.
I bite down a laugh, twisting my lips to keep the smile off my face. Awri gives me a mischievous wink, and I think just maybe this will be the first time I’ve ever enjoyed seeing a seamstress.
Adora offers me a seat by the window, encouraging me to help myself to refreshments while she takes Awri’s measurements across the room.
The general makes himself comfortable in a seat close to mine, careful to place himself directly between us.
He still doesn’t trust me, though I have no idea why.
I should have realized the moment I saw him in the carriage that he likely came for her protection.
“The theme is fea?” I ask, trying to make conversation with the male.
“It is.”
He looks content to leave it at that, but I am determined to win him over. So, I press on.
“Any fea?” I ask.
He purses his lips, tapping his fingers on the armrest of his chair before turning to meet my eyes.
“Traditionally, you dress as the last fea you’ve had dealings with. I suppose since you’ve only ever interacted with the one, it will be an easy choice for you.”
It takes me a moment to track his line of thought. He doesn’t know about the wood sprites and the only other fea I’ve had dealings with…
My stomach pitches at the thought of the crone.
“Bagya.” It comes out as little more than a whisper on my lips.
“It’s a good choice,” he shrugs, “and it will be unique. She reveals herself so rarely that you’re not likely to come across anyone else dressed in her likeness.”
“Shivaria. I’ll take your measurements now.”
Awri takes a seat by the general as the seamstress escorts me across the room.
She situates me on a small landing surrounded on three sides by tall mirrors and asks, “Any thoughts as to what you might like your costume to be?”
“What did Awri choose?” I wonder.
“I’ll let her tell you if she wants to,” she says with a small smile. “Most of the ladies prefer it to be a surprise and being a seamstress is as much about keeping your lips sealed as it is about creating lovely things.”
I consider all the closely guarded secrets the female is likely privy to and decide that she might in fact be a very good friend to have.
“Bagya,” I say quietly.
Her hands still and she raises her eyes to meet mine, a half-smile forming at the corner of her mouth when she says, “I think I’m going to like you.”
She is back to work measuring my arms before I can reply.
“Brave choice of costume. I’m going to have a lot of fun with the design. Unless you prefer to design it yourself? Awri usually gives me free reign on her gowns.”
“The design is all yours.”
She laughs at the clear relief in my voice as she stretches her measuring tape across the top of my arm before jotting a number down in a small booklet.
“Awri tells me you two met recently,” she says, “She rarely takes to anyone so quickly. You’re lucky. She is an exceptional lady and a good friend.”
“I can see that.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Adora says, standing to wrap her cloth measuring tape around my chest. “The general is a good male, too. It just takes him a while to warm up.”
“I’m not sure I’ll live that long,” I say.
“You might not,” she chuckles, “but if you do, his is a friendship that is well worth the wait.”
Adora frowns when my body tenses as the shop door swings open, announcing the arrival of a new customer with the delicate ding of a silver bell hung over the doorway.
“Awri,” the female’s voice coos sweetly, “How lucky I am to find you here.”
Adora rolls her eyes, scoffing around a mouthful of pins but no one seems to notice.
“Sycophants,” she mumbles under her breath.
The female glides from the doorway, a flutter of red silk billowing after her. She bows her head deeply as she approaches Awri. There is no doubt in my mind, had she been born La’tari, Leanna would have claimed her as one of her own.
Her dark strands gleam like raven’s feathers in the sunlight, shades of blue dancing along her tresses, pulling on the deep sea in her eyes.
Her porcelain skin a stark contrast to the deep red of her pouting lips.
Lips that can only be described as a mockery of sadness.
For nothing about the female would convince me she has ever had a hard day in her life.
Her skin is absent a single scar, her form absent any declaration of mended bone.
No calluses or sign of any wear upon her skin.
If perfection has a form, it is standing across the room.
The feyn blood in her veins is surely responsible for some vast part of her unearthly beauty, but even for one of them she is striking.
Awri smiles warmly, almost warmly enough to convince me she’s fond of the female.
“I’m hardly surprised to see you here, Ishara,” Awri says, “I expect you’ve already received your invitation.”
Ishara feigns a sweet laugh, her eyes darting to and from the general briefly.
“And so, I have,” she says. She produces the invitation from a cleverly concealed pocket, fanning herself with it playfully. “I’d hoped to arrive early enough to secure one of Adora’s masterful creations.”
“I’m afraid my books are completely full,” Adora says, her back to the door, as she measures my right arm for the fourth time since Ishara entered the shop. “I’ve just taken on my last client.”
Ishara looks at me for the first time, her eyes expressing her displeasure as they roam across my form before rising to meet my own.
“The La’tarian?” Her lips pucker in clear annoyance.
“Ishara, may I introduce you to Shivaria, niece of Felias.” Awri’s kind smile doesn’t fade.
“Durah?” she asks, and my fists clench at my sides.
Awri glances toward the general, who gives the subtlest of nods, before she confirms with a nod of her own. “Yes.”
Worthless.
I tell myself that maybe friendship means something else to them, and even if it doesn’t, friendship was never my goal, only a means to an end.
“How unfortunate,” she says with an overly sympathetic smile that only I can see.
The ease with which she dismisses me is perhaps more cutting than anything else she’s said or done. Her attention turns to the general and I can’t help but feel some small amount of pity for him. That is, until she speaks.
“And have you decided what your costume will be, General?” she says, her head tipped down in false modesty as her thick lashes flutter at the male. “I will have mine made to match it, if you would be agreeable to the pairing.”
“I am undecided,” he says flatly, his hands clasped behind his back.
She steps toward him, utterly unperturbed by his tone. “Then tell me what you would find most pleasing, and I will have it made.”
She only stops when the space remaining between them becomes intimate. “Perhaps one of the island nymphs of Kator?”
Adora’s hands falter in their movement as her eyes widen, and she glances over her shoulder to survey the scene.
Awri tenses and the general stiffly rises to his full height.
Though the suggestion would have been lost on me only days before, I had been thorough in my investigation of Awri’s drawings during my time at the cottage.
While there were many nymphs, most appeared in the forest, hiding among the bushes, blending with the bark of the trees they favored.
Some seemed to prefer the sea, disappearing among the kelp and foam.
The nymphs of Kator however, had been notably absent any clothing, and preferred to frolic nude beneath the stars, with an audience no less.
The shop bell chimes once again. The three young females it announces bring air into the room, releasing a small but notable bit of tension.
“Good morning, ladies,” Adora greets them as if the conversation taking place across the room is not occurring.
Again, I begin to wonder if I’ve been seriously under instructed as to the social norms of the feyn.
I startle when I hear the general say under his breath, “Nothing you could add or remove from your form could convince me to consider you, Ishara.”
“Xey,” Awri issues the warning under her breath.
I know the tone, and I’d seen the tightly wound stance of her body thousands of times in my years at the La’tari keep. Though I’m unaware to what extent, there is danger here.
Had I not seen the mild flush in Ishara’s cheeks or noted the quick contraction and loosening of her fists at her sides, I might have missed the subtle chill of anger in her tone when Ishara speaks again.
“Now General, is that any way to speak to a future sister of your king?”
While the general’s face remains a sheet of unprovoked granite, Awri’s lip pulls up in a near snarl. An odd contrast of beauty and anger displayed across her features.
With the slightest backward tilt of his head and raise of his brows, the general is looking down his nose at the female before him, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips.
“My king? Is he not your king as well?” he says.
Though her back stiffens defiantly, Ishara wisely takes a small step in retreat.
If such a thing were uttered on La’tari soil, it would mean a death sentence for the one who had spoken it, and a long, uncomfortable life for anyone associated.
No matter the continent, there will never be room for questionable loyalties in times of war.
I remind myself that we are at peace, tenuous as it may be, and tuck away the knowledge that even among their elite there are alliances to be had.