Chapter 44
Forty-Four
Malachite
The one thing the three of us are able to agree on is that we need to prepare ourselves to fit the roles we’re going to play when we get to the castle. And that means splitting up to get new clothes.
Lunaria went separately to her own store, while I’m stuck with a near-trembling Adrian stumbling through his “cover.” And a shitty job he’s doing at that.
“I’ve been a farmer since I was old enough to hold a plow,” Adrian says with an exaggerated drawn accent and a large grin.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. You can’t hold a plow. Idiot.
The shopkeeper’s brows scrunch together as he eyes Adrian.
“We’ll be needing a few things quickly,” I jump in, dropping gold coins on the worn wooden counter separating us from the gray-haired owner. “We will compensate you for your extra work.”
Rule number one of getting what you what: tell, don’t ask.
Adrian mutters beneath his breath beside me, but I ignore him. It sounds suspiciously like asshole, but the shopkeeper grins a toothless smile and snatches the coin off the counter.
“It’ll be simple styles only, of course,” he rasps. “I’d stick to as close to your size as possible. Won’t have time for big alterations.”
I give him a nod and slip to the far-left side of the room—straight to the black and navy colored material.
The shop is organized by color, with the brightest hues at the front displayed near the cracked windows and the darkest out to the sides and into the back. For a Crean men’s shop, there certainly is a lot of dandelion yellow and blush pink.
In Penyth, it would be welcomed—especially among the Undine and Woodland. But Crea is stiff in their mindsets and stubborn in their judgement. What I wouldn’t pay to see a traditional Crean man be stuck in the middle of the Bitter Root on a rowdy full moon night.
The thought almost makes me smile. Almost.
I thumb through the materials of black, keeping to my usual color—or lack thereof. The fabric ranges from a bale of hay level of scratchy to a burlap sack scratchy.
“Any silk?” Adrian asks from somewhere across the store. I roll my eyes, yanking two burlap-level scratchy shirts from where they hang. “Or soft cotton?”
The question is followed up by a muted huff, which is more than I expected given that Adrian is asking a farm and trading down for fine clothing.
Without looking too closely, I add a few pairs of dark trousers to the pile slung over my arm. I push a particularly uncomfortable looking one-piece garment to the side and freeze. The next piece has a chains embroidered on the wrists.
In any store, this would be considered odd. There are several embroidered items I’ve passed on, but none like this. The string of the chains is a pale blue—like ice.
My stomach knots and sweat collects at the nape of my neck.
I can’t make my arms move to go on to the next shirt.
It’s the same color as the chains of ice Vidaris locked me in.
The very same location that took over a week for the burn marks to fade—far longer than the timeframe a fae typically heals in.
I’m transported back to the blood-coated wasteland of the Vale and Vidaris’ sickening smile. A slight tremble begins in my fingers. The pain of each memory begins to slowly suffocate me, closing my airway until I’m gasping for breath.
Chains are suddenly snaking around my wrists again, their icy bite stinging as the clamp tighter. My breath stalls in my chest as the panic rises. The faint echo of a high-pitched wicked laugh tinkles in my ear, causing the hair on my neck to stand.
“You don’t have anything flashier?” The whiny timber of Adrian’s voice slices through my frantic heartbeat, snapping me out of my memory.
My muscles tense in my arms, and I shove the chain-embroidered tunic aside. There’s still a lingering chill winding around my arms, but I flex my wrists to chase it away.
I have to get the fuck out of here—have to get air. Now.
With the pile of clothes I’ve already stacked, I briskly walk back to the front of the shop. The owner is standing in his same position, only this time his wrinkled face is red and sweaty. Adrian is waving his hands wildly, explaining how to properly tailor the hem of trousers.
“Like I said, boy, a rush order won’t allow for such measures,” the owner huffed.
“We’re paying you extra,” Adrian shoots back. “We’ll pay more if you can—”
“The quick alterations are all that’s necessary,” I cut Adrian off before he runs us dry of our allowance before we even leave this store.
Adrian and the owner both frown. I give Adrian a pointed look, not in the fucking mood for his tantrum.
He plops his clothing on side table mutters, “Fine.”
As the owner grabs his measurement material and pins, I stand as far away from Adrian as possible. My mind is a mess right now and the last thing I want is for him to see that. The last thing I want is for anyone to notice how off I am. Especially Lu.
She has the weight of both kingdoms on her shoulders—she doesn’t need my trauma weighing her down, too.
“You’ve been extra broody lately,” Adrian pipes up, catching me off-guard.
I startle slightly, recovering quick enough to give him a blank stare.
“And you’ve been a spoiled brat,” I throw back.
Adrian grunts, not arguing with me. There’s a familiarity in our bickering, one that feels like how we were back in the castle together when he was just the prince and I was pretending to be human.
He must feel it too because a flicker of sadness flashes across his gaze.
Adrian opens his mouth but closes it before speaking. I try my best to ignore him, but he keeps inching closer to me, fidgeting with various clothing hanging around us. He coughs once, adjusts a crooked shirt, then coughs again.
“Spit it out,” I mutter.
He freezes, half-turned to me.
“Well,” he starts before stopping briefly. I sigh in frustration, watching the tailor tinker around our clothes instead of looking at Adrian. “It’s just that… I think you’re good for her. And that she’s good for you. I see that now.”
My gaze snaps to him, surprise warming my chest.
He doesn’t sound happy about it, but he sounds sincere.
“I don’t know what happened to you in that place—I don’t even know what that place was—but don’t shut her out.” Adrian adds quietly. “It’ll only make it worse. I would know.”
His gaze meets mine and we stare at each for a moment. It’s the first honest words he’s said to me since he found out I wasn’t who I said I was. Adrian’s jaw tenses and he drops his eyes to the top of his muddied boots.
“If you can’t stand to be you right now, be someone else,” he whispers. “Be The Snake.”
I can’t find the words to respond, and he doesn’t bother saying anything else.
Silence stretches between us as the tailor begins making adjustments to Adrian clothing, then to mine.
Be The Snake.
His words echo through my mind on a loop while we finish up at the store. We’re done while the sun still rests high in the sky, and I make a few stops before we go back to the inn.
If I can’t be myself, I’ll just lose myself in being someone else.